COLLEEN CLEANED OUT HER REFRIGERATOR.
She washed the bathroom floor and checked her email.
She called the center’s main office to find out the status of Andrea Barker, who’d been attacked just outside her home. There was no change, she was told. The woman was still in a coma.
By 9:00, Bobby still hadn’t called.
By 9:15, Colleen had picked up the phone once or twice, but each time talked herself out of calling his hotel.
Finally, at 9:45, the apartment building front door buzzer rang.
Colleen leaned on the intercom. “Bobby?”
“Uh, no.” The male voice that came back was one she didn’t know. “Actually, I’m looking for Ashley DeWitt?”
“I’m sorry,” Colleen said. “She’s not here.”
“Look, I drove up from New York. I know she was coming here and… Hold on a sec,” the voice said.
There was a long silence, and then a knock directly on her apartment door.
Colleen looked out through the peephole. Brad. Had to be. He was tall and slender, with dark-blond hair and a yacht-club face. She opened the door with the chain still on and gave him a very pointedly raised eyebrow.
“Hi,” he said, trying to smile. He looked awful. Like he hadn’t slept in about a week. “Sorry, someone was coming out, so I came in.”
“You mean, you sneaked in.”
He gave up on the smile. “You must be Colleen, Ash’s roommate. I’m Brad—the idiot who should be taken out and shot.”
Colleen looked into his Paul-Newman-blue eyes and saw his pain. This was a man who was used to getting everything he wanted through his good looks and charisma. He was used to being Mr. Special, to winning, to being envied by half of the world and wanted by the other half.
But he’d blown it, big-time, with Ashley, and right now he hated himself.
She shut the door to remove the chain. When she opened it again, she stepped back to let him inside. He was wearing a dark business suit that was rumpled to the point of ruin—as if he’d had it on during that entire week he hadn’t been sleeping.
He needed a shave, too.
“She’s really not here,” Colleen told him as he followed her into the living room. “She went to visit her aunt on Martha’s Vineyard. Don’t bother asking, because I don’t know the details. Her aunt rents a different house each summer. I think it’s in Edgartown this year, but I’m not sure.”
“But she was here. God, I can smell her perfume.” He sat down, heavily, on the sofa, and for one awful moment Colleen was certain that he was going to start to cry.
Somehow he managed not to. If this was an act, he deserved an Oscar.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?” he asked.
Colleen shook her head. “No.”
“Is this your place or hers?” He was looking around the living room, taking in the watercolors on the walls, the art prints, the batik-patterned curtains, the comfortable, secondhand furniture.
“Most of this stuff is mine,” Colleen told him. “Although the curtains are Ashley’s. She’s a secret flower child, you know. Beneath those designer suits is a woman who’s longing to wear tie-dyed T-shirts.”
“Did she, uh, tell you what I did?” Brad asked.
“Yup.”
He cleared his throat. “Do you think…” He had to start again. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”
“No,” Colleen said.
Brad nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t think she will, either.” He stood up. “The ferry to the Vineyard is out of Woods Hole, right?”
“Brad, she went there because she doesn’t want to see you. What you did was unconscionable.”
“So what do you recommend I do?” he asked her. “Give up?” His hands were shaking as if he’d had too much coffee on the drive up from New York. Or as if he were going into withdrawal without Ashley around.
Colleen shook her head. “No,” she said. “Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.” She looked at the telephone—it still wasn’t ringing. Bobby wasn’t calling. That left only one alternative. She had to call him. Because she wasn’t going to give up, either.
She followed Brad to the door.
“I quit my job,” he told her. “You know, working for her father. If Ashley calls, will you tell her that?”
“If she calls,” Colleen said, “I’ll tell her you were here. And then, if she asks, I’ll tell her what you said. But only if she asks.”
“Fair enough.”
“What should I tell her if she asks where you are?”
He started down the stairs. “Edgartown. Tell her I’m in Edgartown, too.”
BOBBY STARED AT THE phone as it rang, knowing it was Colleen on the other end. Had to be. Who else would call him here? Maybe Wes, who had called earlier and left a message.
It rang again.
Bobby quickly did the math, figuring out the time difference…. No, it definitely wasn’t Wes. Had to be Colleen.
A third time. Once more and the voice mail system would click on.
He reached for it as it began to ring that final time, silently cursing himself. “Taylor.”
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”
“And yet you picked it up, anyway. How brave of you.”
“What’s happening?” he asked, trying to pretend that everything was fine, that he hadn’t kissed her—again—and then spent the entire afternoon and evening wishing he was kissing her again.
“Nothing,” Colleen said. “I was just wondering what you were up to all day.”
“This and that.” Mostly things he didn’t want to tell her. That when he wasn’t busy lusting after her, he’d been checking out John Morrison, for one. From what Bobby could tell from the locals, Morrison was mostly pathetic. Although, in his experience, pathetic men could be dangerous, too. Mostly to people they perceived to be weaker than they were. Like women. “Is your door locked?”
Colleen lowered her voice seductively. “Is yours?”
Oh, God. “This isn’t a joke, Colleen,” he said, working hard to keep his voice even. Calm. It wasn’t easy. Inside he was ready to fly off the handle, to shout at her again. “A woman you work with was attacked—”
“Yes, my door is locked,” she said. “But if someone really wants in, they can get in, since my windows are all open wide. And don’t ask me to close and lock them, because it’s hot tonight.”
It was. Very hot. Even here in his air-conditioned hotel room.
Funny, but it had seemed nice and cool right up until a few minutes ago. When the phone rang.
He’d showered earlier in an attempt to chill out, but his hair, still down around his shoulders, was starting to stick to his neck again. As soon as he got off the phone with Colleen, he’d put it into a ponytail.
Shoot, maybe he’d take another shower. A nice, freezing-cold one this time.
“Colleen,” he said. Despite his attempts to sound calm, there was a tightness to his voice. “Please don’t tell me you sleep with your windows unlocked.”
She laughed. “All right,” she said. “I won’t tell you.”
Bobby heard himself make a strangled sound.
“You know, if you want me to be really, absolutely safe, you could come over,” she told him. “Although, you’ve got air-conditioning over there, don’t you? So you should really ask me to come to the hotel. I could take a cab and be there in five minutes.”
He managed a word this time. “Colleen…”
“Okay,” she said. “Right. Never mind. It’s a terrible idea. Forget it. Just forget about the fact that I’m here, sitting on my bed, all alone, and that you’re just a short mile away, sitting on yours, presumably also all alone. Forget about the fact that kissing you is on my list of the five most wonderful things I’ve ever done in my life and—”
Oh, man.
“I can’t do it,” he said, giving up on not trying to sound as desperate as he felt. “Dammit, even if you weren’t Wes’s sister, I’m only here for a few more days. That’s all I could give you. I can’t handle another long-distance relationship right now. I can’t do that to myself.”
“I’ll take the days,” she said. “Day. Make it singular if you want. Just once. Bobby—”
“I can’t do that to you.” But oh, sweet heaven, he wanted to. He could be at her place in five minutes. Less. One kiss, and he’d have her clothes off. Two, and… Oh, man.
“I want to know what it’s like.” Her voice was husky, intimate across the phone line, as if she were whispering in his ear, her breath hot against him. “Just once. No strings, Bobby. Come on…”
Yeah, no strings—except for the noose Wes would tie around his neck when he found out.
Wes, who’d left a message for Bobby on his hotel voice mail…
“Hey, Bobby! Word is Alpha Squad’s heading back to Little Creek in a few days to assist Admiral Robinson’s Gray Group in Tulgeria as part of some kind of civilian protection gig. Did you set that up, man? Let me guess. Leenie dug in her heels, so you called the Jakester. Brilliant move, my friend. It would be perfect—if Spaceman wasn’t being such a total jerk out here on my end.
“He’s making all this noise about finally getting to meet Colleen. Remember that picture you had of her? It was a few months ago. I don’t know where you got it, but Spaceman saw it and wouldn’t stop asking about her. Where does she go to school? How old is she? Yada-yada-yada, on and on about her hair, her eyes, her smile. Give me a break! As if I’d ever let a SEAL within twenty-five feet of her—not even an officer and alleged gentleman like Spaceman, no way. Look, I’ll call you when we get into Little Creek. In the meantime, stick close to her, all right? Put the fear of God or the U.S. Navy into any of those college jerks sniffing around her, trying to get too close. Thanks again for everything, Bobby. I hope your week hasn’t been too miserable.”
Miserable wasn’t even close. Bobby had left misery behind a long time ago.
“Maybe we should have phone sex,” Colleen suggested.
“What?” Bobby dropped the receiver. He moved fast and caught it before it bounced twice. “No!”
She was laughing at him again. “Ah, come on. Where’s your sense of adventure, Taylor? What are you wearing? Isn’t that the way you’re supposed to start?”
“Colleen—”
She lowered her voice. “Don’t you want to know what I’ve got on?”
“No. I have to go now.” Bobby closed his eyes and didn’t hang up the phone. Yes. Oh, man.
“My nightgown,” she told him, her voice even softer. Slightly breathy now. Deep and husky, her voice was unbelievable even when she wasn’t trying to give him a heart attack. Right now, she was trying, and it was pure sex. “It’s white. Cotton.” She left long pauses between her words, as if giving him plenty of time to picture her. “Sleeveless. It’s got buttons down the front, and the top one fell off a long time ago, leaving it a little…daring, shall we say? It’s old—nice and soft and a little worn-out.”
He knew that nightgown. He’d seen it hanging on the back of her bathroom door the last time he and Wes had visited. He’d touched it by mistake when he’d come out of the shower, thinking it was his towel. It wasn’t. It was very soft to the touch.
Her body, beneath it, would be even softer.
“Want me to guess what you’re wearing?” she asked.
Bobby couldn’t speak.
“A towel,” she said. “Just a towel. Because I bet you just showered. You like to shower at night to cool down before you go to bed, right? If I touched you,” her voice dropped another notch, “your skin would be clean and cool and smooth.
“And your hair’s down—it’s probably still a little damp, too. If I were there, I’d brush it out for you. I’d kneel behind you on the bed and—”
“If you were here,” Bobby said, interrupting her, his voice rough to his own ears, “you wouldn’t be brushing my hair.”
“What would I be doing?” she shot back at him.
Images bombarded him. Colleen, flashing him her killer smile just before she lowered her head and took him into her mouth. Colleen, lying back on his bed, hair spread on his pillows, breasts peaked with desire, waiting for him, welcoming him as he came to her. Colleen, head back as she straddled him, as he filled her, hard and fast and deep and—
Reality intervened. Phone sex. Dear sweet heaven. What was she doing to him? Beneath the towel—yes, she was right about the towel he wore around his waist—he was completely aroused.
“What would you be doing? You’d be calling a cab to take you home,” he told her.
“No, I wouldn’t. I’d kiss you,” she countered, “and you’d pick me up and carry me to your bed.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” he lied. “Colleen, I have…I really have to go now. Really.”
“Your towel would drop to the floor,” she said, and he couldn’t make himself hang up the phone, both dreading and dying to hear what she would say next. “And after you put me down, you’d let me look at you.” She drew in a breath, and it caught—a soft little gasp that made him ache from wanting her. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. “I think you’re crazy.” His voice cracked.
“No. Oh, your shoulders are so wide, and your chest and arms…mmmmm.” She made a sound deep in her throat that was so sexy he was sure he was going to die.
Stop this. Now. Somehow he couldn’t make his lips form the words.
“And the muscles in your stomach, leading down to…” She made another sound, a sigh, this time. “Do you know how incredibly good you look naked? There’s…so much of you. I’m a little nervous, but you smile at me, and your eyes are so soft and beautiful, I know you’d never hurt me.”
Bobby stood up. His sudden, jerky movement was reflected in the mirror above the dresser, on the other side of the dimly lit room. He looked ridiculous standing there, his towel tenting out in front of him.
He must’ve made some anguished noise, because she quieted him. “Shhh. It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. Nothing about this was okay. Still, he couldn’t hang up. He couldn’t make her stop.
He couldn’t stand the sight of himself like that, standing there like some absurd, pathetic clown, and he took the towel off, flinging it across the room. Only now he stood there naked. Naked and aching for someone he couldn’t have. Not really.
“After I look at you for a long time…” Her voice was musical. Seductive. He could have listened to her read a phone book and gotten turned on. This was driving him mad. “I unbutton my nightgown. I’ve got nothing on underneath, nothing at all, and you know it. But you don’t rush me. You just sit back and watch. One button at a time.
“Finally, I’m done, but…I’m shy.” She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was very small. “I’m afraid you won’t…like me.” She was serious. She honestly thought—
“Are you kidding? I love your body,” Bobby told her. “I dream about you wearing that nightgown. I dream about—”
Oh, my God. What was he doing?
“Oh, tell me,” she breathed. “Please, Bobby, tell me what you dream.”
“What do you think I dream?” he asked harshly, angry at her, angry at himself, knowing he still wasn’t man enough to hang up the phone and end this, even though he knew damn well that he should. “I dream exactly what you’re describing right now. You in my bed.” His voice caught on his words. “Ready for me.”
“I am,” she told him. “Ready for you. Completely. You’re still watching, so I…I touch myself—where I’m dying for you to touch me.”
She made a noise that outdid all of the other noises she’d been making, and Bobby nearly started to cry. Oh, man, he couldn’t do this. This was Wes’s sister on the other end of this phone. This was wrong.
He turned his back to the mirror, unable to look at his reflection.
“Please,” she gasped, “oh, please, tell me what you dream when you dream about me.” Oh, man. “Where did you learn to do this?” He had to know.
“I didn’t,” she said breathlessly. “I’m making it up as I go along. You want to know what I dream about you?”
No. Yes. It didn’t matter. She didn’t wait for him to answer.
“My fantasy is that the doorbell rings, and you’re there when I answer it. You don’t say anything. You just come inside and lock the door behind you. You just look at me and I know. This is it. You want me.
“And then you kiss me, and it starts out so slowly, so delicately, but it builds and it grows and it takes over everything—the whole world gets lost in the shadow of this one amazing kiss. You touch me and I touch you, and I love touching you, but I can’t get close enough, and somehow you know that, and you make my clothes disappear. And you still kiss me and kiss me, and you don’t stop kissing me until I’m on my back on my bed, and you’re—” her voice dropped to a whisper “—inside of me.”
“That’s what I dream,” Bobby whispered, too, struggling to breathe. “I dream about being inside you.” Hell. He was going to burn in hell for saying that aloud.
Her breath was coming in gasps, too. “I love those dreams,” she told him. “It feels so good…”
“Yes…”
“Oh, please,” she begged. “Tell me more….”
Tell her… When he closed his eyes, he could see Colleen beneath him, beside him, her body straining to meet his, her breasts filling his hands and his mouth, her hair a fragrant curtain around his face, her skin smooth as silk, her mouth soft and wet and delicious, her hips moving in rhythm with his….
But he could tell her none of that. He couldn’t even begin to put it into words.
“I dream of touching you,” he admitted hoarsely. “Kissing you. Everywhere.” It was woefully inadequate, compared to what she’d just described.
But she sighed as if he’d given her the verbal equivalent of the Hope Diamond.
So he tried again, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He stood there, listening to himself open his mouth and say things he shouldn’t say to his best friend’s sister.
“I dream of you on top of me.” His voice sounded distant and husky, thick with desire and need. Sexy. Who would have thought he’d be any good at this? “So I can watch your face, Colleen.” He dragged out her name, taking his time with it, loving the way it felt in his mouth, on his tongue. Colleen. “So I can look into your eyes, your beautiful eyes. Oh, I love looking into your eyes, Colleen, while you…”
“Oh, yes,” she gasped. “Oh, Bobby, oh—”
Oh, man.