Heather Graham Bundle: The Island / Ghost Walk / Killing Kelly / The Vision. Heather Graham
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give me a hand.”
Her friend wasn’t going to say any more over the phone, she realized. She was just glad for the information she had gotten.
If anyone was guilty, it was Brad and Sandy. Not Keith Henson or his friends. Not the man with whom she’d already slept, who was standing in her living room, surveying it with what appeared to be a practiced eye.
“Beth?”
“I’m here.”
“You’ll meet me?”
“Sure. I have to run into the office for a little while in the morning, and then I’ll be out.”
“See you then. Be careful, okay?”
Beth paused for a moment. “I will.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
She hung up and found Keith smiling at her. “It really is a nice place.”
“I’m glad you like it.” She was convinced there was certainly nothing evil about the man, so why did she feel uncomfortable?
She still didn’t know why Sandy and Brad were the ones attracting suspicion when others had been on the island, as well, and the Monocos had been missing for roughly a year.
“Are you in Miami for long?” she asked.
“I don’t know. We kind of go with the flow,” he told her.
“Must be nice.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You’re acting very strangely.”
“According to you, I’m always acting strangely.”
“Sorry. And I’m sorry for just showing up, too. I honestly thought I was invited. Since that evidently wasn’t the case—”
“It wasn’t, but you—you don’t have to go,” she murmured quickly.
“You don’t seem pleased that I’m here.”
She smiled suddenly. “Actually, I am,” she told him very softly. Then, because it seemed to her that the tone of her voice was way too intimate, she said quickly, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I…well, to use one of Amber’s words, I suck as a hostess. Can I get you a drink? I think I have wine and beer. Or coffee? Tea? Water?”
He grinned, walking toward her.
She was startled that she was still standing. She felt as if her bones had turned to liquid, destroying all hope of remaining upright.
Then he was there in front of her. He touched her chin, lifting it just slightly. She met his eyes and felt as if they could make her forget the world, melt into his being.
She shouldn’t give so much to someone she had known so fleetingly, she knew. It was one thing to think she had every right to moments of sex, sensuality and lunacy. But this…
This was frightening.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured huskily, his thumb traveling a path along her cheekbones. “When I should have been thinking about so much else.”
She couldn’t think of a thing to say to that.
“Should I leave?” he asked.
“Are we going to go through this again?” she asked very softly.
“I only—”
“If I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have asked you to stay. Yes, I know your speech. Don’t get involved with me. Well, we’re hardly involved.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“We have different definitions of involved, then.”
“So this means nothing to you?” he queried.
“I didn’t say that,” she told him. “But involved…that would mean I’d know where you were, not because you owed me explanations, but just because you’d want me to know. Wanting to see me again would be a priority for you, and seeing you would be a priority for me.”
“Beth, right now I can’t—”
“I didn’t ask you to. I’m a grown-up. I’ve made my choice. I don’t want you to go. It’s already late. You’ll leave too soon as it is, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then…”
His movement always seemed unhurried, easy, as if he were a cat that had long studied its prey and seldom failed to reach its objective. It was in his eyes, as well, in his voice, that thing about him, always so casual, and yet…
What was his real objective?
Tonight, she decided, it was her.
Tonight there was nothing rushed about him. He studied her eyes again for a long time, as if waiting for a protest, knowing there would be none, but still giving her a chance to turn away.
She had no intention of doing any such thing.
At last his lips touched hers, and every remaining bit of resolve she might have felt fled. Her arms moved around him, fingers threading into his hair, and she tasted the kiss, explored the texture of his lips, felt the exhilarating sweep of his tongue.
His hands worked magic, cradling her nape, pulling her closer. The length of his body was a fire, rock-hard strength, something she wanted, needed. And where before it had been anticipation of all that was new, now it was memory of what was real, electric and compelling.
There had been a strange honesty in getting to know him…at least in this. She pulled away and said softly, “I do have a bedroom.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And I’d love to see it.”
She hesitated. He was giving her another out.
“Are you staying?”
“All night. I have to leave early. If that’s all right.”
“It wasn’t a demand.”
He lifted her chin again. “I think I would stay forever if I could.”
Strange words. A line? At a different time, that possibility might have bothered her. But not tonight.
She turned, her hand in his, and started up the stairs. He followed close behind. She didn’t put on the bedroom light; with him beside her, she liked the shadows, a realm where her own uncertainties could be hidden. With him in her house, she wasn’t afraid of whatever lay beyond the door. The darkness offered no threat.
If he wanted light, he said nothing. She stripped the comforter from the bed and watched as he undressed, while she did the same. It seemed so bizarre. She had never had an affair like this before. She wondered vaguely if being together twice constituted an actual affair.
Then she didn’t wonder about anything. He came to her in the shadows, touched her, and his naked flesh against her own seemed to be the most erotic splendor she had ever known. She allowed her fingers to play down his chest, feel the beating of his heart, knead the length of his back. The shadows gave her confidence, and from his back she slid the feathery brush of her fingertips lower, teased his buttocks, then stroked the rise of his erection. And then…
She found herself lifted, lying on the cool sheets, startled by the extreme difference between the crisp coolness of the bed and the heat of his body.
The pressure of his body aroused her. Their lips fused, hands stroked wildly. They broke apart, panting in the darkness, came together again. Her fingers moved through his hair. His lips moved to her throat, to her collarbone, below.
The touch of his fingers, the simmering, liquid heat of his lips and tongue, slowly trailed down her body. She writhed as if she longed to become part of him. She was in thrall to a brush, a stroke, a feathered sensation that