“We don’t have to do anything,” she said, annoyed by his reticence. “Give me back my panties, and we’ll just watch the movie.”
He shifted in his chair. “No way. I’m keeping them.”
She wasn’t getting her way, and she didn’t like it, so she pouted for a few minutes. Then she said, “I’m going to get popcorn.”
He held her arm. “No you aren’t.”
She shrugged, digging a twenty out of her pocket. “You go, then. I want a small popcorn, a large Coke, and some Red Hots.”
“I can’t,” he grated.
“Why not?”
He brought her hand to his lap and let her feel why not.
“Oh,” she said, giggling. “That would be noticeable at the concession stand.”
In the end, she went herself, because even though he was too stubborn to return her panties, she was too proud to let him order her around. He seethed the whole time she was gone, imagining her flirting with the popcorn boy, whose tongue had already been hanging out when he’d watched her walk by on the way in.
If he only knew.
She got back, set the popcorn tub between her legs, and invited him to grab a handful. He declined.
James tried to pay attention to the movie, but it was a lost cause. Instead, he concentrated on stifling his overactive imagination.
Halfway through the movie, she asked, “What are you going to do with my panties?”
He turned to look at her beautiful face. In the flickering light, her hair was as black and shiny as a raven’s wing. “What do you think I’m going to do with them?”
“Try them on?” she guessed.
He couldn’t help but laugh. Then consider. “No,” he decided. “At least, not the way you mean.”
She crinkled up her cute little nose, not following his train of thought. “You’re not going to smell them, are you?”
He smiled at her ignorance. It was the least he was going to do. “You should have thought of that before you gave them to me.”
She bit into her lower lip, concerned. “What if they smell like…”
“Like what?” he teased, looking down at her lap. “Popcorn?”
“No.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Like me.”
“I hope they do,” he replied honestly.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Give them back,” she whispered.
“No,” he said, standing firm. Or sitting firm anyway.
Unleashing the fury of a thousand warrior ancestors, Carly leapt on him and raided his pockets. Popcorn spilled all over the floor. She didn’t find her underwear. What she did encounter gave her pause. “You’ve been hard this whole time?”
He wrestled with his conscience, gave up, and pulled her into his lap, sent over the edge by her touchy-feely version of the Spanish Inquisition. Shoving his hand between her pretty legs, he did what he’d been desperate to do since she’d taken off her panties. “You’ve been wet this whole time?”
She gasped. Then moaned, tilting her hips forward.
He froze, appalled by his own behavior. Turned on by hers.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then she put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his fervently, wriggling on his lap.
James groaned, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and stroking her with his fingertips. He had never gotten a girl off before-at least, not on purpose. In the past, expediency had been key, not technique, tenderness, or generosity. With Carly, he wanted to give everything, ask nothing in return, so when he paid attention to what her body wanted, rather than his, he gave them both their first orgasm. Hers was the first she’d had with another person, and his, the first he’d granted someone else.
Afterward, she lay panting in his arms, her face pressed against his neck. “Do it again,” she whispered.
“I’d love to, Carly, but I’m having some…technical difficulties.” He took his hand out from underneath her skirt, moving slowly, trying to think unsexy thoughts. The danger zone was about to explode.
He set her away from him, very gingerly.
“What happened? Did I hurt you?”
“Give me that Coke,” he ordered. When she did, instead of drinking it, he put it in his lap. Through the layers of denim (his own) and cotton (borrowed, after a hasty shower this morning in the poolroom), the cold didn’t do much good.
“Oh, God! I did hurt you. I’m sorry.” She knelt in front of him, trying to find out what was wrong. “Did I smash your…parts?”
“No, Carly,” he groaned. “I’m about to come in my pants. And since I’m wearing your dad’s underwear, that would be a bad, bad thing.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a burst of hysterical laughter.
He closed his eyes. “I’m glad one of us is having a good time.”
She was still on her knees when the police found them.
Nathan was having a splendid afternoon on the deck of his sailboat with Peter. They were moored off the coast of Catalina Island, enjoying the cool breeze, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and each other.
When his cell phone emitted a few notes of “Wipeout,” the ring tone signaling a call from Ben, Nathan slipped his hand into his pocket. “I’ve got to take this,” he said, dropping a kiss on the top of Peter’s sun-warmed head.
Whistling cheerfully, he skipped down the steps leading to the galley, for privacy and to get out of the wind. The interruption couldn’t have come at a better time. Peter was charming, handsome, successful, and…yawn. Tediously boring.
“Hello?” he said into the receiver as his eyes adjusted to the change of light.
“Nathan? Where are you?”
Ben seemed frantic. Nathan felt a smile quirk his lips. “I’m out on the water. Must you always call when I’m otherwise engaged?”
“Sorry. I’m in jail.”
“In jail?” Nathan placed a hand over his heart, no longer enjoying his brother’s distress. “Whatever for?”
“Summer Moore is a cop.” He muttered a string of inventive curses, the volume fluctuating as he shifted the phone to his other ear. “That’s not even her real name. It’s Vasquez or some shit. She’s been investigating me the whole time.”
Nathan was astounded by this news. He considered himself a good judge of character and he’d liked Summer. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Now Carly’s friend is missing and they seem to think I had something to do with it.”
“Which friend?”
“Lisette.”
His stomach sank. Lisette Bruebaker was trouble with a capital T. She’d had a crush on Ben for years, and although she’d been quite overt in showing her affections, he’d never noticed.
“Why would they think you’re involved?” Nathan asked carefully.
Ben sighed. “She was last seen at my house, staying overnight with Carly. And the rest…the rest I shouldn’t say over the phone.”
Nathan gripped the phone in his hand until his knuckles turned white. His brother wouldn’t have touched Lisette, or any other underage girl, with a ten-foot pole. So why did he sound so worried? “Okay,” he said, checking his Rolex. “Hang tight. It will take me a few hours to get there.” He paused, considering the next course of action. “Have you called Dad?”
“No,” Ben said. And then, “Fuck, no.”
Fair enough. “What about Carly?”
“She went to the movies with James. I haven’t been able to reach her. You’ll have to call her cell phone, tell her where I am.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“It’s either that or let her freak out about the bullet hole in the ceiling when she comes home,” he said, raising his voice.
“Jesus Christ, Ben! Were you resisting arrest?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. They broke into my room like gangbusters. I almost had a heart attack. I didn’t know what the hell was going on.” The connection crackled with interference. “Is it even legal, for them to barge in like that?”
“In some cases,” Nathan admitted.
“Like what?”
“Murder investigations.”