Shattered (34 page)

By the time he tumbled her naked to the mattress, her arms were wrapped around his neck and her legs were wrapped around his waist and he was already thrusting inside her. He didn't quit until steam was rising around them like heat shimmers in the summertime and she was panting and sobbing out his name and coming hard beneath him. Then he came himself, in a fierce explosive release that ranked right up there with the best he'd ever felt.

Afterward, spent, sated, and so tired that it required an effort to lift his arm, he finally managed to turn off the damned bedside lamp. As the room plunged into darkness, he pulled the covers over Lisa, who was curled against his chest and already asleep, and tucked them in around the pair of them.

Settling down to sleep himself, he tightened his hold on her and dropped a kiss on the tumbled, sweet-smelling softness of her hair.

You're never going to put your heart on the line enough to fall in love.

Ryan's words replayed themselves in his mind as sleep closed in on him.

He hadn't meant to put his heart on the line, that was for sure.

But the fact remained that however it had happened, however the thing had snuck up on him, he now found himself deeply, crazily, stupidly in love with the woman sleeping in his arms.

With Lisa.

And that wasn't good.

Lisa's eyes popped open.
For a moment she lay there, disoriented, trying to figure out where she was.

In bed. In a dark room. Not alone.

Not alone?

Scott. Remembering, she felt a jolt of pure happiness.

I'm sleeping with Scott
.

Her heart beat faster at the thought. A warm glow began to pulse inside her. They were lying in spoon fashion, so that she could feel the tickle of his chest hair against her back. His arm was around her waist, one big hand cupped her breast, and his leg was thrown over hers. He radiated body heat, his arm and leg were heavy as wet cement, and he snored.

Or at least, he had snored. Now he had stopped.

She was just registering that when he moved, nuzzling her hair--or, alternatively, freeing his face from it, as she rather suspected--and tightening his arm around her waist and his hand around her breast.

Her nipple hardened, and her body quickened in instant response.

"Is that your phone?" His voice was a sleepy-sounding growl in her ear.

Oh my God, that muffled sound--Beethoven's Fifth.

"Let me go. I need to answer it. It might be about my mother."

He complied, although not without a last lingering fondle of her breast. It sent a shaft of fire shooting through her that under the circumstances she had no choice but to ignore. As she scrambled out of bed in search of her errant phone, he flopped onto his back. Feeling his eyes on her, which made her suddenly acutely conscious that she was naked, she glanced back--sure enough, he was looking--and yanked the bedspread off and wrapped it around herself. Even after everything they had done together, the mere memory of which was enough to make her tingle and burn and blush, she still wasn't comfortable with swanning around naked under his interested gaze.

The phone was in her purse, she knew that, but it was locating her purse that was the trick. The room was dark, with only a few glimmers of light beaming in around the edges of the heavy curtains to tell her that it was daylight outside and to lighten the gloom. Behind her she heard a creak, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Scott rolling out of bed. She looked--
God, he was built
--but the insistent phone demanded her attention. Forcing herself to turn away, she hunted frantically for her purse. The sound told her that it was near, in the same general area as their discarded clothes. Behind her, there was a rustling as Scott pulled the cord to open the curtains. Bright daylight poured in, making her flinch a little but aiding in her search. She didn't even remember dropping her purse, but she must have, probably when Scott had first kissed her. Eyes skimming over the scarlet puddle of her dress, her bra that was laid out like a small black banner on the beige carpet with her panties nearby, her kicked-off shoes, his discarded pants with the belt still in the loops, his fallen jacket striped with the blue of his tie, his navy boxers and black socks and shoes, she looked for the small black evening bag that contained her phone.

There it was, beside the closet. For the first time since encountering Scott in the hospital last night she remembered Katrina, tucked away behind the sliding door, but she didn't have time to dwell on the doll right then. Snatching up her purse, she grabbed her phone out of it and answered it without checking the caller ID.

"Lise?" It was Joel. Conscious of Scott behind her, knowing that he could hear every word she said whether he wanted to or not, she grimaced inwardly and didn't turn around. "Can I take you to lunch? I think we were both maybe too hasty last night."

"There's no point," she said. "I meant what I said."

She heard the sound of footsteps padding across the carpet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Scott walk into the bathroom, giving her an excellent view of his broad back and small, tight rear. He closed the door while she was still reflexively admiring it, and she turned her attention back to Joel.

"It 's that damned guy, isn't it?" His tone was accusing. "You've got a thing for him."

She wasn't going to talk about Scott, not to Joel. "You and I weren't going anywhere. You know it as well as I do. We 're better off as friends."

From the bathroom came the muffled sound of the toilet flushing. Then a rattle--the shower curtain--and the water being turned on.

Scott was taking a shower. Just the thought made her heart beat faster.

"Friends," Joel said bitterly. "That 's what women always say when they find somebody else. Fine, don't worry, I know when I'm being dumped. Give me a call if you change your mind."

"Bye, Joel." He was already hanging up in her ear. She grimaced, disconnected herself, and checked the time: eight twenty-seven a.m. She almost groaned: They'd gotten maybe four hours of sleep, if that. And she needed to call her mother--soon. But first she had to shower, which presented a whole range of interesting possibilities. She could, of course, wait until Scott was finished. Or--not.

"Not" got her vote. Losing the bedspread, she went into the bathroom, which was typical hotel-issue, nothing fancy.

Steam was already starting to fill the air. The mirror was fogging over. The shower sounded like a waterfall. The tub was small, with a plain white shower curtain drawn across it, and behind that shower curtain was Scott. She could just see the top of his head and hear the sounds of him soaping up. Quickly she made use of the facilities, then flushed. He yelped as apparently the cold water cut out.

That made her smile. She was still smiling as she stepped into the shower.

By the time she got around to calling her mother, and learned she was fine, and Robin assured her that she had nowhere more important to be and Lisa should take all the time she wanted before coming into the hospital, it was getting on toward ten. She and Scott had rolled out of bed for the second time not long before. Having brushed her hair back into a sleek ponytail and applied minimal makeup, she had dressed in a yellow T-shirt and navy shorts, all under Scott's interested gaze. Scott was wearing his suit from the night before, slightly crumpled now, with his tie crammed into his pocket. With scruff darkening his cheeks and chin, and his eyes heavy-lidded from lack of sleep, he looked so impossibly sexy that practically every time she glanced his way Lisa felt her heart skip a beat. At the moment he was holding Katrina upside down as he stared at the mark on her foot. Lisa had already told him all about the doll, including her resemblance to Marisa Garcia's picture and Barty's extreme reaction to seeing her.

"Just so you know, the doll looks like
you.
" Scott handed Katrina back to her. "Maybe your father's reaction was because looking at her is like seeing a miniature
you
all scorched and beat up."

Lisa snorted as she put Katrina carefully back in the closet. "I don't think so."

Scott opened the door and held it for her to precede him into the hall. She was headed for the hospital, and he was headed for his apartment to change and then to the office to do some work, but they had agreed to grab breakfast first. Probably somewhere like IHOP, where they had a reasonable hope of not running into anyone either of them knew.

"You ever think about trying to work on your relationship with your father?" From the look he gave her, Lisa knew he knew she wouldn't welcome the suggestion. They weren't holding hands or anything, but their arms brushed occasionally as they walked down the hall. They were being cautious with each other, both of them, as if neither of them quite knew what to do with this new romance, but Lisa felt enormously happy just being with him, and for now that was good enough.

"No," she said baldly.

"Maybe you should." They were at the elevators by that time, waiting for one to show up.

"Are
you
really talking to
me
about my relationship with my father?" Her eyes touched on the injury to his face as the elevator arrived. They got in, and Scott punched the button to go down. "What about you and your father?"

"I'm working on it, okay? Probably so should you." The elevator stopped, and they stepped out into the lobby. To Lisa's surprise and dismay, it was full of people clad in their Sunday best, apparently intent on enjoying the lavish brunch spread out on long tables at the far end of the room. Lisa saw multiple interested looks thrown their way as Scott took her arm and steered her toward the door.

"Back in college, we called what I'm doing here the walk of shame," he muttered for her ears alone, and she grinned.

Just as they made it safely out into the steamy heat of the parking lot, Lisa's phone rang again. This time she looked at the caller ID: Rinko.

Why he would be calling her on a Sunday morning she couldn't fathom, but it was unusual enough that she answered.

"You got to come out to the Garcias' house," he told her without preamble. "We found something here that you're going to want to see."

26

"You can't come with me."
Lisa stopped behind her car to frown at him. Scott stopped, too, his pants leg just brushing the Jag's back bumper, which was gleaming in the sun. With the bright daylight that was pouring down around them leaving nothing to the imagination, he looked like a man who had been up most of the night doing scandalous things. Which he had been, of course, but no need to advertise it to the people who worked for him.

"I'm sure as hell not letting you go alone. For one thing, there's an awful lot of empty countryside between here and there. For another, in case you've forgotten, somebody knocked you unconscious last time you were out there."

She'd seen that look on his face before.
Determined
was a nice way to put it.

"It 's broad daylight. And Rinko's there."

"No offense to your basement buddy, but I don't find that all that reassuring. Anyway, you actually think I'd get anything done worrying about you?"

"You think Rinko isn't going to notice that we 're together on a Sunday morning? And for your information, you look like the morning after the night before. Sexy but a dead giveaway about how you spent your Saturday night."

"I'm glad you think I'm sexy. And if we 're talking about dead giveaways . . ." Leaning forward, he pressed a hot, wet kiss to the side of her neck. The feel of his lips on her skin made her go all soft and buttery inside, but concern that they might be seen more than made up for it. They were in the Marriott parking lot with no one in particular to notice but lots of potential for public exposure, and she cast a swift glance around even as he straightened. "You have a hickey on your neck. Right there."

Her eyes widened with horror. "I do not!" She clamped a hand to the spot he had kissed. "Do I?"

He nodded and grinned. She punched him in the arm, punishment for that grin, then reached up to pull the coated elastic from her hair. Thick and heavy, it fell around her shoulders, as effective as a turtleneck for throat concealment. Unfortunately, it was just about as hot.

"A hickey is so juvenile. We're not teenagers."

"I know. I'm sorry. I got carried away."

Just remembering how carried away he'd gotten, how carried away they'd both gotten, was enough to make her stomach flutter. He must have seen something of what she was feeling in her eyes, because his darkened. But unlike her, he hadn't lost sight of the original item of contention.

"You go on to your mother in the hospital, and I'll go see what Rinko's found."

"Not a chance." Keys in hand, having beeped open the lock, she curtailed the argument by walking around to the driver's-side door. "You go do whatever it is
you
need to do, and I'll go see what Rinko's found."

"Not a chance." Not entirely to her surprise--she hadn't thought he would just give up--he moved to the passenger door and looked at her over the roof of the car. "If you go, I go."

"Fine. Just be aware that the office is gossip central, and
everybody's
interested in the boss's sex life."

"Nice. Uh, how about I drive?"

"My car, I drive."

"I love it when you go all controlling on me."

She gave him a hard look. "Keep it up and I really will leave you."

Double-beeping the key so that his door unlocked, too, she got into the car, which was hotter than the inside of an oven. The seat baked through her shorts and seared the bare backs of her thighs where the shorts ended. Jiggling her legs in an effort to minimize the impact of the hot leather, she turned on the ignition and started rolling down the windows while the air conditioner blasted out hot air. Taking a quick peek in the rearview mirror, she confirmed that she did indeed have a tiny love bite on the side of her neck, and in consequence scowled at Scott, minus his jacket now in clear deference to the heat, as he slid in beside her.