Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (144 page)

“Swim with me. Do you swim?” he said.

“Now?”

“Yes. Swim with me.” He kissed her again.

Her resolve melted. Before she knew it she’d slipped off her top, her bra and panties, leaving them in a pile on top of the blanket. In the moonlight their bodies touched. She felt the hard abs press into her stomach, his groin splitting apart her legs. She grabbed his ass and squeezed his cheeks as she pressed herself into his chest.

He picked her up. She looked over his shoulder and didn’t see anyone on the beach, but would she be able to tell? Did it matter?

Like a sea creature taking his prey out to a watery kingdom, he waded waist-high into the white foamy surf and then let her body slide down the length of his until she was in the water. The initial shock of the cold surf made her jump, but he held her, and warmed her as he pressed her to his chest. With steam coming off his flesh he made his body into a raft and pulled her up on top of him. She held on to his neck as his powerful arms pulled them out beyond the swirling surf.

Her shuddering subsided as she got used to the chilly water.

It was quiet except for the lapping sound of the unbroken swells. The distant pounding of the ocean against the sand accentuated her heartbeat. They were treading water together, legs and arms entangled and then parted. He touched her all over. She rolled over on her back next to him and they floated, looking up at the stars.

Never done this before. Never felt the ocean as my bed. Never floated with a lover and gazed at the stars. She could feel the ocean breathe.

What was happening?

They lolled in the water for several minutes. He swam a few strokes away from her and then came back for a kiss. Each kiss seemed to get longer and longer, until at last they were entwined again. She mounted him again as his powerful arms kept them both afloat. Weightless, she tried to move up and down on him, but settled for just being filled with his girth. She could see his teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

“You are a fish,” she whispered. He grinned and moved his hands over her buttocks.

“But I’m so glad I have hands,” he said as he caressed her, “and legs.”

She started when Coop pressed a thumb against her anus. He didn’t force himself to penetrate, but waited for her. She looked into his eyes. Could she trust him? Hitching her breath
,
she didn’t pull away from him.

Cooper lifted her body up, and then pulled her down on him again, his hands gripping her upper thighs and hips. He looked into her eyes as he pressed her to his groin.

After several wonderful moments, Cooper spoke into her ear. She was still impaled on his cock, loving the feel of him inside her.

“I need traction,” he hissed.

“Yes,” she returned.

They swam to shore, retrieved their clothes and the blanket, and ran to the trailer. He had to fish through his pants to find the key. She leaned her naked body against his bare ass while he worked the lock. At last the door opened, with a guttural moan, and she was brought inside his man-cave. Bay seemed resigned to catching up on his sleep and paid little attention to either of them. She saw an odd bouquet of flowers mounted on a wall bracket next to a small gas stove/microwave combo unit. Lines of blue Kerr jars decorated the wall in a wooden hand-made rack. They were filled with packets of sugar, salt and pepper, and matchbook covers from local businesses. She thought it odd this huge guy lived in such a tiny space and collected sugar packets and matches. But she felt safe here, for some reason.

“We need to get rid of the wet and sandy,” he said with cool efficiency. He led her to a tiny bathroom with a fiberglass shower stall rigged with a spray wand. The skylight was opened and she could see the dusting of stars through the portal as he turned on the warm water and began to soap down her body. His silky fingers smoothed over her flesh and made her crave more.

He kneeled as he soaped her sex, and then covered her body with the warm jet from the spray wand. The water continued to sluice down her chest, legs and arms. He spread her knees apart slowly, and licked between her lips. The sandpaper of his tongue rubbed over her nub. His warm breath stimulated every cell. As he inserted his tongue she leaned into him and gave him everything she had.

“God. That feels wonderful.”

“Yes.”

Cooper’s stiff cock stood ready. He was still kneeling in front of Libby, but reached over with his long arms and found a foil packet in his medicine chest over the sink. His shoulders were hard as she smoothed soap over his neck and upper back, feeling the rippling muscles moving under her fingertips. After he covered himself, he worked fingers into her opening as his tongue laved her. She began to shudder.

He rose, gently turned her around and bent her over, pressing her into the fiberglass wall of the small shower. He placed himself at her sex from behind. His powerful hands held her hips in place, as he plunged in. She spread her legs to the side to accept him deeper. He pumped her from behind for several minutes until the water began to get cold. She loved the feel of the plastic wall smashing her breasts as his muscled torso and powerful hips urgently commanded her.

Libby turned off the faucet and pushed herself back onto Cooper, who sat on the tiny shower ledge behind her. It was barely big enough for one butt cheek. His massive hands were all over her breasts, squeezing, tweaking the nipples with his fingertips.

At last, a climax gripped her body. She pressed back to get as much of him as she could. She panted into the damp shower wall, screamed as he rammed inside her. His spasms were hard, as he stood, pressing her into the smooth fiberglass enclosure again. He bit her neck without breaking the skin as he finished filling her.

She was sated, for now, but the raw need of him had scared her, even as it made her feel wonderful. She knew, as they dried each other off without saying a word, that perhaps she had finally found a man she would not be able to get enough of.

There was a threshold she’d just walked through as a new fear emerged. She preferred this new fantasy to the reality of what was smart.

And that scared her even more.

Chapter Eight

Dr. Brownlee sorted through the previous day’s mail in the shower of morning sunlight coming through their kitchen window. The coffee was strong this morning because he made it that way. Libby hadn’t come home last night and he was stewing about it. He heard the familiar footsteps of his wife coming down the stairs.

“You’re up early,” Carla Brownlee said. She grabbed a mug from the cupboard, pouring herself a cup of the dark brew.

“Um.” Dr. Brownlee was engrossed in his sorting, trying to concentrate, hoping there weren’t another one of those disturbing letters. He didn’t want his wife to find it, if there was. Phone bill and gas bill to the right, a magazine to the left. Two catalogues in the front for his wife to grab. A couple of handwritten letters from someone unknown, both with hand-drawn smiley faces where the return address should be.

Oh fuck, another two.

“You have trouble sleeping last night?” she asked him.

“Not really,” he lied, as he slipped the letters inside the psychology trade magazine. Truth was, he had hardly slept at all. He couldn’t stop thinking about the SEAL who visited his home, daring to accuse him of drinking too much and being disrespectful of his dead brother. He’d been up most of the night ruminating over the young man’s words.

“Maybe he didn’t die for you.”

Dr. Brownlee looked up. His wife was waiting for an answer he didn’t want to give.

“You thinking about the SEAL or Libby?” So she had checked Libby’s bedroom, too, and found the bed unused.

“Both of them.” He replied. “I think she’s at Gen’s house.”

“That’s what she said.” Carla turned her back to him and walked over to the French doors leading to her bright flower garden. The hiss of sprinklers was the sound he’d heard all night. He hoped her flower garden had survived the deluge.

“I’ll call him later on today,” he said as he neatly stacked the mail.

“Who?” His wife turned back to face him.

“The new guy. The gardener. Obviously he isn’t as experienced as he said he was.”

“Oh,” she shrugged.

“God, Carla. You don’t think I would call that fuckin’ sailor, do you?”

“And why wouldn’t that be a good idea? Austin, your manners were horrible. And I’ve never seen you drink so much in front of a perfect stranger before. If I’d done it, you would say something to me about it.” She sauntered over to him, letting her fuzzy yellow robe untie, exposing the fact that she had on a very sheer nightie he’d not noticed before. “You know you’ve been distracted,” she said as she drew his hand up to her breast, and then maneuvered it down between her legs.

He sucked in air so quickly he almost started to cough. His libido was back.

Thank God I won’t have to use the little blue pills today.

Maybe fear and worry were good for his sex drive. Not likely, though.

* * *

Austin Brownlee came downstairs, preparing for a swim after a very enjoyable romp with his wife. He was even more in love with her body now than the first time she gave herself to him twenty-five years ago in that cheap hotel in Coronado. He’d just grabbed the first room he could find that evening, they were so hot for each other.

But their sex life had changed in the last few years. Some of the passion subsided as his practice grew. He not only had a string of huge successes, he also had some gargantuan failures. It was some of the failures he couldn’t get out of his mind, especially the patients he’d lost to suicide. He’d often replayed their sessions, wondering what he could have done here and there, to perhaps save them from the ultimate choice of ending themselves. He’d only had a handful. But that handful was tormenting him to the point that he entertained suicidal thoughts himself. It had begun as a fleeting thought, but now stuck with him day and night like a thick oil sludge. His dark side bubbling up and contaminating his decent life. God knew, he recognized all the signs.

And now these letters started coming. He’d read them after his swim. Almost sounded like one of Dr. Dolan’s patients that he’d asked Brownlee to take over. He wasn’t interested in immersing himself in someone else’s failures. He had enough of his own.

He halfway thought maybe he ought to get help himself. Maybe it was a mid-life crisis thing. He’d been so happy. Their son was married and had a successful career. Libby was happy at Santa Clara, and going to follow in his footsteps. He was hoping some day to have her be part of his office, if that’s what she wanted to do with her life.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed glass glinting in the morning sunlight. He’d left a tumbler on the mantle next to Will’s picture. He hesitated as he got close to that picture, as if it was his own face staring back at him in that uniform, sporting the smug smile. The thought of how Will died sent a hot spear right up his rectum. His eyes stung.

He placed his forehead against the mantle, closed his eyes and prayed. “Please. Give me peace.” A friend had recommended AA, but he felt he was too high-profile to try it.

Not yet.

He looked at the photo again. Will had not changed. God, he wished he could talk to his twin. His best friend.

All throughout their growing up, Will had excelled at sports. Although they played on the same teams, Will had all the playing time. He was the one who made the huge plays that counted, the MVP. But while Will had the athletic edge, Austin’s grades were just a little bit better. He was usually ranked one, two or three in all his classes, and while Will did well, he wasn’t outstanding.

They looked alike, which was fun, because the girls they dated never could tell the difference. They acted alike. Austin didn’t mind getting the congrats as he walked down the hall, congrats intended for his brother. They halfway thought maybe they could continue their friendship and healthy competition by attending the same schools and remaining roommates in college. They’d talked about it many times.

He remembered the day they got the first of the letters. Both of them had applied to Stanford, UCLA and Berkeley. In a twist of fate the responses came within a week of each other. Austin got three acceptances, including a combination financial aid/scholarship package from Stanford. Will got three rejections.

The next week, Will enlisted in the Navy, and before Austin’s classes started in the fall, was off to basic training in Michigan.

Could I have helped him with the grades?
He felt guilty, but Will said he was having the time of his life jumping out of planes and helicopters and doing shit Austin was afraid to even think about. Will also wanted to be a doctor, and the Navy was going to see to it he could. But after Will’s death Austin had survivor’s guilt. It almost derailed his scholarship at Stanford until he realized his brother would be furious with him for squandering an opportunity he’d been given.

Thank God Carla had come along just at the right time. He’d met her the summer between his junior and senior year, when she’d come out to visit a friend living in San Diego. And it had been the right thing, too. After they fell in love, he focused on his studies, his new girl, and, then later on his family and his practice. And he’d tried not to look back.

But now old wounds were being re-opened. Brownlee didn’t like God’s sense of humor, nor the knife stuck in his gut. Especially now.

Fucking KA-BAR with Will’s name on it.
He could just imagine what that sucker looked like. He could see it in the SEAL’s grip.

Enough!
With a sigh, Brownlee tied the string on his swimming shorts and walked through the kitchen barefoot, across the covered patio to the pool area. The sprinklers shut off. A fluffy yellow towel was draped on the chaise. He grabbed it as he made his way across the paver tiles to the pool’s edge.

He was looking at a spot of red on the towel when he saw a dark shadow in the bottom of the pool. A small animal.

Libby’s cat.

* * *

The police were respectful to the good doctor who had helped them profile some dangerous nutjobs. Brownlee knew they hadn’t taken the situation very seriously when he’d called them. But when he told them who he was and how he had helped Detective Clark Riverton, who was a legend in the San Diego PD, profiling some pretty notorious killers, they agreed to come right over. Riverton was out of town until tomorrow. Brownlee intended to tell him about the letter he’d tossed and the two waiting for him in the magazine. It upset him that he’d tossed the first letter into the fireplace; it had been an unprofessional and uncharacteristic lapse in judgment.