Friction (2 page)

It had made for an odd courtship, to say the least. Sage had almost lost her life helping them catch the hacker who had victimized her. When all was said and done, though, her record had been cleared, and for the last year she’d been busy establishing her own computer security agency. In the meantime, Ian was becoming impatient waiting to make Sage his wife.

But then he smiled. “You’re right, of course, but you do need to take a break. You’re going to burn out.”

“I feel fine.”

“I’ve been where you are, Sarah, and I had to learn the hard way that it isn’t worth it. All you do is work. You need more balance in your life.”

“I like to work.”

Ian glanced at the clock. “I’ve gotta get moving, but I’m serious. You’re working way too hard—” He held his hand up to stem the objection about to pop from her lips. “You’ve done a great job, I’m not complaining, but I want you to take a break. I’m granting you an immediate vacation—starting Monday.” He appeared to think about it for a second and spoke again, “No, starting as
soon as you leave today. No work. Play only. Two weeks. It’s an order.”

Sarah had a hard time believing what she was hearing—he was
forcing
her to take a vacation? Wasn’t that against the constitution or something?

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t want or need a vacation. You can’t dictate my free time. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself anyway, and I—”

“Exactly. That’s the problem. You don’t do anything but work. Sage and I went to a nice resort over in Cape Charles—it’s small, more like an inn, and it’s close. You can get there easily. I’ll make the arrangements and all you have to do is show up on Monday. And no laptop. In fact, you can leave it here. With me.” He shot her an evil grin. “And they don’t allow cell phones at the resort. Or PDAs. Just so you know. If they find them, they’ll ask you to store them in their office until you leave, so as not to disrupt the other guests.”

Sarah felt the color drain from her face.

“No, Ian, please, I—”

“You’re going. Either that or you’re enrolling in the stress relief program that they’re starting up this week. Make your choice.”

Sarah felt her breath come up short—how
could
he? The stress relief program was a nightmare—everyone was doing whatever they could to avoid it—six weeks of deep breathing and sharing your feelings.
God.
It was a numbers game, she told herself. Two weeks of torture was better than six.

“Fine. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll go.”

Her voice was tight and unhappy, and Ian chuckled, shaking his head and turning away. “Sarah, I want you to enjoy life a little. I want you to relax, have fun. Maybe you’ll even like it.”

Sarah fell back in her chair, the ache in her leg throbbing more insistently as she grumbled to herself about her predicament. Vacation? No computer? No cell phone? No work?

And here she’d thought Ian liked her.

L
OGAN
S
ULLIVAN
paused for a moment on the steps leading up to the broad wraparound porch that hugged the sides of the Chesapeake Inn. He felt as though he was walking into one of those old plantation-style mansions he’d seen in the movies. Colorful flowers and ivies grew everywhere, and large fig trees sprawled in the side yard. Wicker furniture was placed strategically around the large porch, some chairs grouped together if guests wanted to socialize, others tucked away in corners if they wanted to relax solo.

Not fifty yards away the Chesapeake Bay stretched out before him. The water was calm today. The Eastern Shore was a stretch of sand only a bit more than a mile wide, the Bay on one side and the ocean on the other. The little town of Cape Charles was at the southern base of the shore, its tip at the mouth of the Bay. The city of Norfolk, part of the area known as Hampton Roads, formed the other side.

Logan was familiar with the area, having lived in
Maryland his entire life. It was a marvelous place for a vacation, and in his loose khaki shorts, white T-shirt and worn leather sandals, he looked every bit the vacationer—which was how he wanted it. However, vacationing was the last thing on his mind.

Hefting his bags up the stairs, he opened the door and walked in, the air-conditioning hitting him like a wave. Though the hot weather didn’t bother him at all, he still found the coolness refreshing. And the heat here was different, nothing like the suffocating heat he’d gotten used to in Baltimore. Here the air was clear and a soft breeze came in off the water, stirring the leaves on the trees. It was pleasant.

A cheerful woman—a slim blonde who was, he guessed, in her late fifties—rounded the corner, her face the very definition of welcome. She reminded him a bit of his mother, or his childhood memories of her.

“Hello! I’m Karen Sanders. You must be Mr. Sullivan. Welcome to the Chesapeake Inn. Are these all your bags?”

Logan smiled. It was impossible not to, her friendliness made him feel at home. “No, I have more in the car, but I’ll get them. This is a gorgeous place you have. Is this all work from local artists?” He stepped forward, looking at some of the pencil sketches, metal sculptures, and several watercolors capturing sunsets over the Bay and other coastal scenes.

“Yes, we only feature local art, and most of these are for sale, so let me know if there is anything you are particularly interested in. The Shore has a very interesting
and varied history, you know. There are several tours you can take, but much of the art tells the story as well.”

“I’m looking forward to learning about it.”

“Let me get you registered and show you to your room. We have a number of brochures that outline some tours and destinations that might interest you. We also provide equipment, kayaks and canoes, crabbing supplies and other things to keep you busy. Or you can just be quiet and relax, if that’s your pleasure.”

Logan nodded, knowing he would have to partake in at least some of the activities she discussed—he had to keep up appearances. Picking up his bags, he started to follow the woman past the large spiral staircase into the main room, where he could see the antique cherry registration desk, behind which was located a small office, discreetly hidden from view.

No one else was around; the other guests were probably out enjoying themselves. But before they could take more than a few steps the door opened again, and they both turned around to look.

Logan’s mind went blank when he saw the woman who stepped inside. Tall, almost as tall as he was at six foot two, she was breathtaking—and strong, carrying two huge suitcases as though they were nothing. He observed the smooth, supple muscles in her upper arms and raised an eyebrow. Her short hair was a little spiky at the top, an interesting contrast that accentuated her fine, classic features.

She wore large, dark sunglasses perched on a perfectly shaped nose, so he couldn’t see her eyes, but it
was her mouth that fascinated him. Lipstick-free, not too full, her lips looked sweet and soft enough to eat, coming together in a natural pout that had him wetting his own lips as if in anticipation of a taste.

When their hostess moved past him to launch into her welcome routine, the woman pulled her sunglasses off and Logan was mesmerized by the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. A small smile warmed the woman’s cool features as she held out her hand to the hostess.

“Hi, I’m Sarah Jessup. I’m sorry I’m here a little early, but I didn’t know how long the drive would take. I hope it isn’t any trouble.” She looked at Logan, and then back to the hostess. “If you’re busy, I can walk down to the beach or catch some lunch.”

“Oh, no, no, dear, you’re fine. Come on in, and we can get you and Mr. Sullivan all situated. It’s nice for guests to meet each other, as you all will bump into each other during your stay. I do believe you and Mr. Sullivan are both scheduled for extended visits—two weeks, is that right?”

She looked questioningly at him, and he confirmed her claim with a short nod. The new arrival also looked back at him, then stepped forward and held out her hand.

“Well, then, hello, Mr. Sullivan. I’m Sarah.”

Her voice was clear and pleasant, and he detected a strong northern accent—pure New York City. It sounded good on her. She was a tough cookie, he’d bet. And a delicious one, too. He smiled.

“Logan, please. Nice to meet you.”

As he closed his hand around hers, electricity sparked between them, and Logan felt a heat invade his body that
had nothing to do with the summer weather. He watched her azure eyes darken—she’d felt it, too. She dropped his hand a little abruptly and, breaking eye contact, turned back to Karen and her bags.

Intrigued, he watched the tall beauty pick up her luggage. His eyes followed the sway of her hips as she moved past him, the confident stride of her long, long legs. Logan thought he might have to make some time for fun after all.

S
ARAH LOOKED
out the window of the quaint yellow room that she’d been shown to and admired the gardens below. A large fig tree stood beneath her window, shadowing the grass below. She licked her lips—she loved the sensual, sweet taste of figs.

Though it wasn’t something she talked about much, she loved gardens. She used to spend hours walking the gorgeous pathways of the Brooklyn botanical gardens, and she’d always especially enjoyed the pockets of green among the city concrete where people grew tomatoes on stoops and had window and rooftop gardens, some of them very elaborate. Pops had had a rose garden on his patio that professionals would have envied. He used to give her roses to take home every summer; her grandfather was the only man who’d ever given her flowers.

Her bags were not unpacked yet, and she turned to open them where they lay on the large, high bed. The room was small, but light and cheerful. Ian was right, the resort was more like a bed-and-breakfast than a resort—
she had expected flashy, impersonal accommodations and crowds, bars and beaches, but this was very personal and…quiet. Maybe a little too quiet for her taste.

She wouldn’t admit it to anyone but herself, especially not to Ian or anyone she worked with, but she missed the city and the beautiful borough of Brooklyn where she’d spent the past ten years. Living in Norfolk wasn’t bad, but being here, where it was so slow and un-crowded, well, it made her nervous. Antsy.

The teeny apartment she’d had in the city wasn’t much, a small flat on the third floor of a converted brownstone on St. Mark’s Avenue, one of those built for the burgeoning working class. It was homey, though she was never much for interior decorating. But then again, she didn’t need much.

She’d spent most of her time alone, and when she didn’t want to be alone, she could open her window and listen to the noise on the street below. When she’d wanted company, she could sit on her stoop and chat with her neighbors, or go for a walk along Flatbush Avenue, listening to the people around her chatter in an array of languages. She’d picked up some Spanish living there, but didn’t know enough to really communicate fluently.

Sometimes she’d treat herself to a Junior’s cheesecake—reputed to be the best in the world—and stop by to see how old Mr. Sanchez was doing. He’d managed to hold his ground and not be pushed out of his lifelong home as building owners started renovating in order to raise rents
and attract wealthier, younger Manhattanites. Just a month after she’d moved, he’d passed away from pneumonia.

She wondered who’d moved into the place now that he was gone, and a strange sense of hollowness overwhelmed her. She thought of his smile as she stared down at the fig tree, and spun away from the window, needing to get out and away from her dark thoughts.

Brochures littered the desk by one of the tall windows, things to see and do, but she walked past them. She just needed to escape for the moment. If she was going to be stuck here, she had to find something to do, but touristy activities weren’t usually her thing.

True to Ian’s promise, she had seen a sign when she arrived instructing guests to shut off their cell phones, and there wasn’t a phone or a TV in the room—one phone and one TV were in a central room downstairs. The only computer in the place seemed to be the one the hostess had used to process reservations; otherwise it was really a low-tech operation.

She was going to get the jitters if she didn’t keep herself busy. Curiously, an image of Logan popped into her mind as she walked out of her room.

L
OGAN LAY
on the sand, letting the heat soak into his skin as he forced himself to be oblivious to everything and anything as he sank into an afternoon nap. Focusing on the repetitive wash of waves rolling onto the shore, his muscles seemed to loosen, the sand cradling his body like a hug.

Naps were a luxury he almost never allowed himself, but he had to appear to be a committed vacationer. Just a guy trying to decompress from a very stressful time at work.

A shuffling in the sand interrupted his meditation and he opened his eyes to see a deliciously curved female bottom clad in the briefest of shorts, the cuffs of which graced the undersides of shapely thighs. Those were some legs. He could just make out the edge of a white bandage covering one thigh and frowned—she’d hurt herself.

It didn’t stop him from admiring the feminine musculature as she braced herself in the deep sand, her bare feet planted firmly as she bent over the task of opening the beach chair that she’d apparently rented from the vendor on the sidewalk. The chair was not cooperating.

Logan helped himself to a long, leisurely view of her legs as she held the stance, smiling when she muttered something at the chair while struggling with it. He was about to offer assistance when she finally popped the contraption open, the sudden jolt of energy propelling her backward toward him.

He braced himself for impact, but she regained her balance at the last moment, though the halting action kicked sand up into his face, fortunately missing his eyes. He sputtered, wiping the grit from where it stuck to his damp skin. The beauty returned to her spot about ten feet away without so much as a second glance, sinking down into the chair, unaware she’d plastered him with sand.

He watched her stretch out and start to read, and figured the show was over. Moments after he lay back down and started to reenter that fuzzy stage of napping he’d worked hard to attain, an odd mumbling sound disturbed his concentration.

It was coming from the woman in the chair. He propped himself up on one elbow. Was she talking on a cell phone? Sitting up, curious just because, he got just close enough to hear….

“…and he laid her back, gently, as if she was the most treasured thing he’d ever had in his possession, and stared into her eyes as his long, thick hardness throbbed inside her.

“‘I want all of you, Rose, and I want you to take all of me….’”

Whoa! What the heck? Then Logan realized she was reading aloud to herself, a racy novel, apparently. She wasn’t speaking loudly, but in a soft, throaty mumble that certainly made
him
want to hear more. He leaned in and listened a little more closely.

“‘Please, Russell…I love you. I need you. I need…more!’”

Russell? Russell and Rose? Logan quirked a grin. This was pretty good.

“She tightened around him, waves of pleasure crashing through her though she tried to hold back, but Russell wouldn’t let her. He thrust himself into her, pushing red-hot pleasure through her like a sword that pierced her completely and took her breath away—”

“Okay, now that just doesn’t sound like fun.”

He didn’t realize the comment had actually come out of his mouth until the sexy mumbling ceased. The woman swung her incredible legs over the side of the chair, peering at him over the same stylish sunglasses she’d been wearing earlier that day when he’d met her by the door of the inn. He hadn’t recognized her from the rear view, nice as it had been.

“Pardon me?” The sexy whisper she’d been reading in shifted to a cool interrogative, and he cleared his throat. There was something about when a woman peered over the top of her glasses that was so totally
sexy and completely intimidating. Especially when paired with the high cheekbones and those amazingly shaped lips. She caught his gaze and held it. Not that
he
was intimidated, even though her tone remained cool and challenging.

“You have an opinion you’d like to share?”

He smiled in what he hoped was a friendly and charming manner. “I thought the whole sword piercing thing didn’t sound very…romantic. Or pleasurable. I wouldn’t want a woman to feel like that when I was, uh. You know.”

A delicate eyebrow raised, and her head cocked sideways as she blinked at him.

“When you were…what?” Her tone was innocent, but suddenly he felt like a mouse being batted around the kitchen floor by a cat. He leaned in a little more closely, softening his own tone, meeting the challenge.

“When my thick, throbbing hardness is buried inside of her.”

He’d give her credit; she didn’t even blink and didn’t back down. She looked back down at her book, studying it for a moment, then looked back at him.

“Actually, it was his long, thick hardness throbbing inside of her.”

“Sorry, you’ll have to speak up a little more next time, so I get it right.”

“Maybe you should be minding your own business.”

“Hey, you were reading out loud—Sarah, was it?”

“Still is.”

“Well, I was sleeping, but you kicked sand in my face
when you stumbled back from that chair, and you’ve interrupted my nap—twice. I couldn’t help but listen in, you were reading aloud for everyone to hear, and since I couldn’t sleep…” His words were accusatory, but his tone wasn’t, and her smile twitched then widened as she shook her head, giving in.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize you could hear me. When I pulled up you looked dead to the world. I would have sat farther away, but I really wanted to find a spot that was out of the way of the action.” She looked out at the busy beach, her beautiful blue eyes drifting over the children playing and a group of teens playing volleyball.

“No problem. What are you reading?”

“A book I found in the room.”

“You like romances?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. I like romantic suspense more than this kind of thing. This is pretty boring, really.”

“Even with all the sword-piercing pleasure and such?”

She smiled again, looking at him fleetingly then turning her gaze toward the water of the Bay. He sensed that she wasn’t really seeing him or any of the beautiful scenery around her. She’d retreated, and he could feel the distance between them in her next words.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She started to swing her legs back over the chair, but he didn’t want to let her go just yet.

“Why do you read out loud like that?”

She looked back, obviously wishing she’d been able to succeed with her abrupt dismissal, but then stopped and shrugged.

“I spend a lot of time in front of a computer. Sometimes the surroundings are noisy, so I read out loud while I work, it makes it easier to concentrate. I guess it just got to be a habit. I never really noticed.”

“That makes sense.”

She tipped her sunglasses back up on her face, fully covering her eyes. “Sorry again for bothering you.”

“No problem.”

When he lay back on his towel, all he could hear was the slosh of the waves and the voices of the volleyball players. He almost asked her to start reading again.

S
ARAH HELD
her book in front of her face, but she couldn’t concentrate on Rose and Russell’s antics anymore, not that she had been all that into it in the first place. The sex being described on the page had heated up considerably when the man behind her had decided to share his opinion on what a woman felt when a man was inside her.

It was something Sarah tried not to think about too often. She knew
a lot
about sex, more than she wanted to. She was exposed to the seedier side of it as part of her job, and suffice it to say it was nothing like what Rose and Russell were experiencing.

She snorted softly to herself. Nothing about sex was like what Rose and Russell were experiencing. Sex could be fun and relaxing at best, and as for the worst, well, she wouldn’t go there. She saw too much of it in
her work. Her job allowed her to think she’d made a difference in the world, but along the way, she knew something inside her had been irrevocably lost.

That sense of loss, combined with scars from her past, had left her sleeping alone for several years now. She’d gotten used to it and even preferred it; she knew how to take the edge off when she really needed to. Men were an unnecessary complication, and sometimes a dangerous one.

So why, when the gorgeous man sleeping on the sand behind her had looked at her in just that particular, teasing way, and had offered her a smile that made her toes dig down in the sand, had she not shut him down as hard as she usually did? Why had she talked with him—even flirted a little—and felt a…
tug?
She wanted no part of tugs.

Tugs led to pulls, and pulls led to grasping, which inevitably led to sliding, pushing, rubbing and thrusting—
ahhhh!

She threw the book down on the sand, disgusted and appalled that just thinking about it had her nipples poking through her tank top and her thighs flexing slightly in response to her unwanted desire.

This was totally out of character. She wanted to kill Ian for sending her on this vacation.

“It sucks that bad, huh?”

And sucking. Yes, tugs could lead to sucking, too. And licking….
Oh, damn, just stop already!

Sarah drew a deep breath. Logan had spoken to her again, but she was determined to just ignore him this time.

“I thought you were napping.”

So much for ignoring him.

Vacation was obviously playing havoc with her normal sense of independence and self-control.

“I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was too worried about what was happening with Rose and Russell.”

She wanted to laugh and had to choke it down.

“The usual. Piercing and poking and such.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Some people are into that.”

“Are you?” The question was baldly stated and openly curious. He was flirting with her. Well, she would put an end to it.

“No.”

She rose, struggling with the stupid beach chair once again. The stupid joints wouldn’t bend, corroded by salt or age or something, and she grimaced, putting as much muscle into it as possible. The chair gave way, the metal bending under the force of her efforts, the joints popping altogether.

“Ouch. You sure wrestled that into submission.”

Didn’t this guy ever quit? Still, something about his light, teasing tone and comment broke through her annoyance, and she shook her head, chuckling lightly.

“It really wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Understandable. The chair is clearly an unworthy opponent.”

Was he suggesting that he would be worthy? She stood, picking up the broken chair, looking down at Logan and feeling that stupid, aggravating tug yet again.

Okay, so he
was
eye candy. Lean and tall, he lay over the sand with the kind of reckless sexuality that probably made women turn to jelly with just a glance, though he didn’t seem to be posing. He wasn’t leering or posturing, he was just…lying there.

His lean legs stretched out before him, feet half-buried in the sand. The light scattering of dark hair over his legs continued upward, gathering into a light seam over his flat stomach that thickened a bit on his chest. He had strong shoulders and tight, well-shaped arms. Nice chin, good cheekbones. Firm lips. He was what she’d always thought of as “whiplike”—thin and sinewy, stronger than someone might assume at first glance. Probably fast.

There was a straight, white scar on his shoulder, about two inches long, and she almost asked him where it came from when she realized she’d been staring.

Damn.
When caught, pretend not to notice, and then run as fast as you can.

He was looking up at her silently, waiting for her to finish her obvious inspection. He wasn’t the outdoorsy type, she guessed. His skin was not quite as light as hers, but it was clear he wasn’t used to being out in the sun.

“You’re going to burn if you stay out here much longer.”

With that clipped statement, she turned and walked toward the sidewalk.

She hadn’t made it halfway across the beach when she realized he’d caught up and was walking beside her. He stood just a little taller than she did, which meant he was at least six foot, maybe a little more, since she
came in at five-ten in bare feet. When his arm brushed up against hers, she subtly stepped to the side as she kept walking, not wanting the contact.

“I’ll vouch for you that the chair broke when you sat in it and let the vendor know he should be lucky if you don’t sue him.”

“It didn’t break when I sat in it.”

“Just trying to save you an argument.”

She slid him a sidelong glance. “He won’t argue with me.”

A moment of silence as he digested that.

“Where are you from?”

“Brooklyn.” Regardless of where she lived now, or where she was born, she would always be from Brooklyn.

“Really? Your accent is certainly that of a New Yorker, but I wouldn’t have guessed Brooklyn.”

“I don’t have an accent.”

“Okay. Right. So what do you do in Brooklyn?”

He was not going to be easy to discourage. She looked at him through her shades, knowing he couldn’t see her eyes. She wasn’t really annoyed with him, she was irritated with her entire situation at the moment. She let that fuel her tone as she shut him down, once and for all.

“Listen, slick, thanks for the conversation but I’m not interested, okay? Have a nice nap.”

Turning to walk away, she didn’t look back as she left him standing quietly behind her.

L
OGAN STOOD
on the sand and felt put in his place, good and proper. Granted, he hadn’t dated in a while, and his
social skills were probably a little rusty, but…
ouch.
And given the classic male sense of the hunt, wanting to go after things that presented a challenge, he was even more interested now.

He watched her hand the chair to the sidewalk vendor, who appeared to be apologizing profusely, his eyes level with her breasts the whole time he spoke. Sarah put one hand on a cocked hip and shot the other one to the guy’s chin, nudging his eyes up to meet hers. Whatever she said to him had those shocked eyes widening and he nodded quickly, handing her money back and not letting his gaze dip south again.