Friction. Samantha Hunter
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unwanted desire.
This was totally out of character. She wanted to kill Ian for sending her on this vacation.
“It sucks that bad, huh?”
And sucking. Yes, tugs could lead to sucking, too. And licking…. Oh, damn, just stop already!
Sarah drew a deep breath. Logan had spoken to her again, but she was determined to just ignore him this time.
“I thought you were napping.”
So much for ignoring him.
Vacation was obviously playing havoc with her normal sense of independence and self-control.
“I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was too worried about what was happening with Rose and Russell.”
She wanted to laugh and had to choke it down.
“The usual. Piercing and poking and such.”
“Sounds painful.”
“Some people are into that.”
“Are you?” The question was baldly stated and openly curious. He was flirting with her. Well, she would put an end to it.
“No.”
She rose, struggling with the stupid beach chair once again. The stupid joints wouldn’t bend, corroded by salt or age or something, and she grimaced, putting as much muscle into it as possible. The chair gave way, the metal bending under the force of her efforts, the joints popping altogether.
“Ouch. You sure wrestled that into submission.”
Didn’t this guy ever quit? Still, something about his light, teasing tone and comment broke through her annoyance, and she shook her head, chuckling lightly.
“It really wasn’t a fair fight.”
“Understandable. The chair is clearly an unworthy opponent.”
Was he suggesting that he would be worthy? She stood, picking up the broken chair, looking down at Logan and feeling that stupid, aggravating tug yet again.
Okay, so he was eye candy. Lean and tall, he lay over the sand with the kind of reckless sexuality that probably made women turn to jelly with just a glance, though he didn’t seem to be posing. He wasn’t leering or posturing, he was just…lying there.
His lean legs stretched out before him, feet half-buried in the sand. The light scattering of dark hair over his legs continued upward, gathering into a light seam over his flat stomach that thickened a bit on his chest. He had strong shoulders and tight, well-shaped arms. Nice chin, good cheekbones. Firm lips. He was what she’d always thought of as “whiplike”—thin and sinewy, stronger than someone might assume at first glance. Probably fast.
There was a straight, white scar on his shoulder, about two inches long, and she almost asked him where it came from when she realized she’d been staring.
Damn. When caught, pretend not to notice, and then run as fast as you can.
He was looking up at her silently, waiting for her to finish her obvious inspection. He wasn’t the outdoorsy type, she guessed. His skin was not quite as light as hers, but it was clear he wasn’t used to being out in the sun.
“You’re going to burn if you stay out here much longer.”
With that clipped statement, she turned and walked toward the sidewalk.
She hadn’t made it halfway across the beach when she realized he’d caught up and was walking beside her. He stood just a little taller than she did, which meant he was at least six foot, maybe a little more, since she came in at five-ten in bare feet. When his arm brushed up against hers, she subtly stepped to the side as she kept walking, not wanting the contact.
“I’ll vouch for you that the chair broke when you sat in it and let the vendor know he should be lucky if you don’t sue him.”
“It didn’t break when I sat in it.”
“Just trying to save you an argument.”
She slid him a sidelong glance. “He won’t argue with me.”
A moment of silence as he digested that.
“Where are you from?”
“Brooklyn.” Regardless of where she lived now, or where she was born, she would always be from Brooklyn.
“Really? Your accent is certainly that of a New Yorker, but I wouldn’t have guessed Brooklyn.”
“I don’t have an accent.”
“Okay. Right. So what do you do in Brooklyn?”
He was not going to be easy to discourage. She looked at him through her shades, knowing he couldn’t see her eyes. She wasn’t really annoyed with him, she was irritated with her entire situation at the moment. She let that fuel her tone as she shut him down, once and for all.
“Listen, slick, thanks for the conversation but I’m not interested, okay? Have a nice nap.”
Turning to walk away, she didn’t look back as she left him standing quietly behind her.
LOGAN STOOD on the sand and felt put in his place, good and proper. Granted, he hadn’t dated in a while, and his social skills were probably a little rusty, but…ouch. And given the classic male sense of the hunt, wanting to go after things that presented a challenge, he was even more interested now.
He watched her hand the chair to the sidewalk vendor, who appeared to be apologizing profusely, his eyes level with her breasts the whole time he spoke. Sarah put one hand on a cocked hip and shot the other one to the guy’s chin, nudging his eyes up to meet hers. Whatever she said to him had those shocked eyes widening and he nodded quickly, handing her money back and not letting his gaze dip south again.
Logan smiled widely to no one in particular. It was clear Sarah was a woman who could take care of herself and who didn’t suffer fools lightly.
She’d shut him down, but he hadn’t mistaken her slight flirtation with him earlier, when he’d caught her reading. And even as she told him to pack sand, so to speak, her nipples budded endearingly against the soft material of the tank she wore.
Was she as interested as he was? He felt a curl of heat in his belly and knew he wanted to find out. He was male, she was gorgeous and he was on vacation, right?
Normal physical desire, effectively erased by the enormous stress he’d been under, suddenly thrummed through his bloodstream again when he pictured Sarah’s mouth. He could imagine kissing her, tasting her, and let himself imagine her wrapping those lips around him in the most intimate way….
He dropped back to his towel just in time to stretch out on his side lest anyone notice the somewhat untimely erection that sprang to life in response to his thoughts. He was reacting like a horny teenager, but he didn’t really mind, though true, it was inconvenient to be sitting here in public with a boner. It took him by surprise that he wanted her so distinctly. He took a deep breath to calm down and reminded himself why he was really here.
Finding out what had happened to Melanie, his partner for eight years on the Baltimore police force, that was his goal. Mel had had some problems, sure—especially right before she’d disappeared, she’d been on a disciplinary office suspension after having a few too many one night while on duty. She’d been dumped by her fiancé. And shortly after that, she’d had a violent encounter in an alley, as well. Both had left her nerves frayed, and her normally sound sense of judgment weakened by self-doubt. But she was a good cop, and a good partner. Logan believed that then, and he still believed it.
She’d thrown the suspension back in their faces, taking vacation time and heading to Virginia Beach. It was the last anyone had seen of her until some ugly photographs had surfaced during another investigation—explicit, pornographic footage in which Mel was clearly the star.
The department was concerned about its public image,