Hot Contact (6 page)

She felt Joe's hand come to rest on her shoulder, and she sloughed it off. He held a box of tissues toward her. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't speak. She grabbed several tissues, swiped them under her eyes, and tried not to let the tears turn to sobs, even as they welled up in her chest, pressing painfully, seeking release.

The tape ended. She didn't move.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Arianna—”

“Don't, okay? Just don't.” She stood. Looked around. Now what? She needed to go home. She couldn't drive herself yet, that much she knew. “I need to find out who killed him,” she said.

“I know.”

She nodded. “I have to go.”

“Not yet. Take a few more minutes.” He stood. “Let me show you my house.”

“I—” She didn't really have an argument. “Okay. Yes, okay.”

“I'll show you the backyard first.” He took the lead. She followed, but her mind wasn't on the house or its furnishings except in vague awareness. Clean, uncluttered and homey, she thought.

He was talking to her but she wasn't paying attention, something about the house and the work he'd done on it, probably just words to distract her. An image flashed of him with his father. His tenderness. The pain in his eyes at being mistaken for his father's long-dead brother instead of his son.

Arianna put a hand on Joe's shoulder. He stopped, turned around, a question in his eyes.

“You take care of the world, don't you?” she asked.

He looked away.

She moved closer. She could see inside an open door to a bedroom, obviously his. A huge four-poster bed with maroon and blue bedding jumbled at the foot. The only bit of disorganization in his house.

“Who takes care of you, Joe?” she asked.

“I'm fine.”

“You're no more ‘fine' than I am.” She leaned toward him, her eyes open, and kissed him. “Who takes care of you?”

J
oe let her kiss him. Just for a minute, he thought. He would stop her in a minute.

But he didn't stop her. Couldn't— No. Didn't
want
to stop her.

He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her closer, tipping her head back, parting her lips with his, catching her sighs and moans in his mouth, a pleasure beyond his dreams. And he had been dreaming of her. Night and day. Hot, uninhibited dreams of what he would do if he had the chance.

He had the chance. Now what would he do?

It was too soon. They barely knew each other. They were both hurting. They weren't being rational. Stupid behavior led to stupid consequences.

She locked her arms around his neck and pulled herself against him. Her breasts cushioned his chest. Their abdomens melded. Her thighs pressed his, moved electrifyingly.

He slipped one thigh between hers and dragged it higher until she dropped her head back and made a long, low sound. He deepened the kiss as she went wild in his arms.

Consequences.
The word rang and echoed.

Be damned.
It had been so long, and she felt so good, and he needed to forget. So did she.

He backed her into his bedroom, stopped beside his bed, and looked at her.

“Yes,” she whispered, her hands along his face, pulling him back to her. “Yes.”

Permission in the word but a plea in her voice. Then there were no words between them, only the moment. The feel of her skin as he pulled her clothes away. The heated touch of her hands as she undressed him, explored him in the same way that he did her, in frantic haste but thoroughly. The taste of her, her spicy store-bought scent not masking the exquisite essence that was Arianna. The sounds that filtered from her chest and throat and mouth, wordless yet with so much meaning.

He'd never seen a more magnificent body, never made love with a woman who so matched him in need and strength. He acknowledged the exhilaration of finding such a rare partner as he urged her onto the bed.

Then he stopped thinking. She was there, everywhere, all around him, over, under and in him, the contact so hot they were slippery from sweat. Just as he was about to bury himself in her, she rose up, maneuvered him onto his back and climbed onto him, taking control, taking over. He let her…for the moment. How could he not? Her mouth lit fires along his skin, her hair sparked electrical charges so strong he thought he heard thunder. Her passion, her need, rained down on him until he was drowning in it.

He rolled with her, plunged into her, found a rhythm. Ah, damn, she felt good. Hot and slick and tight. Her strong
legs wrapped around him, her body arched toward him. She cried out, a sound that went on and on and on as he tried to hold back. Sweat poured from him. His teeth ground. His jaw locked. His muscles seized.

A dazzling display of light and sound burst around him. Then the quiet aftermath when the display was done. Peace. Joy. Pleasure. He couldn't remember another moment remotely like it.

He became aware of the world again little by little. Arianna didn't speak. He felt her stillness as much as he would've felt her agitation. He kissed her, but she barely responded. He moved to her side. She didn't look at him.

Regret
might as well have been written on her forehead.

Joe knew the moment she wanted to leave. He also knew she wouldn't want to be questioned about it, so he climbed out of bed and scooped up his clothes, then gathered hers and laid them on the bed.

He left without saying anything, dressed in the hall and waited for her on the living room sofa.

She still looked like a poster girl for unbridled sex, he thought, as she came up to him. “I have to go,” she said.

He nodded. He knew. She picked up the canvas bag containing her father's file.

Joe grabbed her wrist. “I'll help you.”

“Help me what?”

“Find out the truth about your father. If it's possible.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because even if you hadn't gone in search of answers to your questions, I would've found your father's file in the safe on my own. I would've felt obligated to know why it was there. What it means. I've discovered that I need answers, too, just like you.”

She pulled her hand free and sat down in a chair across from him. “What kinds of answers?”

“What role my father played. Where the gun came from.”

She straightened. “Are you saying—”

“I'm not saying anything. But there's a reason why he had the file locked up so that no one would find it but me—and then only on his death, he probably figured, not expecting Alzheimer's to strike first. I don't know what the reason is, but whatever it is can't be good.”

“No. But how can we work together? Especially now, after having sex.”

Her directness reminded him of her reputation for being unsentimental. He'd seen evidence contrary to that. Now he saw truth of it, too. Their lovemaking had apparently affected him more than her.

“Tonight I remembered something important,” he said, dragging his hands down his face. “I was fourteen when your father died. I remember because it was my freshman year in high school, which sticks in your memory, and my dad was on edge for months. Mom and I tiptoed around him. He must have been investigating your father's death.” In fact he'd been strung as tight as Joe had been for the past year. The parallels weren't hard to miss. Was it the case—as part of it was for Joe with the unsolved Leventhal case—or more?

“Joe.” She stopped, closed her eyes for a second. “How can we work together? One of us might find out something horrible about our father. There are ethics involved here, and our individual and personal need to keep our fathers honest and upright in our memories. That kind of conflict would be hard to reconcile.”

“So we should each investigate on our own? After twenty-five years and so little information to go on, how far do you think we'll get? If we put our heads and resources together, we might find something.” He leaned to
ward her. “I may learn my father didn't do his job competently. You may learn something about your father you don't want to know. But our goal is to find the truth, isn't it? No matter what the truth is. No matter how painful.”

She took a long time in answering. “Would you have told me about it, if you'd found the file before I came after the truth myself?”

“I don't know,” he said honestly. “Maybe I would've explored it first, then taken it to you. It's irrelevant, Arianna. We seem destined to work together on this. To know the truth.”

She cocked her head. “I never would've pegged you as a fatalist.”

“Things happen. If you don't accept them and move on, you wallow in it. Blaming fate is a good enough excuse.”

“It's not good to wallow,” she said, the beginnings of a smile forming.

“Definitely not.”

“Okay.” She rubbed her hands along her thighs. “Okay. We'll partner up. The cop and the P.I. Strange bedfellows, as Scott said.”

“‘Strange' isn't the word I would use.” Extraordinary. Incredible. Premier. For a second he thought she might blush, but she didn't. She did ignore his comment, however.

“When do you want to get started?” she asked.

“You name it. Tomorrow. Tonight. You're welcome to spend the night.”

“I can't,” she said instantly. “I have an early meeting and a full day. I can come after work.”

“That's fine. I have plenty to do.”

She stood, so he did, too. “Is everything done at your parents' house?”

“No. But it's getting there.” He pointed to the packet she still clutched. “I think you should leave that here.”

She pulled it tighter. “Why?”

“Because you'll stay up all night trying to make sense of it. You need some sleep.”

“If I leave it, you'll do the same.”

“I won't. Put it down, Arianna. It'll be safe here.”

“I want to make copies of everything, just in case.”

“I'll do that tomorrow.” He slid it from her hands. “Get some rest. I'll have dinner for you tomorrow.”

He wanted to ask her if she was okay to drive. He wanted to drive her home himself. Better yet to have her stay with him, sleep beside him. Just sleep. But he knew what her answer would be.

The moment grew more awkward. They'd made love. Shouldn't they kiss good-night? She wasn't wearing an expression that encouraged it. Ah, to hell with it. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. She didn't relax.

“I'm sorry about your dad,” she said against his shoulder. “I can't imagine how hard it is on you.”

“Thank you.”

He let her go. After a moment she headed to the front door. She looked back over her shoulder as if she wanted to say something, then didn't. He followed her to her car. She didn't waste any time taking off. He couldn't even call to make sure she got home okay. He didn't have her phone number. He'd slept with her, but he didn't have her phone number. What kind of sense did that make?

He locked up his house, stripped off his jeans and lay facedown on his bed where he could smell her in the sheets. He fisted the fabric. Had it only been a one-night stand for her? A way to forget for a little while?

Did he want more than that, anyway? He was setting himself up for more hurt if he expected more from her. Maybe he didn't even have it in him to give.

But he wouldn't know without trying.

 

Arianna stayed in her shower for a long time, her eyes closed, the water pounding her back. Idiot. She'd broken her hard and fast rules. One, never get involved with someone you work with. Two, always keep control of the relationship. Three, never have unprotected sex.

Well, now what was she supposed to do? First, she'd gotten involved with a man she'd worked with in the past and would likely work with in the future in an official capacity. Just as important, she was going to work with him now—on the most important investigation of her career.

Second, she'd lost control along the way, of her actions
and
reactions. He'd not only taken charge at some point, she'd let him. Stop the presses. That was headline material for her.

Third, it was the first time she hadn't demanded a man use protection. She was on the Pill, but still….

Look what she'd done. Broken all the rules. The repercussions were bound to haunt her.

She finally turned off the shower, grabbed the towel she'd thrown over the glass door and buried her face in it. She was crazy to get involved with him. Crazy and foolish. They were both vulnerable. Not a good time to embark on a relationship, especially a risky one.

Of course, it wasn't his fault they'd slept together, but hers. So, she only had herself to blame for the consequences. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him.

Arianna dried her hair, then slipped into a T-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms. Her neighbors wouldn't appreciate her playing the piano at this hour, and it was too late to return her mother's message on her answering machine. Thank goodness. She couldn't deal with her mother tonight.

She could deal with Joe, however.

She grabbed the phone, dialed his number. He answered on the second ring.

“I hope I didn't wake you,” she said.

“You didn't. I'm glad you called. Can't sleep?”

“I haven't tried yet. I needed to tell you something first.”

“Okay.”

She couldn't judge his tone of voice. “If we're going to work together, we need to forget tonight ever happened.”

“We do?”

“Yes.”

“Why's that?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

“Apparently only to you, Arianna. The way I see it, we reached out to each other. We kissed. We made love. It felt good. It felt great. Didn't it feel great?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. We needed each other. We met those needs. We're adults.”

He didn't sound the least bit perturbed. “I've never had unprotected sex before,” she said.

His hesitation seemed to stretch forever. “You're using birth control?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated, a smile in his voice. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay.” Which fixed only one of the three rules she'd broken. She tried to at least gain control of the relationship. “So, we're agreed we won't talk about it.”

Again he was silent for several seconds, then finally said, “You can try to ignore it all you want. I choose not to.”

“Meaning what?”

“I'm not going to ignore it. Or forget it. It meant something to me. Didn't it mean anything to you?”

How was she supposed to answer that? Damn him. He knew exactly how to put her on the spot. “It meant some
thing.”
I even broke my rules.
“But I'm asking you as a gentleman not to hold it against me.”

He laughed.

She realized what she'd said.
Damn
him. “I meant I'm asking you not to remind me of it constantly.”

“That's a promise I can't make.” His voice became gentle. “Nothing that good has happened to me in a long time. I can't ignore it. But I'll leave the next move to you, if that makes you more comfortable.”

He sounded a little bit smug, as if he knew she couldn't resist him. Well, she would show him. “Deal.”

“Sweet dreams,” he said.

“Same to you, Detective.”

He laughed quietly. “Back to business, are we? Okay. By the way, in case you're wondering, what happened tonight was only a sprint.”

She listened to the dial tone for several seconds before she replaced the receiver. Then she smiled.