No Sunshine When She's Gone (13 page)

Jill leaned back slightly, looked up, and met his gaze. She grinned. “That was fun,” she said, “and arousing, too, I see.”

He couldn’t hide that fact. There was no saving grace, so he’d just have to live with it. “What’s next?” he asked, letting her decide.

She checked out Whac-A-Mole, the basketball toss, penny pitch, and duck shoot. “How good are you at pinball?” she finally asked.

He’d been a pinball wizard in his teens. His initials were posted as the top scorer on nearly every one of the arcade machines. “I do okay,” was all he gave her.

“Let’s play then,” she challenged.

He was all for it. They walked the short distance to the entertainment center. Aidan nodded to the arcade manager as they entered. The man kept the vintage machines and classic games in perfect running order. Aidan casually chose the 1962 Rack-A-Ball as their first pinball competition. The billiard-themed game was his favorite.

“Ladies first,” he allowed. He’d never competed with a girl. He didn’t want to run up the score right off the bat and beat her too badly. He’d save his bragging rights for later.

“The object of the game is to keep the balls in play as long as possible,” he went on to explain. “You don’t want them going down the drain. Do you have any questions?”

“I think I’m good.”

He dropped a coin in the antique gold slot of the single player machine, and Jill got into position. She braced her feet, rolled her shoulders forward, and put her entire body into her play. She snapped the slingshot and the five small balls were set in motion.

She worked the flippers like a pro, aiming the balls at targets then back up toward the top. Lights flashed as she racked up points. Obviously, she knew the inner workings of the game, and had a few tricks up her sleeve, too.

Only a proficient player could bump the table at the right moment to influence the movement of the ball. The trick was legal. She knew exactly how hard to hit the machine without triggering the tilt mechanism, which would then stop the game.

Jill’s hips became a major distraction. She used her body like no player Aidan had ever seen. She was skilled and sexy. Shame on him for thinking he could beat the pants off her.

He stepped to the side and put some space between them. A small crowd had gathered. A group of young boys now surrounded her. They eyed her technique along with her bottom. They were old enough to appreciate a great ass. Jill had the best female butt Aidan had ever seen.

He glared at the kids, and they took the hint, focusing solely on her game. An hour passed, and he couldn’t believe the depth of her concentration and endurance. She was in the zone. All five balls remained in play; a record for most gamers.

“Wish I was that good,” Aidan heard a redheaded boy say. The kid appeared eight or nine, but was tall for his age. His T-shirt had a hole at the shoulder. His jeans were dirty and could stand on their own. The boy hadn’t bathed recently either. A ring of dirt circled his neck.

Jill’s motions slowed, Aidan noticed, as she took an interest in the red-haired kid. Aidan watched her watch the boy in the reflective back glass. Her expression softened.

She surprised them all by asking, “Who wants to take over my game?”

Excitement rippled the air. There was minor pushing and shoving as those boys standing near Jill tried to get even closer. Aidan held out his arm, not wanting them to bump her. “Easy does it,” he said. They backed off.

Her gaze never left the pinball machine as she called over her shoulder, “I’m thinking of a number between one and thirty. Whoever guesses it correctly stands in for me.”

Numbers were shouted from all sides. The moment the group quieted, awaiting the winner, Jill announced, “Number sixteen, front and center.”

The redheaded boy was stunned. His friends cheered and nudged him forward. He was so excited his hands were shaking. Their transition came next.

“Stand on my left,” Jill instructed the boy. “On the count of three, I’m going to ease right. You’ll need to slip your hands under mine and grab the flippers. Make it fast. Got it?”

The kid had started to sweat. Perspiration beaded on his brow and his upper lip. “I’m ready,” he said.

The exchange went smoothly. The boy stepped into Jill’s shoes and racked up his own points atop hers. His friends shouted encouragement.

Jill circled the group and came to stand by Aidan.

He leaned toward her, kept his voice low. “Lucky boy, guessing sixteen,” he said.

“He needed an opportunity to shine.”

“You knew this how?”

“I must be psychic.”

Not necessarily psychic, but compassionate, Aidan thought. He glanced at the gamers. Jill’s protégé was the center of attention. He was the man of the moment, and would remain a pinball star long after the game ended.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“You don’t wear a watch?”

“Never have,” she said. “I live by my inner clock.”

“Does that clock have a morning alarm?”

“I wake up between seven and eight, always have.”

He checked his Luminox. The watch was sturdy, but scratched. It had been a gift from his family when he’d completed his first commercial project. The black leather band had been replaced twice. The watch was as much a part of him as his worn work boots. “It’s almost nine o’clock,” he told her.

She blew out a breath and apologized. “Time got away from me. You didn’t have a chance to play.”

“Not a problem.” He grinned then. “You’ve got skills, babe.”

“Thanks to my older brother,” she told him, smiling. “He taught me hand-eye coordination. I learned from the best.”

That she had, Aidan had to admit. He wondered about her family, especially her brother, but saved his questions for another day. Tonight was all about fun. He didn’t want to get serious.

Hunger snuck up on him. “Let’s grab a bite to eat.”

Jill was all for it. “I could go for cheese nachos.”

They sat on a bench and shared hot dogs and two baskets of nachos. Jill chose blue cotton candy for dessert, which left her mouth and tongue blue. Aidan bet her lips tasted sweet and sugary.

“What else would you like to do?” he asked her when they’d finished eating.

She looked down the pier, then back toward the boardwalk. She grew thoughtful. “I don’t have to do everything in one night,” she confessed. “I’m taking a few days for myself. There’s so much to do and see. I want to ease into the community.”

Aidan understood. Barefoot William was fun in the sun. Life had its own pace at the beach; no one was in a rush. Time slowed to capture memories. The boardwalk and pier were as inviting today as they would be tomorrow. Jill had a year to explore and embrace his town.

He stood then, held out his hand, and she took it. He pulled her to her feet. They walked back to the parking lot. They were comfortable with each other, and there was no need for conversation.

He liked the way she squeezed his fingers to get his attention. She did so often, pointing out a unicyclist, a juggler, and a man walking on stilts. All familiar sights to Aidan, but he liked seeing them through her eyes.

They drove to the houseboat. She climbed the boarding ladder ahead of him, and he followed her up. They found Sadie with her nose pressed to the door, awaiting their return. She was glad to see them.

Aidan gave the dog his undivided attention for several minutes before saying good-bye to Jill. He faced her next, wanting to touch her, but keeping his hands to himself.

“Thanks for a fun night,” she said appreciatively.

“We’ll have to do it again sometime.” But he didn’t say when. He leaned toward her, kissed her lightly on the cheek. Had she moved the slightest bit, his kiss would’ve met her mouth. Her lips parted. Desire and indecision darkened her eyes.

A man knew when a woman was ready for him. His time with Jillian Mac was yet to come. He made her decision for her. He didn’t want to rush with this woman. Seeing her arousal was foreplay enough. He’d wait her out. He’d let their anticipation build.

Somehow he would manage. Cold showers, long runs, and working late were in his future. He hoped Jill would be there, too. Eventually.

He touched her arm as he turned to leave. “Don’t forget to stop by the trailer tomorrow,” he encouraged her. “I want you to meet my ladies.”

“I’ll think about it,” was all she would give him.

He hoped her curiosity would get the best of her. “See you soon.”

She nodded, and he and Sadie took their leave. He thought about his bed and his own navy cotton sheets on his drive home. Under the sea was far more appealing.

S
leeping at the administrative construction trailer was not appealing. Not tonight, possibly not tomorrow night either. Beach Walk was always an alternative. Mike Burke had an open-door policy with Aidan Cates. He could request a key from the manager or security guard whenever he wanted a change in scenery.

It was after midnight, and the guard just coming on duty indicated the penthouse was available. Mike now rode the elevator to the sixth floor. He stepped out into the hallway and let the silence settle his nerves. It had been one hell of a day. He’d walked the perimeter of the site as the chain-link fencing was being installed. The heavy equipment along with five double-wide trailers for the subcontractors had arrived. He’d directed traffic. He felt dusty, grimy, and in need of a shower.

He was also hungry. Starving, actually. He’d had a cheeseburger at lunch; that hadn’t tided him over. He could call and order a pizza. There were a few places in town that delivered until two a.m.

He stuck the key in the penthouse lock, but it didn’t immediately open. He jiggled and twisted the key six times before he heard the release click. He walked in and reached for the light switch. His fingers never connected with the lever.

Whack!
He was hit on the head by something solid. Tired and taken off guard, he staggered in the dark. His shoulder banged against the wall. His hip bumped the breakfast island.

“What the hell?”
he growled with the second strike. A third hit, and he’d had enough. He dove low and tackled his attacker.

They both went down. Mike pinned him to the floor. Sprawled across the body, he quickly realized the person beneath him wasn’t a man; it was a woman. Her softness and delicate almond scent stunned him. He’d never hit a female. He wasn’t about to start now. She, however, was out for blood. She slapped, pulled his hair, and drew up her knee. He was nearly rendered impotent.

“This isn’t a home invasion,” he growled, right before she punched him in the nose. Cartilage crunched. “Damn it, I’m not going to hurt you.”

She went instantly still, then exhaled sharply. Her voice shook when she asked, “Mike Burke, is that you?”

She had identified him, and he recognized her now, too. “Vanilla?”

“My name is Carrie.” She pushed on his shoulders. “Get off me.”

Darkness pressed them to the floor, and he lay atop her. She was no longer fighting him. He liked the way she felt. She had nice breasts, he noted. Her belly had softened against his abdomen. His cock settled at the V of her thighs. Settled, and wanted to stay.

She was the first to move. She rolled her hips, and he slid off her. He pushed up, and then ran his hand along the wall, searching for the light switch. He found it. Flipped it on.

He looked at her then, and his gut tightened. His surprise arrival had scared her. Her hair was as wild as her eyes. Her face was pale. Her granny nightgown had twisted, hanging off one shoulder and riding high on her thighs. He saw a lot of leg and the shadow of her sweet spot. He groaned inwardly.

He held out his hand and helped her up. That’s when he noticed her weapon. She clutched a sterling-silver candle holder. It was tall and heavy and designed for a thick pillar candle. He rubbed the top of his head and felt a small bump. The candle holder had done its job. Touching his fingers to his nose, he noticed blood. “I knew you had fight in you,” he said. “You’re more than Jill’s shy sidekick. You’re stronger than you look.”

She straightened her nightgown. “It was pure fear and adrenalin. Jillie’s older brother once showed us how to throw a right hook.”

Mike walked around the island breakfast counter and into the kitchen. He stood at the sink, turned on the water. He cupped his hand and cleaned off his nose. It stung a little. Vanilla packed a punch.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“I live here now.”

“Since when?” She had to be joking.

“Since today. Aidan offered the penthouse as a place to live and I moved in this afternoon.”

“How can you afford this place?” He was damn curious. Beach Walk was an exclusive rental property. The people leasing these apartments had money to burn.

Her face softened. “Aidan gave me a really good deal.”

A hell of a deal, Mike thought. Aidan hadn’t mentioned her taking over the penthouse. But then, Mike hadn’t seen much of his boss during the day. They’d dealt with separate problems and issues, and Aidan had been long gone by the time Mike called it quits.

“Is Jill here, too?” he asked. Maybe she was sleeping.

“She’s at the houseboat.”

“The two of you parted ways?”

“Jill fell in love with the Horizon and I liked the penthouse view,” she told him. “You’d be out cold had Jill been here. She keeps a baseball bat for protection.”

“I wasn’t aiming to hurt anyone,” he said. “I was merely looking for a bed and a few hours sleep. This is a two-bedroom apartment, right?”

“Yes . . . it is.” She sounded uneasy.

“I need somewhere to crash.”

“What’s wrong with the construction trailer?”

“It’s uninhabitable,” he said. “Boxes and file cabinets were hauled into the bedroom before we left Tallahassee. There’s a lot of shifting and sorting to do. I didn’t have time tonight. I’m too damn tired.”

“So you showed up here?”

“There’s usually an apartment open at Beach Walk. I’d hoped to have the penthouse to myself. It seems I’m stuck with you.”

“This is my place,” she said.

“Yours and mine for tonight,” he corrected her.

“I haven’t agreed to let you stay here.”

“You haven’t kicked me out either.”

“I’m still debating.”

“Make up your mind, sweetheart. I’m hot and sweaty and spreading dirt like Pig-Pen from the
Peanuts
cartoon.”

His mention of Pig-Pen won her over. “Use the guest bathroom.”

He was relieved. She’d given in, which he hadn’t expected. He’d been ready to leave. He could be a hard ass, but he’d never have pushed her further. Crashing with Aidan and the Cateses wasn’t an option either at this late hour. He did have a few manners.

He would never impose. Vanilla had saved him from driving the main strip, looking for a hotel with a vacancy sign.

He left the kitchen and headed down the hallway. “Towels?” he asked over his shoulder.

“They’re hanging on the warming rack.”

Warm towels—the penthouse had it all. Aidan had spared no expense. Mike would be considerate and shower in the guest bathroom, although his muscles would’ve appreciated the pulsing jets of the Jacuzzi tub off the master suite. He could make sacrifices.

He showered with a fresh bar of almond soap, but didn’t shave. There was no suitable razor. The girly pink Schick wouldn’t cut his stubble. He needed an electric razor with a dual-edge blade. His whiskers stayed with him.

He used one bath towel to dry off, then wrapped a second about his waist. The ends split over his hip, barely covering his man parts. He’d gone from home invader to flasher.

His clothes were filthy. Most of the apartments had a stacked washer/dryer combination, usually hidden behind louvered doors. He hoped Carrie had detergent.

She did, he soon discovered. Sixty-four ounces of Fresh Wash. A bargain brand. He removed his wallet and keys from his jeans pocket, set them on the shelf. He then dumped his clothes in the machine, poured in a capful of the off-brand, and set the short cycle. He returned to the kitchen while the tub started filling.

Carrie was still up. She’d put on a robe, fluffy and blue. She now sat on the edge of the couch; her expression showed concern and contemplation. Uncertainty.

“Are you waiting up for me?” he asked. “It’s late.”

“I’m wide awake, and it’s all your fault,” she accused, sounding grumpy. “You woke me. I need eight hours of sleep to function.”

“I have insomnia most nights,” he admitted. “I’m lucky to get three hours. Tonight I’m really tired. I’ll be down for six.”

Her gaze flicked over his chest and white towel. “Where are your clothes?” she asked, staring at his groin.

He shifted, and hoped he stayed covered. “In the washing machine.”

Her sigh was long-suffering. “You’re using my washer and my detergent?” She wasn’t happy about that fact. The lady needed to learn how to share.

“Half hour max,” he assured her. “A ten-minute wash, and a twenty-minute dry.”

“You’ll sleep in your clothes then?”

“Yeah, right.” Naked did it for him.

She wasn’t convinced. She tucked her robe tighter around her, looking like a mummy.

He was too hungry to debate prude or nude. “Do you have anything to eat?” he asked.

“You expect me to feed you, too?”

“I’m your guest.” He returned to the kitchen and opened the nearest cabinet. He was rewarded by a box of Fiber Flakes. He’d never heard of the cereal, but there weren’t a lot of choices. The lady’s cupboards were bare. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said, opening the top without her permission.

“That was my breakfast.”

“I won’t eat it all.” He stuck his hand in the box. “I don’t need milk.” He sampled the contents. The damn flakes were dry. They tasted like cardboard. “Does the fiber keep you regular?” he asked.

She blushed. “I have no idea. I’ve never tried the cereal. It was on sale.”

Bargain flakes. Great. He grabbed another handful, hoping the taste would improve. It didn’t. The cereal sat heavy on his stomach. It would be hard to digest. One last scoop and he returned the box to the cupboard. He belched.

“Are you staying up?” he asked. She hadn’t left the corner of the couch.

She yawned. “I’ve haven’t decided yet.”

“I’m going to wind down with ESPN,” he said.

He walked to the opposite end of the sofa and dropped down. He adjusted his towel. Free-balling was no fun unless a woman snuck a peek. Carrie’s gaze was on the ceiling.

“Which bedroom is mine?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Which one do you think?”

“The master bedroom has a king-size bed.” He’d checked it out when he’d returned from his shower. “I’m tall, you’re small. I like to spread out. I imagine you sleep fetal.”

“I don’t curl in a ball.” She was huffy.

He cleared his throat, said, “You made your bed with silk sheets.”

“You have no business in my room.”

“I saw it from the hall.” One corner of his mouth curved slightly as he stared at her robe and granny gown. “You need to unwrap, Vanilla. Pratesi is best experienced naked. Silk feels good on your skin.”

She worked her bottom lip.

“You’d feel uninhibited and sexy, and might even take a lover. You could use a good—”

She left the room then, without a good-night, sleep tight. What had he expected? He’d been rude to her. He was damn lucky to be sitting on the sofa in her penthouse. He could’ve landed at a hotel or, worst scenario, he might have been reduced to sleeping in his car. There wasn’t a lot of room in his Porsche. He’d have been poked by the stick shift, and not in a good way.

He located the remote control on the coffee table and turned on the big-screen television. He felt as though he was sitting at the ESPN desk himself. He listened to the basketball scores, but changed the channel when it came to major league baseball. He hadn’t watched a game in years.

The time had come for him to fight his demons. The Rogues were coming to Barefoot William. He would soon have to face his past and all he had lost. His stomach tightened at the thought.

He flipped the channel and caught the end of a sitcom. He bored easily. Turning off the TV, he took to pacing. His clothes were soon ready for the dryer, and he changed them out. Alone in the hallway, he stretched, scratched his belly, then his balls.

He had the sudden urge to look in on Carrie. Had she taken his advice and slept nude? He might never know. Her preference was her preference. He’d caused her enough grief for one night.

He entered the guest bedroom and was greeted by white cotton sheets. No surprises there, he thought. He dropped his towel, tucked back the comforter, and slid onto the bed. His last fleeting thought before he fell asleep was of Carrie. He punched his pillow. Of all the women in his life, why her?

Carrie Waters wakened slowly. Apprehension pushed her up on one elbow. She smelled coffee, which meant someone had made a pot. That person was Mike Burke. He was still at her penthouse; still making himself at home. That irritated her enough to roll out of bed. Nude.

There was no denying she’d slept well. The silk sheets were a nighttime caress. She was on vacation, and could take a nap later in the day if she so chose. She just might. The idea was appealing.

She pulled a face. There was no easing into her day, not with Mike rummaging around her kitchen. She needed to see what he was up to. All that noise didn’t come from him finishing off her Fiber Flakes.

She crossed to her dresser, opened the top drawer, and selected a sports bra and high-cut bikini panties. She shook out a folded
Virginia is for Lovers
T-shirt, slipped it on. A pair of gray sweatpants came next. The carpet was so plush, she hated to put on shoes. She let her toes go naked.

She swiped a brush through her hair, then pulled it into a high ponytail. She walked into the master bath, wiped a wet washcloth over her face, and gargled with mouthwash. She wasn’t primping for Mike. There was no point. The man didn’t even like her.

She found him in the kitchen, wearing the same clothes from the night before, only cleaner. His T-shirt was actually gray; she’d initially thought it was brown. His jeans rode low and Emporio Armani was visible on the waistband of his black boxers. He liked his silk.

“I bought breakfast,” he announced when he saw her. “The food kiosk in the lobby had an assortment of doughnuts, muffins, and bagels. I didn’t know what you might like, so I—”

“Purchased one of each?” She was amazed at the variety. Bakery items filled a white square box.

He poured her coffee into a cobalt blue glass mug. “I went through the cupboards and drawers and found paper plates and napkins, but couldn’t find any cream or sugar,” he said.