Storm Warning (11 page)

She smiled at the memory and hope flourished inside, lifting the tension across her chest so her breath flowed more easily. Maybe if she found the journals, she’d solve the mystery and her father would leave her in peace. The notion she might not want to know the answers tickled the back of her brain, but she stubbornly pushed it away. Ignorance had gained her nothing but suspicion and uncertainty her whole life. Knowledge was power.

She found the medication the hospital had given her and swallowed two tablets. As she did so she noticed a bruise on the back of her hand and rubbed the tender spot. She recalled the strength of the attacker, the roiling hate that even now made her heart contract extra hard for a couple of beats.

Unnerved, she headed to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, then with her steaming mug walked back to the chair and sat, careful not to spill the scorching liquid in her lap.

The boat bobbed on the gentle swell, just beyond the rocks that skirted the shoreline. Tea warmed her belly, and a yawn crept up and stretched her mouth wide. The voices were quiet now. Her eyelids drifted closed.

A finger stroked her cheek and she jerked into the air, spilling tea all over her lap.

“Jesus.” Sorcha thrust her cup onto the windowsill and stepped out of her pajama pants, wiping her hands and legs with the material. A palm-sized patch of skin was red and stinging, though she didn’t think it would blister.

God. She was such a klutz.

Silence loomed, deafening in its intensity. She looked up to find Ben staring at her with a stunned expression on his face. It took another second to realize she was half-naked except for her pink socks and oversized T-shirt, and it somehow felt different this time.

“You should have been a stripper.” His tone was amused.

She hugged her arms to her chest, hunched her shoulders protectively around her body. Between him, the chair and the window, she was trapped. Her bottom pressed up tight to the chilly windowsill. She’d never been self-conscious about her body before, was blessed with a tall frame, a fast metabolism and an innate love of sport. Certainly she’d never felt this wretchedly awkward or gangly before. Never felt every inch of bare flesh quiver as a man’s gaze brushed her body.

He stood too close, wearing boxers and a navy T. Smelled like a hot sleepy male. She held her breath, hyper-aware of every cotton-covered muscle.

However, the expression in his bloodshot eyes was not one of seduction. He looked absolutely knackered. “What are you doing up?” He glanced at his watch, then tugged on his ear.

Upside-down she saw it was 5:30 a.m. He’d had two hours sleep.

“I had trouble sleeping.” She gnawed the edge of her index finger. Wanted to bite her nails in a habit she thought she’d outgrown years ago.

“Go back to bed.” He ran a hand through his hair as if praying for patience.

Her eyes shot to the spare room. “I had a nightmare,” she admitted. “And I know it sounds stupid but I’m too scared to go back to sleep.”

Ben had been more than kind to her. Not only had he driven her to the hospital, he’d lent her his strength and given her a safe place to sleep. Now she was repaying him by disturbing his slumber.

“I’ll go.” Tears welled as the voices started to jabber. She tried to sidestep him, but they both moved at the same time and bumped into one another.

He steadied her by gripping her arms. “It isn’t safe.” His hands were warm on her flesh, and a sliver of something hot unfurled low in her tummy.

His expression softened when he noticed her tears and he gave her a rueful smile. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened—seeing one woman hurt was bad enough.” He let her go and reached for the mug she’d placed on the windowsill. He finished the tea in one gulp. She tried not to notice the ripple of his Adam’s apple in that lean throat. He slumped into the chair beside the telescope and covered his face with his hands.

She studied him while his guard was down. He seemed more relaxed in the pre-dawn shadows. More approachable. Less…dangerous. Short dark hairs covered strong tanned legs. She tried not to imagine the rest of him but her eyes kept drifting to where his T-shirt hugged his broad chest, and her mind insisted on filling in the details.

She looked away, held her pajama pants in a crumpled ball while trying not to sway from exhaustion.

“Tell me about the nightmare.”

She jerked to meet his gaze. She’d never told anyone about her dreams. They were too real, too vivid. “It sounds stupid.”

“I’m pretty sure I just dreamed a gorilla in a pink tutu chased me up a chimney so don’t let that stop you.”

Something about this more lighthearted version of Ben made her want to confide. Maybe because he was only here temporarily? Sometimes it was easier to connect with people who were just passing through.

“I’m being dragged through the streets by a mob.”

He raised a brow.

“I’m naked—” his slow smile shot a bolt of unexpected desire through her blood, “—and they tie me a post in a town square, which is right on the seafront, and start piling rushes and bales of straw around me.” She wasn’t the only one tied to that stake, but she didn’t tell him that.

“Everyone is screaming and shouting and then they light the fire and stand back to watch me burn.”

He recoiled, dark eyes flashing. “It’s not the first time you’ve had that dream, is it?”

She shook her head.

“You think you’re projecting what happened to you as a kid?”

She tried to smooth the gooseflesh from her arms. “Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. But it feels real.” Right up to the point where the flames started to licked her skin and the pain woke her up.

“No wonder you can’t fucking sleep.” A giant yawn stretched his mouth wide. “Shit, I’m tired.”

“I’ll go home.” She aimed for a smile.

“No.” He seemed to reach some sort of decision and held out his hand.

It froze her to the spot. Part of her wanted to run, because the kind of attraction that sparked between them had once broken her heart. Another part of her, the stronger part, was overwhelmed by the need to connect with something real. Something flesh and blood.

She took his hand and he pulled her toward his bedroom.

Dragging her feet, she balked, held back, not sure she wanted to take that next step. She wasn’t ready. Bruce had seen to that.

Impatient, he tugged harder. Then stopped. He turned and looked at her with exasperation.

“Sorcha, I can’t sleep with you prowling around and you’re too scared to sleep alone.” He scrubbed a hand over bleary eyes. “I’m not gonna jump you. I’m too fried to think about anything except sleep.”

The thought of a decent night’s rest sounded heavenly, but she’d learned the hard way not to trust. “That’s what a guy says before he jumps your bones.”

“Yeah. Believe me, that’s
not
gonna happen.” His eyes were unreadable, but his laugh convinced her.

For some unfathomable reason she trusted him. And one thing she knew for certain was she didn’t want to be alone. And if it went further than that? Her toes curled in her socks. If it went further than that, she’d lay to rest another ghost, only this one was a good-looking blond surfer-boy.

Maybe it was time to take the risk.

She let Ben pull her into his bedroom, let him settle her on one side of the bed before he got in the other. He didn’t touch her, never crossed the midline threshold of the bed, but his being there soothed her. Even though she was conscious of every sound he made and absorbed every particle of heat he radiated.

She was weary of being haunted. Ghosts and nightmares wouldn’t bother her when she was here.

“Go to sleep.” From the sound of his voice he was halfway there already.

Smiling, she turned away from him, glad of his solid presence beside her in the big bed, so tired her eyes were already closing.

***

The friction of a soft bare ass slipped across his erection. Cool satin against molten heat.
Ah, Christ,
that felt good. He was pretty sure that noise in his ear was him purring. Sunlight danced hot on his skin, blinding him. Not that he needed eyes right now. Sliding his fingers over silky flesh, he cupped a small firm breast, slowly rubbed a palm over a sensitized nipple, as the woman stretched hot and supple against him. His mind was lethargic, his body sluggish, but if this was a dream he never wanted to wake up.

Her legs parted in irresistible invitation and his fingers dipped into wet heat. Her breathing was heavy, matching his with short bursts of sexual anticipation.

“Good?” he murmured into the satin of her hair.

“Oh, yes.”

“Want more?” He ran his tongue along the velvet skin of her shoulder, grazed his teeth over her neck.

“Oh, yes.” She moaned, and he was so hard he ached.

He pulled her thigh back over his legs, couldn’t control the fierce thrust of his hips that sank him deep inside her. He trembled as she wrapped around him.
God, that feels good.
He whimpered. Hot and tight and incredible. He thrust again, harder, his mind blanking from sheer pleasure.

A trace of lemon lingered on her skin. He explored the flavor with his mouth and slowed things down.

Anchoring her hipbone, he savored the slow glide of slick wet flesh against slick wet flesh. Mindless, he held the subtle rhythm until she was squirming and panting and begging for more. But it felt too damn good to be wrapped up inside this woman and he didn’t want to rush. He reached for her breasts and she moaned as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger with just enough pressure to make her gasp. He didn’t think. Just reveled in the heat and tight, wet clasp of her body. She opened her legs wider and tilted her hips for a better angle. He wanted to explore the soft alluring body melted against him, wanted to kiss the silky skin that whispered against the hard roughness of his, but his mind was shrouded with exhaustion, swamped by lust and the sudden, desperate need for release.

She thrust against him, took him to the hilt. This was going to be world-record sex because his head was about to explode along with the rest of him and he didn’t give a damn.

She cried out. Internal muscles clamping down on him, hot and wet and slick. And…Jesus God, he was right behind her.

Finally opening his eyes, he jerked away as if he’d been electrocuted.

“Holy Mother.”

“What?” Sorcha Logan stared at him, sleepy and startled and looking as if she’d just been…

Fuck. Fuck!
He held his head in his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed. Curses flew through his head. He tucked himself back into his boxer-shorts, scrubbed a disbelieving hand over his face as regret turned to shame.

He should have thrown her out, sent her home, despite the danger. But there was no way he could let her prowl around the cottage and maybe come across something classified.

Well she’d damn well come across something classified now.

He’d been determined not to touch her. So proud of himself and his self-control. Impotently his hands fisted in his lap and he squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of silken heat that taunted him even now. Remorse choked him, squeezing his throat like a ligature.

What sort of man slept with a woman who might have gotten his partner killed? What sort of DEA agent nailed a trafficker before putting her away?

Sunlight streamed through the thin drapes, dappled her skin as she sat up on the bed, looking uneasy, unsure. Nervous.

His eyes were drawn to the graceful lines of her legs.

Despite everything, he wanted her again.

“What is it?” Her voice was gravelly.

“I was asleep.” Okay, so now he sounded like a freaking idiot, but he didn’t care.

“Pardon me?” She tugged the sheet up to her chin as if that might conceal what they’d done.

Too little, too late.

He looked away. “I didn’t use a condom.” The words were spat through clenched teeth. Two cardinal rules broken for a one illicit screw.

She paled. “Do you have a disease?”

“No! That’s not the goddamned point!” He walked to the end of the bed. “You didn’t know that.” He pulled on his jeans. “What about getting pregnant? You ever think of that?” Another bastard child was just what the world needed.

“I’m on the pill.” Her eyes narrowed at his expression. “I have a medical condition, you jerk.”

“Yeah, right.”

She flung the sheet off and jumped from the bed. He backed up. Way too much flesh on display.

Blood headed south, his body torn between self-disgust and the desire to do it all again, only slower, with his eyes open.

“How dare you. I haven’t had sex in more than a year and I’ve only had sex with one other guy ever, so don’t lecture me on promiscuity.”

He grunted. He was being callous.
So what?
He’d violated two personal codes of honor. Unprotected sex and getting involved with a suspect. And the climax was still reverberating through his body with aftershocks.

Hair whipped around her shoulders as she planted her hands on her hips, which made her T-shirt ride dangerously high.

Hell.

His mouth went dry. He’d had sex with her and hadn’t even got to see her naked. Clamping down on his unrepentant libido, he reminded himself that no matter how good she’d felt, there was not going to be a repeat performance.

“How many women have you slept with?” she asked him.

Oh, this was good.
Nothing like a little righteous indignation to start the day.

“One too many.” Fury surged inside him. He took a step forward, leaned into her face. “But I’ve
never
done it without a condom.”

“Ha!” She threw back her head, her laugh a slap of air. “And that was my fault?”

“I was
asleep!
”

“Well, you were asleep with your dick pressed against my ass and your hand plastered to my breast. So forgive me if I thought you were conscious while we were making love.” She wouldn’t back down.

“We weren’t making love,” he said.

She flinched, a barely perceptible reaction. She stepped away. “No. You’re right.”