Hurricane Bay (22 page)

Kelsey kept staring into the darkness.

When she finally rose, it wasn't with a real plan. But she got out of bed and opened the door. Tea, a drink, something to make her sleep.

She walked back out to the living room.

It was dark, only the dim lights of the city drifting softly in. The sheets were on the couch. He was stretched out, one below him, one on top of him. His chest was bare. His clothing lay on the coffee table.

Sleeping? She couldn't see his eyes without approaching him.

She veered from her path to the kitchen. She stood over him. His fingers were laced behind his head, and he was watching her.

“What?” he asked curtly.

“I just…wanted to see if you were sleeping.”

“You've seen.”

She nodded.

She was startled, but she didn't jump back when he suddenly swung into a sitting position with a silent speed like lightning. He reached up and caught her wrist.

“What do you want, Kelsey?”

She could feel the pulse beating in the vein in her throat. Breath coming too fast. Blood on fire, racing through her veins.

She hadn't come out for tea.

She felt the heat in his fingers where they wrapped around her wrist. She didn't need light to visualize his hands. Large. Callused. Bronzed. Fingers long, nails clipped short. Blunt, no-nonsense hands. Time had never changed the way they felt against flesh.

She had never been able to read people, but she felt something hot and hostile flowing from his touch. She ignored the hostile. And felt the hot. Ignored whatever might be in the midnight darkness of his gaze, both brooding and sharp upon her, despite the shadows in which she stood.

“What, Kelsey?”

“Well, hell,” she drawled out. “I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd see about a mercy fuck myself.”

“That isn't you, Kelsey. The words don't even fit your mouth.”

Burning with humiliation, she tried to wrench her hand free. She didn't succeed, but found herself drawn down on his sheet-covered lap, feeling the warm heat of his breath against her cheek, aware that he was naked beneath the sheet.

“I didn't say I wouldn't oblige,” he told her.

T
o say that Kelsey—stone-cold sober and asking for sex—was far more than he'd ever imagined would have been a serious understatement. To say that the simple fact of Kelsey being on his lap was pure and instant arousal would be an even greater one. Everything in him went rigid, and he knew he sounded like a Doberman when he added, “On one condition.”

One condition. Christ, he was giving her conditions.

“Condition?” she said. A whisper. Soft as the air, smooth as silk, one word sending the blood coursing roughly through him. Kelsey's magnificent backside on his thigh, her breath teasing his lips, warmth enough to jump-start a generator. Man, was he a liar.

“You're not going to run out at dawn.”

“Where would I run? It's my apartment.”

“You'd find a place. But you won't. I like to wake up next to a woman.”

She blinked. “Did you wake up next to Sheila?”

“No. And did I hurt her in any way? No. But you know that, or you wouldn't be here. And I don't want to hear her name again. Not now.” He threaded his fingers into her hair, drawing her face down to his before either of them could ruin it with any more words. Her lips parted instantly under his, her mouth sweet and deep with the seduction of liquid honey. He had a million intentions. A seduction so damned good she would never forget it. But when she shifted in his arms, her fingers running into his hair, cradling his head, the sheet fell away.

The soft cotton of her nightshirt rode up.

She wasn't wearing anything beneath.

He shoved his hands beneath the fabric while his mouth remained locked onto hers, tongue creating ravishment, deep, wet, molten. His fingers ran over her torso, settled beneath the firm fullness of her breasts, ran over the circumference, caressing, exploring. Her nipples were as taut and hard as marbles, and a breath seemed to escape from her mouth into his as he touched her. She shimmied convulsively against him, and he brought his hands down the length of her back to her buttocks, marveling at the feel of her flesh and the round tension of muscle beneath. He shifted her until she was straddling him right where he sat, lifting her just enough to bring her back down on the instant erection she had so effortlessly created. Their kiss broke and she gasped, head tossed back as her body gloved his sex, wet and giving as he brought her slowly down until he was fully inside her. She shuddered against him, head falling against his shoulder for a moment as he let her adapt to the invasion. Then his hands were on her hips and he was moving her, she was moving herself, and they were desperately bucking together like a pair of kids stealing time in the old man's Chevy. There wasn't a lot of time to think, to really rue the fact that he'd been far less than a slow and sensual lover. The eroticism of her flesh against his and the near rabid pulse of their movement were like a spiral to a carnal heaven. The sound of their breathing, the staccato beating of their hearts, seemed like a driving thunder. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails pressing his flesh. He managed to wrench the nightshirt over her head and toss it into a corner of the room without missing a beat. Her breasts fell against his face. His tongue moved over them as she rose and fell. His lips latched around one pebbled nipple and aureola, suckling, evoking a soft gasping cry on the wind they'd created. He felt himself bottling up desperately. Prayed for an iota of control. Moved her harder, faster. Listened to the sweet beat of their bodies, damp and writhing, sliding against each other. He couldn't take it. His arms wound around her. He ground her down against him, teeth gritting as he prayed. He heard the expulsion of her breath, felt the tension drain out of her, her body suddenly seeming to collapse against his. He thanked God. In a split second, he let himself go. His body constricted and erupted in climax, held and released, and he pulled her even more tightly against him, wet and pliant as he pulsed and withered within.

Her head rested against him. They were both sheened with sweat, wet and hot and cooling. She didn't move at all but remained on top of him, hair damp and streaming over his chest, tickling his nose.

“You're not running,” he said softly after a moment, smoothing her hair but otherwise remaining still, glad to have her remain so intimately against him.

“I don't think I can move,” she murmured against his chest.

They lay content for several seconds. Dane was dimly aware of a muted sound.

And then, contrary to her words, she suddenly leaped to her feet and went running across the room to the dining area, dragging his sheet with her.

“What the hell…?”

“Cell phone,” she said.

“Cell phone? Great,” he muttered.

She had already reached the table where she had left her purse and was digging through it with one hand while draping the sheet around herself with the other.

“I have to answer it,” she told him. “I forgot. Larry will be worried.”

“Larry will be worried?” He didn't know why he was so irritated. He had no great claim to Kelsey's time or attention, and he had been less than the world's greatest lover in the last few minutes, though it had seemed like great sex nonetheless, so Larry's call was definitely unwelcome.

“Hello?” she said into the phone. “Yes, I'm fine.”

He rose himself, grasping for the bottom sheet, and walked over to where she stood. “Is there a reason Larry gets to know where you are at night? Something going on there?”

She covered the little phone.

“Don't be ridiculous.” Even in shadow, the look she gave him was scathing. “He was in love with Sheila forever, until this new girl finally came around.”

She moved her hand. He could hear the crackle of words from the other end.

“No, no, it's all right. I'm in my condo in the city. We were at a club in Miami. We…Dane and I. It was really late, so we're going to drive back in the morning.”

There was a pause as Larry spoke on the other end.

“I know it's really morning now. Larry, I'm sorry. I should have remembered to call you back. We're going to catch a few hours' sleep and be back.” She listened again. “No! Is he all right?”

“What's going on?” Dane asked.

The phone crackled.

“Yes, it's Dane. He's awake, of course.” She hesitated for a split second. “He was sleeping on the couch. He heard the phone, too.”

Larry said something else.

“What's going on?” Dane repeated.

Kelsey told him. “Andy Latham went into the Sea Shanty and belted Nate in the jaw.”

“What? Why?”

She waved a hand at him to indicate that she couldn't hear what Larry was saying. “Something about more fish,” she said.

“More fish?” He reached for the phone. She surrendered it.

“Larry, what about the fish?”

“Dane?” Larry said from the other end. “Jeez, you two had me worried. I didn't really think too much about Sheila being gone, but when Kels said that she was at a club earlier, then never came back…I was sitting here like a worried parent. Then Nate calls, nursing his jaw, because old man Latham walked into the Sea Shanty, straight up to him, and belted him in the jaw. I wasn't there, but it caused quite an uproar. Latham is sobering up in jail, but he claimed it was because ‘one of us snot-nosed kids' kept throwing dead fish on his property. Bizarre, huh?”

“Definitely.”

“He's crazy as a coot,” Larry said. “But they've got him cooling his heels right now, though they'll have to let him go in the morning.”

“Tell him we're heading back right now,” Kelsey urged at his side.

Dane looked at her in the shadows, then glanced to the plate-glass window, where darkness was beginning to ease into the softer, pastel tinted shades of day.

He wondered when he would next get the chance to see Kelsey standing next to him in a sheet.

“You know, there's really no reason.”

“I'd feel better if we were back.”

“I'd feel better if we just moved this into the bedroom.”

The blood seemed to drain from her face, but she said, “I'm not running anywhere, Dane. I'd just feel better if we drove back now.”

He still wondered when he would see her in a sheet again. And he wished he'd given her a hell of a lot more to remember.

“What?” Larry said from the cell.

“Nothing.” Dane stared at Kelsey. “I was just saying she should get some sleep, but Kelsey wants to get back, so we'll be there in a couple of hours.”

“Hey, tell her as long as we all know she's all right…”

Kelsey was already heading for her bedroom. The sheet wasn't really wrapped around her all that well.

“I'm going to take a shower,” she said.

She had her front covered just fine, but she undoubtedly didn't know that the long sleek line of her back was bare, and one buttock was exposed.

“Yeah, we'll see you soon,” Dane said.

He didn't hear Larry's reply. He pushed the end button on the cell, tossed it back in Kelsey's purse and followed her.

He'd already proven he could be quick.

The water was already running; she stood beneath the spray. He joined her. The water sluiced down over the two of them as she gave him a reproachful look. “We've really got to get back.”

“We will.”

“Then…”

“Right after I lick you all over.”

“We said we'd be right there.”

“I'll lick quickly.” He pulled her against him. Soaking wet, smooth as velvet. Kelsey was tall, but still several inches shorter than he was. Each part of her seemed to fit in a perfect place against him. He pressed his lips to her throat. Found the pulse. His hands slipped over the wetness of her breasts, down around her hips, between her legs.

“Dane…”

“Quickly…but thoroughly.”

He picked her up, lifted her from the shower stall. He didn't bother with the water. It dripped from them as he carried her into her bedroom. They were still soaked when he brought her down on the designer sheets of her bed.

“We're wrecking the bed,” she murmured.

“It will dry by the time you get back.”

Wet, tasting faintly of soap, she was delicious. He'd promised “all over,” so he went for it. Throat, belly, lips, long and lingeringly, inner thighs, dead between them, long and lingeringly again. So much for quickly. Kelsey forgot time. The pastels of morning were beating back the grays. She was bathed in soft golden yellows. He made a mental note of just how she looked, tanned against the softness of pale sheets, belly flat, legs wickedly long, breasts full, body writhing…words incoherent as they escaped her lips. He felt himself drown in her taste, musky on his tongue. When he sank completely into her at last, he'd aroused himself to a frenzy and time no longer mattered. She moved as only Kelsey could move. The world came down to the driving desire for release. Damp bed, Kelsey, wet flesh, sliding, rocking, friction, Kelsey, words, whispers, cries. Explosion…

But once again, he had barely eased his weight off her before she was shooting up.

“I'm going into the shower. Alone. For two seconds,” she said. Pleading.

“Sure.” He lay there as she left.

A moment later, she was out. He strolled into the shower himself.

Within ten minutes, they were on the road.

 

Two hours out, two hours in.

Aboard his main boat,
Free as the Sea,
Jorge Marti could see the night lights of the marina. He was almost back. The night was cool, touched by the ocean breeze, which had been heightened by the storms out on the Atlantic. Hurricane season. There was always a weather system sliding off the African coast. And if that wasn't enough, killer winds would form in the Gulf, slip off the Yucatán Peninsula, the islands or South America, and whip into something lethal right before they struck.

Then the winds would churn, making a beeline for the Florida coast, or maybe turning in a matter of seconds and heading straight toward the Carolinas.

Fishermen and charter captains always paid attention to the weather forecasts. They listened carefully and learned to make sane judgments. Of course, there were times—more often in the Keys than on the mainland—when evacuations were mandatory.

Tonight…

Tonight the forces of nature, far out over endless miles of water, simply made the ocean a thing of pure beauty. A gentle, deceptive softness kissed the air.

It was beautiful coming in. The very first edges of dawn were beginning to break. He had planned on beating the light. Maybe he would. His mantra kept running through his head.

Run slow…run slow…

The soft sound of his motor, just above an idle, still seemed as loud as a chorus of growls. Yet looking ahead, he could see that there was a stir of life on the dock. Fishermen began their day with the coming of light. But the activity seemed natural. People arriving…not so many, only the real fishermen. The lights were shining an iridescent yellow. Joe Palumbo, who kept his boats two berths down, was loading groceries onto the deck. Izzy Garcia's
Lady Havana,
farther down the way, was showing lights. Old man O'Connell, who was so wizened and brown no one could really estimate his age, was at work on the aft of his boat. Nothing unusual.