Sex & Sensibility (12 page)

If his thoughts were ever to go in that direction, which they wouldn’t, he’d probably choose the same thing.

“When I got married, I hardly saw Sheryl,” he said.
“She was always surrounded by caterers and florists and bridesmaids. Both mothers. It was insane. Then the whole thing culminated in a ceremony at the biggest church in town.”

But Sheryl had been happy during that time. Happy and busy and full of news every night. To him, it hadn’t been the most interesting news—what did he care whether the favors were china angels or bags of potpourri?—but seeing that glow in her eyes had made it worth it.

Too bad the glow had faded when the reality of broken appliances and laundry and a budget had set in. She had wanted to do over his little house and when he’d explained that even with both their salaries, there was no extra money for a remodeled kitchen and a new bathroom, the fighting had started.

“I didn’t know you were married.”

He blinked and focused on Tessa again. “What, didn’t see it in your crystal ball?”

“Don’t have one. Too expensive.”

He laughed. “I’m not now.”

“Married? Or expensive?”

“Both.”

Some people were project-oriented. They had to be doing things or they weren’t happy. The wedding plans had made Sheryl happy in the beginning. Plans to remodel would have kept her happy once the honeymoon was over, but he hadn’t figured that out yet. He had thought that he was enough—that a life together was enough.

He had been wrong.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up if it’s a sore subject,” Tessa said, coming a little closer and glancing into his face.

“Oh, it’s not.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. Sheryl wasn’t a sore
subject. She was more like a gaping wound into which he periodically poured vinegar. He thought fast for a nice, vague explanation. “Our expectations were too high. And we grew up at different rates, but we got to the same place and decided it had been a mistake.”

Nice and vague, with the added advantage that it didn’t resemble the truth in the least.

“How long ago did you split up?”

“What year is this?” He did some subtraction. “Six years ago.” And a few months and a couple of days.

“You’re just coming out of the pain zone,” she said, as if she were some kind of counselor. “It takes five years to get over the chemical addiction to the other person.”

“Chemical addiction? Have you been hanging around with those narcs, or what?”

“Seriously. Love produces chemicals in the brain, and you get addicted. It was in one of my psych textbooks.”

“Kinda takes the romance out of it,” he observed, as they arrived at the rocks. “Like this beach. Not what I would pick for a midnight tryst, what with the wind and sand and all. Getting anything yet?”

D
RIFTWOOD HAD PILED UP
around the ten-foot chunk of granite like abandoned Tinkertoys, providing shelter from the wind and the intrusive eyes of other people.

“Is that a roundabout way of saying, ‘Tessa, get on with your job and stop yakking’?” she wanted to know.

“No. I don’t mind your yakking.” Obviously not, since he’d actually come out and spoken of something as personal as his ill-fated wedding.

“Thank you so much.” She climbed over a stack of crisscrossed logs and jumped down on the other side. “Aha,” she called up to him as he clambered over after her. “Here we are.”

He landed in the dry sand beside her. “Here?”

It looked as if no one had been there in months, but he supposed the tide cleaned things up every night. A stretch of sand was sheltered from the wind by the rocky outcrop and the tumbled logs, and a particularly big chunk of log provided a backrest for a view out to sea.

“This is the place. Far enough from the house that she couldn’t be found, and close enough to run back to before someone found out she was gone.” Tessa shrugged out of her sweater and tied it around her waist. Then she sat on the sand with her back to the log and arranged her skirt over her thighs.

“So now what?” He stretched out beside her a safe couple of feet away.

“Now we open ourselves up to whatever’s here.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again and glanced at him. “If a crab comes up, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

He tried to keep a straight face, since it was obvious she was serious. “You talk to the universe. I’ll keep watch for crabs.”

She settled back against the log and closed her eyes, upon which he promptly broke his promise and allowed himself to watch her instead. Sandy lashes lay on cheeks as smooth as ripe apricots, and as her mouth relaxed he saw that there was a dent in the middle of her bottom lip that invited a kiss.

This is not smart. Quit ogling her when she’s not looking. You’re supposed to be on crab watch.

No crab in its right mind would come and nip a human’s toes. They’d only do that in self-defense. Her fear was completely irrational. And he wasn’t doing any harm.

Not to her, maybe. You’ve got no intention of pursuing anything with her, so why are you doing this?

There was no answer to that one.

“There’s a light,” Tessa said dreamily.

Griffin snapped out of his self-imposed lecture and glanced at her. “A light?”

“Mmm-hmm. Coming down the beach. A flashlight. I bet it’s him.”

Bingo. The universe was evidently feeling chatty. This time he’d make sure there was no danger of anybody’s hands being made to fondle anybody’s body. He would stay objective if it killed him.

“What do you see?”

“He’s staying somewhere along here.” She waved a la
zy hand south, farther along the beach. “Maybe with a friend.”

“I thought he was local.” They’d have to check that. He’d just assumed Trey lived around here, and was counting on Mandy to get a number he could match to an address to see if Christina was there. However, the way people commuted coast to coast these days, it evidently wasn’t a safe assumption.

“She’s been waiting for ages. On a blanket.” She patted the sand. “He puts his coat around her to warm her up.”

What a prince.

“She’s laughing. They lie down.”

“Can you hear them?”

Tessa shook her head. “Silent movies,” she said, and giggled. “Or a slide show. One picture after another.” She was looking at the granite outcrop as if it had a screen chipped into one side.

“He’s kissing her. He’s good at it, too.”

“How do you know that?” Griffin blurted.

“It’s what she’s thinking. There’s just happiness and desire everywhere. She hasn’t seen him for a week or so.”

Griffin decided to just shut up and hope that Tessa would tell him what was happening without being prompted.

“She wants to make love but he shakes his head. Maybe he’s afraid someone will surprise them. Now he’s touching her. Just a little. Then he’ll go.”

Griffin had touched Tessa just a little, too, and look what had happened there. The memory seemed to be embedded in his fingertips and the palms of his hands, no matter how hard he tried to make it go away.

“She wore the silk teddy he gave her last time. He pulls it up and leans down and licks her nipple.”

Oh, God. Could a person pull the plug on the movie? Did he need to hear this?

“She loves to drive him crazy with the things she wears. Next time they go out it will be the taupe dress. She wants to trap him in the elevator at Atlantis and make love in public.”

Griffin gulped. Because it wasn’t Christina he was seeing. It wasn’t some disembodied vision made of flashes in the dark. It was himself he was seeing, doing things like that with Tessa.

Tessa, who at this moment was wearing a gauzy little Indian-cotton dress like the ones the hippie chicks in Santa Rita wore. Beads sparkled along the deeply cut
U
of the neckline and as she leaned forward, watching her internal movie, her curves pressed insistently against the fabric.

Then he blinked. It wasn’t just curves. Her nipples were rigid, poking at the fragile cotton in a way that begged for the satisfaction of a man’s hands.

Of a man’s mouth. His mouth.

His body tingled all over as hot blood rushed to his groin. His cock stiffened and he lost the ability to think about anything but the way the sparkly fabric of her dress held back those smooth, creamy curves.

“Griffin?” She rolled on one hip to face him, her bare knee pressing against his denim-clad thigh. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” He dragged his gaze from her cleavage to her face. “Is it over?”

“They started to make love and the picture sort of fuzzed out. That happens, you know. When you make love. You lose touch with the external world.”

“Do you?” He couldn’t remember, it had been so long.

“You get so wrapped up in the other person…in their mouth…in their hands…you know?”

She was sun-warmed and sensual and every word was like another match to a piece of paper already on fire. Her mouth was so close and it was saying those things and he just…couldn’t…help it….

T
ESSA’S LIPS PARTED
under his like a tropical flower opening to the sun. The heat of his desire washed over her and she responded to it as naturally as if her body had been waiting for his all along.

All the good sense in the world told her this man was wrong for her. They came from different backgrounds, had different definitions of just about every principle and had different expectations of life.

Yup, she should listen to good sense.

But not while his mouth tasted so good. Not while his heat burned her, while his hands slid around her and dragged her closer. His tongue invaded her mouth and slid along hers, inviting and asking permission at the same time. She stroked it in response and he deepened the kiss, changing his angle so that it tipped her head back.

A tiny sound slipped from her throat, a sound that was two parts desire and one part surrender. Griffin broke the kiss and looked into her eyes.

“I did it again.” He straightened, and the cool air flowed between them, chilling the parts that had been fused together.

“Did what again?” She couldn’t seem to take her gaze off his mouth. He had a great mouth, and he knew exactly what to do with it. She loved that in a man.

“It’s this case.” His gesture seemed to encompass both her and the trysting spot. “Every time you see them, they’re making love. I’m supposed to be helping you see details about where they are, and instead I let the sex distract me.”

“I like distracting you.” She moved closer, and put a hand on his chest. The fabric of his shirt was heated from the sun and from his agitation.

It was exciting to be the reason for that agitation. She just had to find a way to get him past this idea that sex was a problem and move on to the good part. After all, they were alone in this sheltered spot and both of them wanted the same thing.

She took his chin in her fingers, turned his head and captured his lips with hers.

His resistance crumbled like a sand castle against the tide.
Yes, I’m giving you permission,
her mouth said,
so stop teasing and get down to business.

He might not be a sensitive, but he knew a thing or two about body language. This time his kiss was deep and less restrained, as if he’d allowed himself to enjoy it. Her arms slid around his neck and she slid across him to straddle his lap as he sat with his back against the log.

“Now, then,” she said happily, and he raised his mouth to meet hers once more.
Is that permission enough for you?
He drank kisses from her, and now his was the head tipped back against the scarred, weathered wood. Maybe he got tired of being in charge all the time. Maybe he just needed a girl to tell him to shut up and kiss her.

For the moment, Tessa was perfectly happy to be that girl.

His hands were heavy at her waist, as if he felt he had to hold her down, and their heat burned through the fabric of her dress. That wasn’t all that was burning. Pressing against her damp panties was the evidence that this was no ordinary kiss. His erection was hard and insistent, and every time she moved, his hips lifted in glorious suggestion.

The atmosphere of this spot was finally getting to him.
Her thighs hugged his hips and her crotch fit onto his erection through two layers of underwear and one of denim. She rocked against it, slowly, the rhythm as ancient as the crash of the waves or the pull of the tide.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he groaned. “Christina is depending on us.”

Tessa stroked the long line of his lower lip with her tongue and bit it gently. “I don’t think she’s thinking about us at all,” she said against his lips. “I want you to undo my zipper.”

“Oh, God.” His head fell back against the log in a posture of temporary defeat, but she felt his erection throb and tighten.

“I know you want to look at my breasts,” she whispered wickedly. “And the sun is so hot—you’re so hot—I want your mouth on me, Griffin.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat and lowered his mouth to her cleavage as he skimmed his hands up her rib cage and cupped her breasts in both hands. His mouth was hot and demanding and bolts of pleasure flickered through her as he licked her skin.

Since her hands were free, Tessa reached around and ran her zipper down its track herself. The fragile fabric relaxed, and the neckline dropped, exposing her nipples.

“Damn,” he whispered. “No bra. You
do
read minds. Or answer prayers.”

With a shimmy of her shoulders, the dress dropped completely to her waist, where her sweater was tied, leaving her naked to his gaze. And what a gaze it was. It devoured her, worshipped her, consumed her like fire and left her hotter than ever.

“You prayed I wouldn’t wear a bra?” She smiled with delight and anticipation.

“Yeah, well, call me shallow. You are the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on.”

“Lick me,” she commanded softly. “I want your mouth on my nipples.”

“Another prayer answered.”

Her nipples felt rigid with impatience, as though she couldn’t wait for his mouth to lower that last inch and taste her. When he did, when the damp heat of his tongue swirled around her areola and his lips closed on her, she moaned. She wasn’t the only one who was impatient. He suckled her hard, tugging gently, both hands holding her breasts with a kind of reverence. The pleasure spread like wildfire through her body, a bolt of lightning that ignited the very core of her and made it weep with need for him.

As if he were the one who read minds, he slid one hand under the skirt of her dress and stroked her naked thighs. “Your skin is like silk,” he murmured into her cleavage as his tongue made a slow trip down one slope and up the other. With stealth, he stroked her inner thighs with those long fingers that seemed to be designed for this very thing.

“Will you touch me?” she whispered. “I’m so wet for you I can’t stand it.”

His mouth closed on her other nipple, drawing it deeply into his mouth where his tongue flickered over it and made her whimper.

“Please, Griffin.”

In answer, his fingers stroked the damp crotch of her panties. She was so swollen and sensitive that she jumped at the eruption of pleasure from his touch.

“Please,” she begged breathlessly. Oh, would he stop teasing? How could she get his jeans off without breaking the moment? How long could she stand not having him inside her?

“Who’s in charge now?” he murmured against her skin, his cheek creasing in a wicked grin. Meanwhile, his fingers teased her, featherlight, dancing along her vulva through the aggravating protection of her panties.

“You are,” she panted. “Don’t stop.”

He had mercy on her then, and slid his hand under the low-slung waistband of her panties, cupping her mound and sliding a finger into her folds. She moaned with pleasure.

“I am, huh? Okay, how about this?”

Before she realized what he was doing, he’d stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it on the log behind his head. Then, with an arm under her knees and one under her shoulders, he lifted her bodily onto the fabric-covered log.

Oh, my. “Are you going to—here—what if—?”

He covered her mouth in a kiss that obliterated all ability to ask questions. Then he kissed his way down her supine body and with one movement, pulled off her panties. She found a foothold for one foot on another, lower log and gasped as he moved between her legs.

She forgot the sea breeze that cooled her moist pussy, as wet as a bed of damp moss. She forgot the blazing sun and the possibility of discovery. She even forgot her no-cops rule and the knowledge that she shouldn’t be doing this with a man who was so wrong for her.

But who cared, when his mouth was hot and masterful on her thighs, when his tongue was skilled, when reality was even better than her late-night fantasies?

He separated her folds with those wicked fingers and lowered his mouth to her clitoris. With the first stroke of his tongue she practically came up off the log. He held her down and imprisoned her with his mouth, giving pleasure and demanding response with every fierce stroke. She was
so ready, so suffused with need, that three or four strokes were all it took.