Love on the Boardwalk (9 page)

“I feel lazy,” Trina announced.

Brad laughed. She always said the first damn thing that tripped off her tongue. “It’s supposed to be romantic. Would you feel lazy if this was a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park?”

“Good point.” Squirming even closer, she draped a leg across his. A leg that was bare from toe all the way up to the hem of her short black ruffled skirt. It made him wish he could rip off his pants to feel her skin against his. She rested her head on his chest and relaxed.

The mix on the Boardwalk was totally different at night. No more kids. The gaggles of teenagers were older. There were still obvious, wide-eyed tourists in striped tees with sweaters draped over their shoulders against the ocean breeze, women clutching huge purses. Older, seedier souvenir shops gave way to over-the-top theme restaurants with neon waves on the roof and twenty-foot-tall fake palm trees. Every block they rolled brought a different, glitzy casino. And then the pattern reversed as they neared the end of the Boardwalk.

Trina drew a slow pattern on his thigh. “How do you feel about Coop proposing?”

“Darcy’s great. They’re great together. I’m thrilled for them.”

“No, I mean, how do you feel about him doing it tonight?”

This felt less like small talk and more like a therapy session. Brad stilled her wandering hand. “Why?”

“He hijacked your non-honeymoon. You don’t so much seem to be wallowing in misery. Instead, it looks to me as if you’re trying everything to distract yourself from it. And in waltzed Coop, spiking your brain right back into wedding stuff.”

Trina didn’t need any help with being observant. She’d read him with the ease of a comic book. “Yeah.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Yeah. I mean, not really.” He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “I get why Coop did it tonight. He took advantage of the opportunity to do something different. Memorable. I’d be a real jackass if I let that bother me.”

“But...”

“Now I’m thinking about it. How he knocked it out of the park with that proposal. I didn’t put a quarter of his thought or effort into the one I did last year.”

“What else?”

Without even looking him in the eye, Trina could tell there was more. The woman had good instincts. It’d be fun to watch her grill a suspect. Eventually. After many, many more months of training and supervision. “How you can tell that Coop and Darcy are going to last just by looking at the two of them. And how my engagement failed. I’m not used to failing. It feels shitty.”

“So at this point, the failing feels worse to you than the actual loss of Dana.”

“Yes, Doctor Trimble,” he said sarcastically, “that is what’s kicking me in the nuts.”

“I try things and fail at them all the time. It’s called living with no regrets.”

“Uh, no. I regret failing. Big time.”

She twisted around to look up at him. “But at least if you try, you’ve got a chance at succeeding. Failure isn’t guaranteed. If you don’t even try at all, you’ve already failed.”

It was total pop psychology. But Coop had told him to talk to someone about this whole mess. Trina was the easiest person to talk to he’d ever run across. And he planned to kibosh this pseudo-therapy session the minute they got off the Rolling Chair. He could be real with her for another half block. “So I’m a winner just for trying.” It came out gruff, mocking. Because if he believed it, he was off the hook. No more beating himself up. It couldn’t be that easy.

She smiled at him with all the pride of a teacher bestowing a gold star. “Yes.”

Still too easy. But tempting to believe. Trina sure skipped through life as happy as could be. It worked for her. So why not give this new approach to his engagement fuck-up a try? “And if I learn from my failure, it’ll keep me from screwing up as bad when I try again—so I actually come out ahead?”

“Now you get it. That’s how I look at life. Why don’t you chew on that for a little while? See if you enjoy the flavor of it?”

They hopped out and started walking inland hand-in-hand, just a block from where the land curved at a ninety-degree angle. Past a barbershop that was not only open, but full of customers an hour before midnight on a Saturday night. Past rows of gray condos with shingled roofs and brown-railinged balconies all with drying beach towels flapping.

While they walked, Brad thought about Trina’s viewpoint. The freedom in not beating himself up anymore. Because Coop hadn’t revealed any great truths last night that hadn’t already occurred to Brad. Yeah, Dana ditched him. Long before she actually called off their engagement. But he let her. He didn’t fight for her. Probably for the best, seeing as how he didn’t miss her.

He’d never again stay with a woman who checked out of his life, of their life together. What he needed was a woman who didn’t want a separate life. At least not completely separate. Brad wanted to dive in with both hands and get messy. Get soaked with all the bits and pieces of her life, and vice versa. He wanted someone who’d put, not
him
first—’cause that would make him a self-centered dick—but
them
first. Damned if he wasn’t curious if Trina could be that woman.

Brad pushed open the black iron gate that never locked. The moon hung low over their destination like a spotlight. “Welcome to the Absecon Lighthouse. Maybe not as bright as all the casino lights, but much cooler.”

“Quieter, too.”

He pointed across the parking lot to the ocean. “Over there is the Absecon Inlet. It used to be called the Graveyard Inlet because so many ships wrecked there. That’s why they built the lighthouse.”

Trina looked up at the white column of a building with the single, wide black stripe around the middle. Darted across the crushed oyster shells surrounding the wide cement base to press her whole body right up against it and craned her neck back. “Now this is romantic. Can we climb it?”

“It’s too late. But there’s a bench where we can sit.” They crossed the brick path into a row of boxed-in mini-gardens on the grass. The bench was in front of something tall, flowering, and leafy enough to mostly shield them from anyone walking by. Brad flopped onto it. Here at the tip of the city, it was so quiet he could still hear crickets.

Trina dropped her tiny purse beside him. “You know how they say make-up sex is really hot?”

“Yeah.” Totally true. But if you did it right—and he always did—all sex was really hot. Brad had spent more than a couple of sleepless hours wondering what it might be like to have sex with Trina. Wondering if she threw herself as enthusiastically into that as she did everything else. ’Cause he sure loved her no-holds-barred approach to life.

She swayed back and forth a little, as if to music only she could hear. The tiers of her skirt fluttered against her legs. “I bet just-got-engaged sex is really tender and slow.”

Brad straightened. “Stop. I’m not going to sit here and think about my cousin having sex.”

“Eww, that wasn’t my point at all. My point is that I’d rather go the other way. The really hot way. Without bothering with the fight first.” Trina hiked her skirt up, flung herself sideways and straddled him. “Do you want to heat things up, Brad?”

“Right here?”

“Yep. Right now.”

He looked around. The garden was fenced, but it was mostly decorative. The lighthouse itself provided some cover, and the dark night a great deal more. Still, if anyone decided to walk along the ass-end of land at the tip of Atlantic City, they’d be seen. Not really a smart course of action for a man who wore a badge. That same, dark part of him that loved the thrill of riding a motorcycle and sky-diving said, “You bet I do.”

Chapter Eight

Brad pulled her down to his mouth and they were suddenly kissing. Hot, hard, fast kisses, each one making him that much hungrier for her. Neither one of them held anything back. Brad circled his arms around her waist, clinching her even tighter to him. He plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, over and over. Mimicked what he hoped to do later with another part of his anatomy.

Trina danced her tongue along his, slicking against the sides, back and forth. She kept up with him perfectly. His plan in coming to the lighthouse had been to steal a few more sweet kisses. But they’d blown right past sweet the moment their lips touched. These kisses were about heat. Need. Raw desire that burned through him in pulsating strings.

This outfit she wore left so much skin exposed, and he wanted to taste it all. Brad ran his hands up and down the smooth calves resting on either side of his thighs. Tore his mouth away to lick the pale column of her neck. It smelled of vanilla and exotic flowers. Unusual and irresistible, just like Trina. She smelled so good that he had to pause, bury his nose in the crook above her collarbone and breathe deep the sexy aroma.

Trina wriggled against him. Tugged at his hair. “Who said you could stop?”

“Who said you were in charge?” He grabbed that tiny, tight ass and resettled her directly on top of his cock. The reward of a breathy moan let him know he’d lined up with her sweet spot, too. His lips traveled down her chest to the creamy swells almost bursting from her top. He nibbled his way across the top of one breast. Hurried over to the other to do the same. Trina’s hands clutched at his back, and she twisted on his lap.

It could’ve been that motion of her riding him, the way he could feel her wet panties through his thin suit pants that sent another jolt that impossibly made him even harder. Or it could’ve been the smoothness of her breasts beneath his mouth. His curiosity and his cock wouldn’t be contained until he had her nipples. Brad tried to tug down her top. It didn’t budge. He might as well have been wrestling with armor.

“Boning,” she gasped, with another lurch of her lower body.

God, yes. “We’ll get there soon enough, I promise.”

On a breathy giggle, she said, “No, my bustier has boning. To hold everything in place. It won’t move unless you unlace the whole back.”

Brad ran his hand down her spine. Discovered silky ribbons tied tight top to bottom. No way. He could push the envelope with the public makeout session, but he refused to remove a top that would take so long to put back on if they were discovered. He wouldn’t put Trina at risk like that. So with one last, lingering kiss, Brad pushed her away.

“Then I guess that’s our cue to stop.” God, it killed him. He twined one of her short, soft curls around his finger. “I’m definitely not thinking about my problems anymore. Thanks for the distraction.”

Her lips, redder now from his kisses, pursed. “Was it that obvious?”

“Yeah. But I loved it. Feel free to distract me any time. Although maybe next time, we could try this someplace less public? So we don’t have to stop right when things get serious?”

The uncertainty fell from her face. And her mouth curved into a smug, sexy invitation. “You want to keep going?”

“Hell, yeah. But getting arrested for indecent exposure wouldn’t be good for my career.”

Rocking forward in a move that just about set his pants on fire, she murmured into his ear, “Exciting, though, wasn’t it? Not crossing that line, but skimming right up to it?”

“It didn’t suck,” he said as he lifted her off his lap. A man could only take so much temptation. “Your whole free-spirit, spontaneous approach to life definitely has some pluses. I think it’s really great the way you just live in the moment. How you don’t worry about the future at all.”

Trina tucked her feet up next to her on the bench. Slipped back on the spiked heels that must’ve fallen off while they went at each other. Her face scrunched up. “That’s not actually true. I do worry about the future. In fact, right now I’m worrying about it a whole heck of a lot.”

That came as a surprise. He stroked down her arm with one hand. “Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tough. Neither had he, and she’d cranked him open faster than an electric can opener. “You really think I’ll drop it? After the way you just worked me over about my baggage? That’s not how this friendship stuff works.” Brad circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger. “If I have to handcuff you to this bench, we’re not leaving until you talk.”

Her eyebrows winged up. “You’ve got handcuffs with you?”

“Not the fun kind.” But he’d file away her apparent interest to pursue later. Of course, with Trina, it was hard to tell. She might’ve been excited about fur-lined cuffs. Or she might’ve just gotten excited about the real deal, and whisking them into her junior investigator trainee’s bag of tricks.

“Too bad,” she sighed. “Okay, here’s my problem. I’ve got a friend starting her own fashion line out in Annapolis. She wants me to help.”

Brad didn’t know fuck-all about fashion. But he was pretty sure that Annapolis wasn’t famous for being a fashion mecca. Unless you counted all the Naval Academy plebes strutting around in their white uniforms. Still, it didn’t take much effort to picture Trina throwing herself headlong into another new career. “Do you know anything about clothes?”

“I apprenticed with a local designer for almost half a year once. It was too high-pressure for me to want to pursue it solo. But I discovered I’m a whiz on a sewing machine, and I do have some great ideas. Helping Khristiana means not having the pressure of developing my own line or worrying about the business end. I’d just have the fun of creating clothes for somebody.”

“Are you bored with the P.I. thing? Ready to move on to the first new career that catches your eye?”

“I’m not bored at all. I love it. And Joe thinks I’ve got a real knack for it.” She fiddled with a ruffle on her skirt. “But he wants me to get serious and do this professional investigation program through Boston University. Online. He’d even help pay for it. Then when I’m done, get my P.I. license. Not before then. No real cases of my own until I’ve got that certificate.”

Trina looked miserable just talking about it. Which didn’t make any sense. “I’ve heard of their program. It’s got a good reputation. Why the face?”

She hopped off the bench. Started pacing in between the rectangular boxes of the flower beds. “I don’t want to wait. I want to get my license now, and not take the course. Not give Joe a chance to see me fail and end up not hiring me. Because I mostly suck at the whole school thing. Especially studying for tests. According to all my teachers, I excel at concepts, but not at rote memorization. But I did memorize one comment from my guidance counselor. ‘Her mediocre test scores in math and language and history in no way reflected her sharp, albeit somewhat twisty, mind.’ I always liked the twisty mind part.”

You didn’t have to memorize battle dates and royal lineage in order to learn about history and how it keeps repeating. Didn’t have to be able to recite Poe’s
The Raven
in order to appreciate its spooky rhythm. Taking tests didn’t always measure a person’s smarts. His niece had dyslexia. Almost failed the third grade—who knew that was even possible?—before they figured out the problem. Now she had an aide who helped her take tests and was doing great.

“Screw school. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.” Digging the toe of her shoe into the grass, she looked barely old enough to lift a beer.

“Old enough to know what you like and what you don’t.” Wasn’t that one of the perks of being a grown-up? For Brad, it meant not having to choke down lima beans or listen to folk music. “Why get up every morning and do something that makes you miserable? That doesn’t sound like the Trina Trimble approach to life at all.”

“The not fun part would be over in six months. Then I’d have a whole, long and exciting career in front of me.” She gestured with her hand as though the words were printed on a banner hanging in front of her nose.

The thought of it stopped him cold. He’d assumed Trina was on the brink of tossing aside her interest in being a detective. Both she and Darcy had made it clear that she far preferred sampling life to committing to one part of it. A whole, long career of dealing with scumbags and lowlifes didn’t fit Trina’s rainbow-covered personality at all.

She shifted, casting the side of her face in shadow from the lighthouse. What if that same cheek was covered in a bruise from an angry perp? He didn’t want her to so much as skin her knee, let alone get roughed up. Maybe bang up her car in a chase. Or something worse. Maybe this new fashion venture was the escape hatch leading to a safer future. One he didn’t mind pushing her toward.

“Then you’d have a whole bunch of danger in front of you.” Brad loped over to her. Took her small, delicate hands and squeezed. “Look at what you did this week. You don’t even have a license yet, you’re not fully trained, and you’re spending your nights almost naked at a seedy armpit of humanity.”

“Says the man who carries a gun to work every day. How risk-free is chasing down murderers, Detective Hudson?” she scoffed as she wrenched her hands free.

It wasn’t the same. Not at all. Brad was six-two, trained in Krav Maga, a karate black belt, and could shoot so well the Baltimore PD bugged him every six months to join their SWAT team as a sniper. Even tottering in her heels, Trina didn’t come up to the knot in his red tie. “I can take care of myself.”

“So can I,” she shot back. “Is that the problem? Are you trying to steer me away from being a P.I. because you don’t want to watch another woman you’re dating throw herself headlong into a career? Just because Dana ignored you in favor of her clients doesn’t mean you should rule out every woman who isn’t willing to stay barefoot and pregnant.”

What? He hadn’t come close to saying that. Brad wasn’t a relationship Neanderthal. God, his mom would be so disappointed if she knew someone even hinted that he didn’t support a woman’s career. Judy Hudson had dedicated her whole life to first teaching at, and now running his old elementary school. She made it darn clear that her job was just as important as his dad’s daily commute to the NSA. And that her children should be proud that they lived in a time when both parents could choose their careers, or choose to stay home, or both. Where did Trina get off accusing him of being a
Mad Men
cliché?

But all that came out was, “Oh, now we’re dating?”

She fisted her hands on her hips. “Yeah. I think we are.”

Brad knuckled his eyes, hoping to rub away the distraction of her feisty pose and willingness to go toe-to-toe with him, instead of just freezing him out. He’d always hated it when Dana just shut off the minute they started arguing.

Time to get this fight back on track. Brad didn’t want her pregnant. He just wanted her safe. “Why is a steady income all of a sudden more important than your happiness? What happened to pursuing every interest and passion? To finding fun and color in life, instead of pursuing a black-and-white bank balance?”

“Maybe I want it all. The fun, the variety, and a fat savings account. I’m almost thirty. I do have to worry about the future. I can’t keep flitting to suit my whims forever. Even my parents call me their little flibbertigibbet. I’m a college dropout. The future is scary. Taking this certificate program and maybe failing is scary. Maybe being responsible for having Khristiana’s clothing line tank in six months is scary. I don’t know what to do. All I do know is that I don’t want you to yell at me anymore.”

She was the one doing all the yelling. But he was smart enough not to point that out. “Look, I’m sorry I pushed.”

“Why do you care? Really?”

“Isn’t it enough that I do? The
why
doesn’t matter.” Should he use the excuse of her happiness as a crutch to force her safety? Probably not. But Brad hated the idea of her not being tucked away safe and sound every day. “Damn it, I’m not the bad guy for not wanting you to stay in a job where you could end up in a sketchy, if not downright dangerous situation.” Not when he’d just started falling for her.

“I still need to know why. Is it because you think I’m going to get stomped on by the first gun-wielding ex-con I go up against? Because you don’t think I’m smart enough to figure out a case all by myself? Or because you think once I finally try to stick with something, I won’t be able to?”

Aha. Brad had taken a semester of psych in college. Had a few sit downs with the department shrink after he shot a suspect while pinned down in a meth den. But it didn’t take any real background in the human psyche to realize what was going on with Trina. She wasn’t mad at him. The person she was really lashing out at was herself. “Don’t put your words into my mouth. And don’t put your fears onto me.”

She snatched up her purse. “I’m not scared.”

“You can be, you know. There’s nothing wrong with being scared. Keeps you sharp, grounded. It’s how you push through the fear that makes you stronger.”

“Well, now that you’ve all but called me a silly scaredy-cat, I think we’re done here. Good thing we had the hot makeup session before I got mad at you.” Hips swishing angrily, she hurried back toward the street.

Seriously? Brad caught up with her without even breaking into a jog. “Trina, I don’t care how mad at me you are right now, I’m not letting you walk alone through Atlantic City in the middle of the night.”

She pointed down the street, where a set of headlights was pulling away from the curb. “That’s the jitney. It’ll stop right here in about ten seconds. I know this because I catalogued my surroundings, like a good detective would, when we walked here. It’ll loop me back to the hotel and then I’ll grab a cab. You’ll just have to come up with some other way to spend the night than taking care of little old me. Because I can do it myself, Brad. If you don’t believe anything else I’ve said, believe that.”

Her heels clattered against the cement. Brad hung on to the black metal spire of the fence, watching as she got on and paid. The minute the shuttle drove off, he headed for the beach. The only thing in this flashing neon strip as black as his mood was the midnight sea. It was a good place for him to figure out where this epic evening had turned into such a cluster fuck.