Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (147 page)

She needed him, pulled his buttocks closer as she felt her body melt under his kisses. Everything around her faded. She was consumed with the heat between them, the wonderful feel of his body claiming hers. No hesitation. She gave everything she had back to him.

He quickened his motions, kissing her neck, then watching her face as he plunged in and then withdrew in long strokes. Her body tingled in delight with each stroke. The more he pumped, the more she needed him.

“Cooper, Cooper…” He cut her off with a kiss, his tongue burrowing deep as he buried his cock to the hilt inside her. He groaned in her ear as he pushed himself deep.

A cell phone rang in the distance. She felt his body tense. In an instant he drew her to sitting position, slipped his pants on and put his finger to his lips for her to be quiet. Barefoot and bare-chested he walked in the direction of the phone ring. It came from a backpack hanging on a wooden peg by the door opening. When the ringtone stopped, he began searching the shed, darting a look around outside, without zeroing in on anything in particular.

Libby waited on the bench after retrieving her clothes, her body craving the man she saw before her, in spite of the fear that someone may have found them. A part of her didn’t care what audience they had. But…

Who?

Cooper returned. “I don’t see anyone. Whose backpack is that?”

“Have no idea.” Then she remembered the landscaper her father had hired to repair the sprinkler system. “The gardener. But I haven’t seen him today.”

“I think we should leave.”

“You want to check out the backpack?”

“No. I don’t want to touch it.” He was working on relaxing himself, and her. “Come on, let’s go back to the house.”

She was sorry the mood had been broken. Fully clothed, they left the shed to enter the late afternoon golden glow of the sunset. They held hands, stopping to look at her mother’s flower garden, listening to the sounds of the crushed granite pathway as they walked along it on the way back to the kitchen.

The back door was ajar. Inside, the house was quiet. They heard sounds of a dust blower outside. She pointed toward it and mouthed, “The gardener.” She listened, but couldn’t hear her parents arguing any longer.

Her mom appeared at the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes red from crying. “Austin has gone to his office. He said he was going to eat later.”

“Mrs. Brownlee, that’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” Cooper said evenly.

“I’m so sorry, Cooper. My husband is very confused right now. He is not himself,” she answered.

Libby stepped forward and engulfed her mother in an embrace. “It’s okay, Mom. No worries.” The two women hugged each other, gently swaying. At last her mother broke away.

“Come, let’s have a quick bite,” her mother said as she wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. She dove into her cooking duties, removed salad fixings and a cooked chicken breast from the refrigerator. “I made some French onion soup this morning,” she said as she removed a purple-lidded cast iron pot and placed it on the stove.

* * *

Cooper and Libby waited until after dinner, making small talk, but the awkwardness and huge chasm created by Dr. Brownlee’s leaving could not be overcome. Her mother set up a china plate and silverware at the dinette table for her husband in case he returned. Everyone took turns staring at that place setting during conversations, but Cooper avoided eye contact. Libby felt the strain too, watching how hard her mother was trying to stay upbeat. She wondered, for the first time in her adult life, if her parents were perhaps going through some marital problems she had somehow missed.

And Cooper was definitely in some internal pain. Libby could only guess the cause.

When the trio heard the sounds of the doctor’s car entering the garage, Coop said his goodbyes quickly. Libby knew he didn’t want any further communication with her father. Not tonight.

Maybe never.

He was in a hurry to leave.

“I’d like to go with you,” she whispered at the front door. Coop looked over her shoulder first, and then searched her eyes.

“Not tonight. Think you need to be home with your parents.”

She bristled. “Cooper, I want—”

“Shhh, baby. You know how much I want to be with you, but this isn’t the time. This isn’t right.”

“But can’t we go somewhere and talk about it, first?”

He still hadn’t smiled back at her. “Somehow we don’t seem to do a lot of talking when we’re together.” He softened as he looked at her lips. “It isn’t just your dad. This is all wrong. The timing’s wrong.”

“Didn’t seem to have any trouble with your timing in the shed.” She was starting to boil inside. He was going to leave. She should let him leave, but she was pissed she’d given him so much and now was getting nothing from him in return.

“Don’t do this, Libby.” Then he adjusted his tone, “Some other time, but not now.” He leaned forward and gave her a peck on her cheek. He drew her to him and whispered, “Libby, I…”

Libby pulled away. “That all you’re going to say, after what we’ve done?”

“Libby quiet. I don’t want to discuss it. Please.”

She couldn’t help but watch his mouth as he spoke, remembering the electric tingle those lips made as he’d kissed her body. It was so unfair. She wanted to be angry but just couldn’t do it.

“When are you coming back, then?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that the way of it, sailor?”

“Libby, Don’t do this. It isn’t right that I’m here. I should have thought about it before.” She could see he was preoccupied as he heard the door to the kitchen swing open. “Gotta go.”

The shock of what he’d just said began to make her knees turn to rubber. He embraced her again, kissed the top of her head, and then he was gone.

Libby pressed her forehead against the doorframe and felt like she’d been stabbed right through the heart. What if he never came back?

Of course he’ll be back.

She stopped being brave and let the tears fall. Now her whole world was scrambled without a lifeline in sight.

Chapter Eleven

Libby’s heart felt like lead as she heard the sputter of Cooper’s scooter fade down the tree-lined street. Her soul was bleeding from the inside out. She wondered if she would ever see the SEAL again.

And then the horrible thought hit her. Was this just an elaborate way to get into her pants? Could this man be trusted?

She thought about how quickly he’d had his way with her. This had never happened before. Here she was, having sex with a virtual stranger. For all she knew, he wasn’t a SEAL at all, but a wannabe. She’d heard they were out there. But then she wondered how he would know about her uncle Will.

Was she substituting the loss of her mentor’s care for something else? Reminding herself that she was the world’s worst when it came to reading people correctly, she decided to err on the side of caution. After all, she’d decided to study psychology partly to learn about her own hangups. It was easier studying others than studying herself. Her father told her a lot of psychiatrists went into the field for the very same reasons.

Perhaps it’s a good thing if he never comes back.

But, damn, the sex with Cooper had been scorching hot and filled a need she had never known existed.

Some things that are good for you are also bad for you.

Was Cooper one of those things? Was she being wise? Did she really want to know?

Her father appeared in the doorway. His eyes fell. His expression was grim and without a trace of warmth. Wrinkles on his upper lip puckered as he thought hesitated to speak. She hadn’t noticed those little lines before. He sighed. “Brownie, we’ve got to talk. The three of us,” he said.

“I agree,” she replied, but what she really wanted was to run upstairs and fall into bed for a good cry.

Her dad put his arm around her shoulder. It felt odd, more like he was propping himself up against her than the other way around. They retreated into the kitchen.

Her mother dished up leftover lasagna and green salad as Dr. Brownlee sat in the breakfast nook, nodded at her mom’s happy chatter and allowed the two women to wait on him. He sat with his right hand gripping the fork and his left clutching the knife, waiting for them to stop their fussing. He looked like he expected her mother to tie a napkin around his neck, as if he was a child of four.

“You need anything else?” Her mom was asking him about needing a drink. Libby saw that yes, he did want one, but he shook his head,
no
, instead.

“We need to talk. Sit down, you two.” He pointed to two vacant dinette chairs with his fork. It seemed to take all the effort he had to get the two women to the table so he could eat.

Libby had gotten a soda from the refrigerator and joined her parents at the table.

“Now, about today and this sailor—” Dr. Brownlee began.

“That subject is off limits, Dad,” Libby interrupted.

“Would you just
listen
to me at least?” Her dad set down his fork and sighed.

Her mother’s worried gaze didn’t ease Libby’s fears. It was going to come off too harsh, so Libby adjusted the volume on her voice, and respectfully answered, “I’m listening, but I’m not a child.” She was worried it sounded petulant.

“Libby, honey,” her mother started, “No one is doubting your judgment.”

“Exactly.” Dr. Brownlee said. “With all this—this mess about the cat—well, Clark thinks we should consider some options. Most likely you’ll be safe at school, but—”

“I’m not going back to Santa Clara,” Libby interrupted.

“Excuse me?” her mother’s forehead was creased and the little lines around her eyes sprang to life with her squint. “And what the hell options are you talking about, Austen?”

Dr. Brownlee looked back down at his dinner, scowling, but said nothing.

Libby continued, “I’m taking a semester off, maybe a whole year off. I’m not registered.” She’d wanted to give them a more thorough explanation, but she was finding the right words difficult to come by.

Her father planted his forehead into his palm, with his elbow on the table. “Why for God’s sake now, Libby?”

“You think I could have known about all this—” Libby waved her arm in the direction of the backyard and the turquoise pool where Noodles had been found.

“Of course not, honey,” her mother softened. “It’s just that the timing is—well, it couldn’t be worse. And no, how could you have known?”

“I don’t want to go into it,” Libby continued. “You don’t need to hear the sordid details with everything else that’s going on around here. Let’s just say I needed a break. It’s a story for another time, perhaps.” Libby could see it was still difficult for her mother to grasp.

“This have to do with the young SEAL?” she asked timidly, with a forced smile.

“No. I made this decision before I came home. Before I met him.”

Dr. Brownlee’s sour expression was difficult for Libby to stomach. He glanced up at his wife and then stared down at the rest of his dinner, pondering the pile of cheese and red tomato sauce like it was something from a horror film. Finally he pushed aside the plate.

Libby continued, softly at first to ease them into the idea. “I withdrew from the University a week ago,” she confessed.

“I need a drink.” Her dad got up and poured himself a tumbler and stared out the kitchen window at something. Libby could see and hear the sprinklers going off in the distance.

“Damn it all,” he whispered as he adjusted his hips to lean against the countertop, swirling the ice cubes in the stubby crystal glass.

“You either get someone else to fix it or stop complaining,” her mother answered. “Austin, can we just stay on point here? To hell with the landscaping.”

That brought a smile to Dr. Brownlee’s lips. He raised his glass to her. “That’s my girl. Telling it like it is.” He looked at Libby. “Your mother is so wicked lovely when she’s focused. She could have commanded a battleship.”

Her mom sat with her arms crossed, staring at her lap, shaking her head. Immune to his considerable charm.

He finished his drink in one long gulp, put the glass in the sink, and rinsed it off. Leaning against the counter, he spoke again. “Clark thinks we should move out of the house for a while. He isn’t sure it’s safe here.”

Libby’s mom bristled, her eyes widened in horror as she stood up. “What? I’m not moving out of this house! What do you mean by ‘safe,’ Austin? Why wouldn’t it be safe?” Her hands were on her hips.

Dr. Brownlee peered across the kitchen island at her mother and displayed that affectionate smile that usually melted any female standing nearby. But it didn’t work today, Libby could see. He motioned for Carla to sit back down, which she did in a huff.

Dr. Brownlee rolled his neck and then looked at Libby. “Maybe someone is targeting me. Could be after me for something. I’m thinking it’s a whacko upset about the Clinic at Lavender House. Someone’s got hold of the donor list—something like that. Anyhow, I think Clark agrees.”

“But it was
my
cat,” Libby interjected. Carla put her head in her hands, elbows leaning on the table.

The restraint in her father’s voice sounded like a kettledrum. “How would anyone know that? Not like someone else lives here with us. You’re—well you
were
away at college,” he said. “The cat lives here.”

Libby stared at her soda. She was definitely not away at college. She was here. Right here. As a matter of fact, she was at the beach, in the water, wrapped in the arms of…

“Good lord, Austin,” her mother began, bringing Libby back. “So Clark thinks this is more serious. Something more than just the cat?” She hardened her gaze, glaring up at her husband like she was going to spring on him. “What are you not telling us?”

“Look, I think Clark is just trying to make sure we are paying attention.”

“Attention?” Both Libby and her mother responded.

Brownlee hesitated, looking at the corners of the kitchen ceiling as though searching for a Heavenly ally. “He has to say that. He has to consider the worst-case scenario. Just wants us to be careful, be prepared.”

Libby could see her mom wasn’t buying the sell job her father was trying to promote. Carla crossed her arms, and tried again, “I still get the feeling you’re hiding something from me, Austin.” Libby heard the waver of her mother’s voice, like a hand was placed around her throat.