Suspect Passions (28 page)

“Tell me what you want from me.” Regan let the words flutter out.

“Stay and sleep with me.” The soft invitation was edged with uncertainty. As though embarrassed by a weak moment, Syd immediately offered a sexy, taunting smile. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“That’s what I thought.” Regan opened the door.

She could sense Syd’s struggle for comprehension as she walked out, but this time she didn’t look back. Even as she drove away she knew Syd was at her window, watching as she left her.

Syd wrestled with sleep the remainder of the night. She tried to hold on to the sensations she’d experienced while Regan orchestrated her orgasm, the physical and emotional arousal that had saturated her like the rainy season. But a loneliness seemed to permeate her entire being as she thought about how much she’d really wanted Regan to stay. Syd ached for her physically and with a longing in her chest that felt clumsy and undefined.

At first light, she pulled a pair of sweats over a body still tender from Regan’s touch and headed to her favorite place to think, the balcony’s parapet. She’d just begun to recognize and cope with the residual emotions of the fatal shooting and subsequent trial. It felt like she’d opened the floodgates and every feeling she’d ever suppressed or denied had tumbled out. Fear, guilt, questions of self-worth, and morality plagued her.

Teetering along the low wall, she considered her life and how the domestic call rotated everything into a new shape, like looking through a kaleidoscope. Now, finally, some of the things the department’s therapist had said began to make sense. Her guilt and her extreme behaviors were all a normal part of adjustment to killing another person. These were the reactions of a
normal
person to such a heinous task. Her coping mechanisms were temporary and need not be a permanent part of her life.

But where did Regan fit in? Syd tried to sort through the quagmire of her feelings and figure out what was going on between them. Her emotions had been in a vegetative state for so long, opening up felt like a bombardment. She knew the minute she saw Regan in Izzy’s doorway that they would have sex. Perhaps it was the look Regan gave her or the sizzle that shot through her body when Regan touched her arm and asked about her injury in that soft, protective tone of hers.

Syd had intended to maintain control of the situation, not like their first encounter when she’d come at the first touch and cried like a woman in love. She’d been needy that night, and Regan’s submission to her every desire, her total surrender and emotional exposure had allowed Syd to be vulnerable and to reclaim a part of herself that had seemed lost.

She was shocked by that, Syd recognized in retrospect, and afraid to admit that she’d felt great tenderness for Regan. Perhaps that was why she had walked away with such determination the next day even when something in her yearned to stay.

Last night, she’d planned to do things differently, to be more honest. She hadn’t expected the total switch Regan had in mind, and was even annoyed at first when Regan managed the situation so completely. Yet being stripped of her usual mistress-in-charge persona and denied control of anything, including her own orgasm, had turned her on more than she could’ve imagined. At the same time she had needed more.

Syd was amazed by Regan’s ability to deduce that and to show her what she was missing. Last night she’d given Syd exactly what she’d claimed she wanted, sex without sentimental complications. Nothing more. Regan had withheld the emotion that connected them the first time. Syd was still shocked at how that had felt. Being sexually joined to Regan again, but without the emotional component, was not only unacceptable, it was cruel. The sense of separation from Regan during those intimate moments showed her how much she needed the emotions missing from her dalliances.

Syd thought about the gap she hadn’t been able to bridge, between the restrictions on her heart and the freedom with which she gave herself physically. Her passions over the past year had all been suspect. They had served as bandages to cover a wound. Sex was easy, but the giving of her heart had always been a separate issue. She’d questioned that intangible connection called intimacy and the passionate need to translate it into lovemaking. Now she found herself reevaluating the beliefs she’d taken for granted and the possibilities she’d rejected as unattainable. Intimacy, she decided, could be quite seductive, if her encounters with Regan were any indication.

The more she was with her, the more she wanted to be and the more she wanted to know about her: her likes, her favorite foods, how she looked completely nude, what spots on her body drove her wild when touched, what scared her, what could make her smile, and mostly what opened her heart and helped her feel safe. Everything about Regan contributed to a growing attraction that Syd couldn’t control and increasingly didn’t want to. If she gathered this information, she would start to share herself in return and the centurions guarding her heart would no longer be needed.

What did that mean exactly?
Am I in love with her?

The thought caused Syd to wobble precariously on the wall, dizzy with the possibility. She quickly righted herself and hopped back down to the balcony floor. Just because a woman had invited her emotional and sexual feelings to coexist happily didn’t mean she was in love with her.

Normally the very idea would have driven her out the door and straight to the Cop Out, convinced she was losing her mind. But Syd sank into a chair, letting the scary words skitter around in her mind. The truth of the matter was that she did care for Regan and was no longer willing to deny that fact. She didn’t know if that caring rose to the level of love or was simply gratitude and newly freed emotions testing their wings. She wished Regan had stayed so she could find out.

Syd supposed it was about time she got a dose of her own medicine, but it hurt that Regan had just
fucked
her and left. She’d never had a problem with the idea of being used for sex, and using other women, but it sucked that Regan had decided to play by the same rules. Syd wasn’t even sure if Regan got off. Why had she gone in such a hurry? Had Syd disappointed her in some all-important way?

She mashed a cushion under her head and lay back, finally noticing the deepening throb in her side. The pain gathered and Syd let it sweep her away, carrying her to a calmer place where she knew what to do. She could make the ache stop any time she wanted. Just take a pill. It wasn’t so easy to remedy the pain in her heart. Syd smiled at the thought. At least she could feel it, and at least she knew its cause.

Regan Desanto.

The only question that remained was what to do about her.

*

“Don’t get up,” Regan said, joining her grandmother by the window. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the small space. Izzy held a cup between both hands. “How was the birthday party?”

“Great, just great. Not a single damn soul knew I was Joan Jett, though. But it was a fun time. You know I love to party. How about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Let me tell you about your evening.” She paused, and when Regan didn’t object she said, “You went home with Syd, had sex, and left. You’ve been walking around since probably about midnight or later and now you’re here. How’s that?”

“Jeez, are you psychic or just having me tailed? That’s spooky.”

“No, I recognize slept-in clothes when I see them and I’m old. That helps too.” She subjected Regan to a lengthy visual inspection, then said, “Grab yourself a Diet Coke from the fridge, honey. It looks like you could use one.”

They sat in silence for a while. Regan sipped her Diet Coke and swiped at beads of condensation as they formed on the can. She reviewed the night’s events once more in her mind, trying to decide how much or how little she could explain. She’d left Syd’s bed aching like she hadn’t been satisfied in years. Hours of walking had done little to wear off the arousal that coursed through her. Each step only seemed to rekindle the passion Sydney Cabot sparked. What was there about this woman that drove her to such levels of physical distraction?

The question brought her to the root of the issue. “Gram, I think I’m in love with Syd.” Izzy didn’t respond immediately, as if she sensed there was more. “And it scares me to death.”

Regan released a huge sigh and felt lighter for having stated her greatest fear out loud. Her eyes filled with tears and she fought to contain them. Izzy placed her coffee cup on the side table and moved the rocker so her knees were touching Regan’s. She placed a hand on Regan’s knee.

“Have you told her?”

What would’ve happened if she had? That one was easy. She was so emotionally raw and sexually psyched that if she’d stayed last night she would’ve blurted her feelings to Syd. And the end result would’ve been the same. Syd’s parting words had said it all. She was only interested in the here and now. Sexual gratification, on her terms. They were terms Regan knew she could never accept.

She’d tried for sex—just sex—with Syd, but when she saw Syd’s injuries her feelings rushed to the surface and her sexual tryst turned into lovemaking. Regan knew then that she would always want the surrender that came only with trust and true intimacy. She no longer wanted to pretend or hide her feelings. When had this happened? One minute she was floating blindly through her mundane life as a city attorney, comfortable in a relationship that had never met her needs; the next she was riding the razor-sharp edge of desire with a woman destined to break her heart. By then it was already too late for self-recrimination or turning back. She was firmly in the clutches of a force so pervasive that separation would surely be fatal.

Regan stared into eyes that reflected the blue intensity of her own and tried to explain. “I don’t think she feels the same way.”

“You won’t know until you ask.”

“I can’t.” Regan remembered the look on Syd’s face when she started to leave, her confusion and struggle to say the right words and at the same time her determination to avoid committing herself. “We want different things.”

“Oh, Regan. Life isn’t about guarantees or certainties. It’s full of mystery and ambiguity. Even when you think you know something, you often don’t. That’s what makes life worth living, the not-knowing. And that’s hard for you, especially after Martha, but you have to give it another try. You owe it to yourself.”

Regan smiled at her grandmother’s wisdom. She had a way of getting to the root of the situation. But did she have the courage to face her fears and Syd’s possible rejection? Her mind was reluctant, her body was already there.

Memories of last night triggered another wave of longing. The vivid recollection of their sex clung to the air in her nostrils like a whisper. She recalled images of Syd’s body, beautiful and writhing with desire. Those images, like the flesh, were like grappling hooks in her brain, snagging and ripping through her feelings.

Regan wouldn’t deny the truth. She had fallen hard for Syd. The passion she’d felt for her since their first night together never seemed to diminish or disappear, only to spark and spread. It was risky to care about someone with Syd’s reputation and colorful past, but she’d seen her vulnerability and it was compelling. If given the chance of a relationship with Syd, she would take it. Syd was etched into her heart just as clearly as those knife and gunshot wounds were etched on Syd’s body. And, like scars, the touches of some women never completely faded. Sydney Cabot was one of those women.

Going to the same restaurant where she’d seen Regan with the platinum blonde gave Syd the heebie-jeebies. It had taken too long to choose her simple outfit of red blouse and beige cropped pants, and now she was running late. That would not make a good impression on a first date, if this could be considered a date. So far, the signs didn’t appear to be in her favor for the perfect rendezvous, but she’d take whatever she could get.

She found Regan immediately, at the same table by the window that she’d shared with Blondie. Ugh. When Regan stood to greet her, the sight of her nearly took Syd’s breath away. Her closely trimmed blond hair was immaculately roguish, the waves refusing to be tamed and a single curl spiraling down her forehead. She swaggered toward Syd in gray slacks that clung to her willowy frame and rested low on her hips. Her confidence and sexuality oozed from every pore like perspiration on a humid day. A pinstriped button-down shirt hugged her athletic breasts and plunged into the waistband of her pants, something Syd wished to do at that very moment.

As she approached, Regan tugged at an open leather vest that topped her shirt. The tips of her fingers brushed against her braless breasts and Syd almost groaned. “You look delicious.”

The look in Regan’s eyes showed her appreciation as they swept slowly up and down her body, pausing at her breasts. “I’m so glad you called.”

She wrapped Syd in a hug that draped her in warmth and lingered. The flowery scent of jasmine wafted into Syd’s nostrils like an aphrodisiac. “Me too.”

Smooth, Cabot. You sound like a first-grader.

Regan’s smile did nothing to soothe the turmoil that had consumed Syd since she’d made the phone call two days ago. It had taken all day Sunday and most of Monday to muster the courage to reach out, and then Regan put her off another whole day. The wait had been agony.

“I had to see you.”
Now you sound desperate.
“I mean there’s a lot to talk about, I think.”
Stop while you’re ahead.
Syd motioned to their table, realizing they were still standing in the center of the restaurant, still within each other’s embrace. “Why don’t we sit down?”