Friction. Part 10

"No! For Christ's sake, no, I'm not married. What kind of guy do you think I am?"

He seemed truly shocked and offended, but she wasn't going to let it throw her.

"Fine, that's good. So what is it then?"

His look became guarded, and she knew she had him-she just didn't know what she had him on. A different approach was called for. Somehow she knew he wouldn't be pressured or nagged into telling her what he was up to, and she really wasn't one for nagging anyway.

She leaned in, running her hand over the muscles of his forearm, finding her way into the crook of his neck where she planted a few wet kisses, feeling the pulse at the base of his throat beat more strongly. Whispering in his ear, she reminded him of the things he'd said to her on the beach-his secrets, his fantasies-and asked him to spend the night with her so she could make a few of them come true.

How was a guy supposed to resist an offer like that? Logan felt his entire body go up in flames at her whispered suggestions, and went rock-hard when her hand drifted from his arm to his thigh. He had work to do, he had arrangements to make-he needed to get on board that boat, to find out what had happened to Mel-so why was he finding it almost impossible to think about his work with Sarah's scent surrounding him? Suddenly he didn't seem to want anything but her touch, and to be inside her, sleeping next to her....

His mind reared back, protesting-he'd just met this woman, and he was letting her distract him from a goal he'd spent months pursuing. He was letting his little head lead the way, and that wasn't like him. He owed Mel-she'd been his friend, and he had to stay on track so he could clear her reputation. Maybe even find her, though his gut told him that wasn't going to happen. If Mel was alive, she would have contacted him if she could; he believed that.

But even thinking about the case couldn't dampen his response to Sarah's seduction. He tried to ignore the way her tongue darted out and tasted his skin-he was going to have a h.e.l.l of a time getting up from this table-but he had to try to concentrate on what was important. He liked Sarah, but he had to keep things controlled, mostly himself.

"I-I, uh, I'm just a little tired. Remember I didn't sleep much last night, and it's been a um, busy day."

She laughed huskily by his cheek, not about to give up. "We slept into the afternoon. I'm wide-awake." She drew back, leveling him a seductive look that nearly knocked him off his seat. "And I want you. I want to spend the night with you."

Then she added the one word that really killed him, knowing her as he did. Her eyes locked to his, she simply said, "Please."

Sarah realized both things were true-she did want him, and she did want to spend the night with him, more so than she had imagined-but she also wanted to see if she could break through this mystery of why he always dumped her at the doorstep like a princess about to turn into a pumpkin. She didn't even mind doing a little light pleading-it didn't feel wrong. In fact, she knew it would touch him. And from the look on his face, it had.

She wanted to know that whatever it was he did at night, he was willing to give it up for her. Or she wanted to know what it was.

He was hiding something, obviously. She looked around, glad to see that they were more or less alone, the other couples milling about near the food at the center of the garden. She slid her hand up his thigh, pressing against the erection that was hard to miss. She was obviously having an effect on him and that pleased her.

"Let's go back to the room. Yours, mine, I don't care. I don't want to be alone tonight."

He groaned into her neck, straining against her, and sighed his resignation. "Yours." The word emerged as a groan as he found her mouth in a hot kiss, and she responded victoriously. Whatever he'd been doing with his nights, it couldn't be all that important.

They stood and made their way around the edge of the garden and to the back stairs that led up to the second floor, to her room. Sarah's heart beat like mad as she pushed the door open, pulling him in behind her quickly and stifling the urge to giggle. She hadn't brought a man back to her room in at least seven years. She hadn't had the urge to giggle for longer than that.

The giggle turned into a laugh as she danced backward, feeling turned-on and powerful, giddy with the prospect of the night before them, the fact that he had come back with her, had chosen her over anything else.

He stood still, looming and masculine, watching her in the dimly lit room, seeming out of place in the more femininely decorated s.p.a.ce. She crooked her finger.

"I want to help you make a few fantasies come true tonight, Mr. Sullivan."

She heard his sharply drawn breath as he stepped forward. "Do you now?"

She unb.u.t.toned the blouse she was wearing, sliding it slowly from her shoulders.

"But since we're on my turf, I'm the boss. You just do as you're told." Her tone was playful but demanding-she held her stance as he stood still by the side of the bed.

"What if I don't agree to those terms?"

She shimmied out of the short skirt, standing before him in a matching black thong and bra. "Then I guess I'll just have to convince you to see things my way."

The sounds of the party still going on down in the garden lifted up through the screens, and she shivered as she felt the cool breeze waft through the window. It felt like rain was in the air; an early-summer storm was brewing. Maybe that was responsible for the electricity she was feeling.

"And how are you going to do that?"

She stepped closer. "I have my methods."

He stood with his hands by his sides and she stopped directly in front of him, just a breath away from touching him.

"You have too many clothes on." She reached out, sliding her hands underneath the summer-weight sweater he wore, pushing it up and over his head. He didn't resist, not that she'd expected him to. Leaning forward, she lowered her mouth to drag her tongue over one of his flat, brown nipples. Looking down she saw he'd bunched his hands into fists, but didn't move otherwise. She drew back and smiled at him, touching the thin, white scar on his shoulder.

"What happened?"

He looked down, as if he'd forgotten the mark was even there. "Got in a fight when I was a teenager. Rough times, short temper. The other kid had a knife."

She leaned in, licking along the scar, murmuring sweet nothings.

"You taste good."

"Anything to please."

"Really? Anything?"

His eyes, seeming almost black in the low light of the room, fixed on hers and he nodded. She stepped back.

"Take the rest off for me."

He slanted a smile, releasing his belt and unzipping his khakis, removing them in slow, strong, masculine movements. She took a deep breath, signaling to him to continue, and he did, removing his briefs and socks until he stood there naked and completely aroused, waiting for her next command.

"Do you trust me?"

He nodded and looked much more confident than she felt. She'd never done anything like this before, never had this much control, with the responsibility of trust placed firmly on her shoulders. She'd never realized how delicate it was, to hold someone else's fantasy in your hands, to make it come true. It meant something to her that he was willing to trust her, and she was going to make sure he didn't regret it.

"Come here."

He did, and she pulled a padded wooden chair from where it stood by the wall, and indicated to him to sit. He did.

"Put your hands down by the sides."

He hesitated just for a second, then did as she said, and she left him for a moment, rifling through one of her drawers, and pulled out two pairs of hose. Efficiently, quietly, she bound his hands and ankles to the chair. When she rose to stand in front of him, she thought she detected a slight apprehension in his gaze, and the unexpected feeling a rush of power and arousal stunned her.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Not entirely."

"What hurts?"

He looked down at his lap, his erection straining toward her, a.s.suring her he was more aroused than ever, and that it wasn't the bindings that bothered him.

Rea.s.sured, she walked in a circle around him, watching him and smiling wickedly. "So, where should I start? Here?" She fell forward, bracing her hands on each of his shoulders and taking his mouth in a smoldering kiss, leaving him panting and straining harder by the time she drew back, strategically brushing the tip of his c.o.c.k with her thigh. "Or here?" She let her mouth dip to his chest, kissing him in as many tender spots as she could find leaving little nips along the way until she had the satisfaction of feeling him pull against the bindings.

"Here, maybe?" She settled down on her knees, grazing her fingers over his sac. His head fell back on a loud gasp, his chest heaving with excitement.

"Oh, I know. Here Here...." She moved forward, her own heart slamming in her chest as she did something she'd only done once before, and silently prayed she did it well enough. Spotting the drop of dew at the tip of his p.e.n.i.s, she touched it with her tongue, tasting the salty sweetness of him, and found herself compelled to taste more. She wanted to know all of him. Moving closer, she took him in her mouth, glorying in his strangled groan, the tension of his bound limbs, and suckled gently before sliding the rest of the way down.

"Oh, Sarah..."

She moaned against him, the vibration eliciting another shudder from him before she really lost herself in exploring him this way, the taste and scent of him fueling her desire as she encompa.s.sed him over and over, touching him everywhere she could reach and becoming frustrated with the bonds herself, wanting access to all of him.

Standing up, her chest heaving, a slight sheen of perspiration covering her skin, she practically ripped off the thong and bra, approached him like a cat, draped one long leg over the side of the chair and straddled him. As she was kissing him she reached down, positioning him, and enveloped him inside her in one searing thrust. Her hands wove into his hair as she continued to kiss him, holding him captive as she clenched him tightly inside. He broke away, his words ragged against her skin.

"Sarah...ah, I need to touch you...please."

His gaze landed hungrily on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and she stared back at him, shaking her head in the negative, denying his request. She cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pinching and rolling her stiffened nipples, arching back, taking him deeper and sighing his name as she moved faster, pleasuring herself and letting him do nothing but watch and feel.

Their sounds filled the room, panted promises and murmured pleas, the slap of flesh against flesh until neither one could hold out and their cries of release rose up together, merging with the sound of fat raindrops. .h.i.tting the windows and the laughter of partygoers running inside from the sudden shower.

Sarah continued to rock against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck, catching her breath. After a few moments she slid from his body, silently untying the silk bonds. His hands slipped under her arms, drawing her up and pulling her into his arms to experience the most tender kiss she'd ever known.

IT DIDN'T HIT her until deep into the night that she was alone. They'd made love through the storm, falling into an exhausted sleep wrapped around each other. The absence of the heat of his body woke her from a disturbing, restless dream, and Sarah sat up in bed. her until deep into the night that she was alone. They'd made love through the storm, falling into an exhausted sleep wrapped around each other. The absence of the heat of his body woke her from a disturbing, restless dream, and Sarah sat up in bed.

"Logan?" She spoke into the empty room, and there was no response. A chill worked its way down her spine as rain still slapped against the windows, sparkling droplets clinging to the gla.s.s as she slid from the bed, felt around her closet for a robe and put it on.

He wasn't in the bathroom; he was gone. A cold feeling settled in where only warmth had been before. She found her slippers and left the room. The door to his room was shut, but she turned the k.n.o.b a little and it pushed open. Nothing was ever locked around here. Stepping inside, she found only darkness.

"Logan?" Her whisper carried through the empty room again, with no response. She wrapped her arms around herself, stepped in a little farther and reached for the light on the bed stand. Where could he have gone?

The bed was made; he hadn't been here. She swallowed a sense of dread; the room suddenly felt empty to her, as if its occupant was long gone. Had he left? Why would he? Looking for a sign of his presence, she opened a drawer, finding socks, pants and underwear, and then spotted several fat manila envelopes under the clothes. And a laptop.

A laptop? Here? She looked closer. It wasn't anything fancy, but how weird to have it here. Did he know about their policy before he came?

Picking up one of the envelopes, she hesitated. She shouldn't be doing this, no matter what. Even if what they had wasn't just a fling-and she was beginning to wonder if that was all it was-it gave her no right to paw around in his personal things.

She leaned down to replace the envelope, gasping when the flap fell open and a sheaf of papers-photographs-fell out.

As she looked down and bent to gather them, her stomach churned. She saw the photos of women scattered on the floor. p.o.r.nographic pictures of women in compromising positions, hardcore shots that smacked of a professional job. A small cry escaped her lips.

They were Logan's. He was involved with p.o.r.nography? It didn't seem right, but, as her aching heart reminded her, shame washing over her while she stared at the photographs, it never seemed right. It was always the guy next door, the one you would have suspected last. The one who'd just made love to you.

So this is what he did at night? What he was hiding from her? He was holed up in his room with a laptop and a p.o.r.n collection? Was he collecting or just browsing? Buying or distributing? Professional or amateur? She made herself look again-it wasn't anything she hadn't seen before-and noticed many of the pictures were of one woman. Was he stalking someone? Was she a favorite?

She clutched the robe around herself, suddenly feeling dirty and shamed. She hadn't let herself feel like this for a long time, and her mind raged at the return of the familiar sensations of being used, humiliated.

Her heart hardened over the ache. She'd find out, d.a.m.n him.

"Sarah, what-"

She twisted around and found him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he saw she'd discovered his secret. She stood, too, letting the rest of the papers and photographs fall from her hands to the floor, facing him. What now? She was alone, without any resources whatsoever except her own wits. No one knew except the two of them. She was on her own.

He stepped into the room and closed the door and she took a deep breath, steadying herself. He sounded normal when he finally spoke.

"I'd just gone downstairs to get something to drink. When I came back up, you weren't in bed. I saw that my light was on." He shook his head, running a hand through his beautiful sable hair. "s.h.i.t, Sarah, this is really not a good thing."

She almost laughed, too many emotions coursing through her to name as she fought to keep control of the situation. She would keep control-her life might depend on it. She schooled her features and calmed her voice, staring him down.

"You've got that straight, slick."

8.

THEY STARED each other down for several seconds and he took in the tension in her muscles-she was poised for a fight, not just guilty at being caught going through his things. Did she think he was some kind of pervert? He blinked, realizing that was exactly what she was thinking. each other down for several seconds and he took in the tension in her muscles-she was poised for a fight, not just guilty at being caught going through his things. Did she think he was some kind of pervert? He blinked, realizing that was exactly what she was thinking.

"Listen, Sarah, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not-those aren't mine."

She swiped him with a look of disbelief that would have had a lesser man cowering, and he took a heavy breath before speaking again.

"I mean, yes, they are mine, but it's not what you think. They're not personal photos, they're for work. My work. My job."

That sent her eyebrows up, and had her eyes flaring even more furiously than before. She held her rigid stance. "Yeah, I can tell. It's obviously professional work. Are you the photographer or the distributor? No-wait." She stemmed his immediate objection. "There'll be time to get into that later. But you need to tell me one thing, and if you lie to me, I can promise you, you're going to regret it big time."

He took the bait. "What's that?"

The rest of the color drained from her gorgeous face, though her eyes remained cool as slate. "Did you take pictures of us? Have you taken any hidden shots of me while I didn't know, because if you did, or if you lie to me about it-"

"Sarah!" His voice bellowed in the small room, cutting her off. Whatever he'd expected to hear her say, it wasn't that. that. How could she think he was even capable of such a thing? How could she think he was even capable of such a thing?

"There's no way I would do that. Not to you, not to anyone. I told you, if you will give me a d.a.m.n second to explain, this is all a part of my work." He stepped forward, putting his hand up to stop the next biting comment she was ready to spit in his direction.

"I'm a cop."

They both backed up a pace. He knew he'd spoken, but he could swear she'd said exactly the same words, at exactly the same time.

"You're a cop?"

Again, in perfect unison that echoed between them, they asked each other the same question. As they started to speak again, Sarah held her hand up this time.

"No, stop. Okay." She paused for the moment. "You go."

He nodded. "I'm a cop in Baltimore. A detective. I'm looking into a case, those women in the pictures have come up missing. I'm trying to find out what happened to them." He held her gaze. "You're a cop? Did I actually hear that, or am I going crazy?"

It hit him for the first time that maybe his department had taken his defection seriously. Had she been sent to watch him? But then why would she be so surprised and mistakenly a.s.sume he was a p.o.r.nographer? She couldn't think he had anything to do with Mel's disappearance, even the thought of that made his blood boil, and he was wrenched from his thoughts by her staccato response.