Sheltering Dunes (3 page)

Tory laughed. “Did
we
suddenly say why?”

“Oh yes.” Reese nodded solemnly while holding up the bath sheet. “Yucky.”

Still laughing, Tory turned so Reese could drape the towel around her shoulders. “Do I need to take over now and give her another bath?”

“Nope.” Reese pulled Tory back against her chest. “Kate came early to get her. Reggie’s off with Grandmoms and we’re all alone.”

“Really.” Tory shivered slightly, pulling the towel more securely around her torso. “The shower’s yours, then. I’ll go get dressed.”

“In a hurry to get rid of me?” Reese nuzzled Tory’s damp auburn hair, inhaling the coconut vanilla scent that was so distinctly Tory. “When was the last time we were alone?”

“I don’t remember,” Tory murmured, arching her neck to give Reese better access. “But we have a plane to catch in an hour and a half.”

“Mmm. Plenty of time.”

“Darling, I’m going to get you all wet.” Tory skimmed her mouth along the edge of Reese’s jaw.

“I’m not complaining.” Reese cradled Tory’s breasts through the towel, gently caressing as she dried her. Tory tightened her butt into Reese’s crotch and Reese rumbled low in her throat. “That’s no way to take my mind off how good you feel.” She rubbed Tory’s nipple through the soft cotton, her pulse soaring when the round peak hardened against her palm. She stroked lower over the damp bare skin of Tory’s abdomen and feathered her fingers through the delta between Tory’s thighs.

“Reese,” Tory pressed her hand over Reese’s, cupping herself with Reese’s fingers, “the time. Our appointment with Wendy, remember?”

“I’m the sheriff. We won’t get held up at the airport.” Squeezing gently between Tory’s legs, Reese nipped at Tory’s earlobe. “We don’t usually have morning time without the baby. I want to take advantage.”

Tory spun in Reese’s arms, wrapped an arm around Reese’s neck, and let the towel fall to the floor. “I’d say you’re taking advantage of me.”

“Maybe so.” Reese kissed Tory’s throat and slid her fingers down Tory’s belly and over the slick, hot folds between her thighs. “Maybe you should call a cop.”

Tory opened her legs and tilted her hips, inviting Reese to enter. Her breath caught as Reese filled her. “I would,” Tory gasped, slowly riding Reese’s fingers up and down, “but I happen to know the sheriff is busy right now.”

Reese pressed her cheek to Tory’s, losing herself in the heat of Tory’s body and the silken glide of skin over skin. Tory’s quiet sighs of pleasure, the scratch of Tory’s nails over the top of her hand as she thrust a little harder, a little deeper, eclipsed all concerns of planes, schedules, or any other obligation beyond making Tory come. This moment was everything. With Tory in her arms, with Tory holding her inside, she knew exactly who she was and where she belonged. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Tory said, her voice low and husky. “And you’re going to make me come.”

“I want you to. I need you to.” Reese bit down gently at the base of Tory’s neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, just hard enough to make Tory tighten around her inside.

“Oh God,” Tory whispered, shuddering in Reese’s arms.

Passion coated Reese’s fingers. Firm hot muscles gripped, pulsing with life and power. Tory bucked in her arms, the thrust of her thigh stroking Reese’s clitoris through the thin cotton of her boxers. Reese moaned against Tory’s throat. “You make me so damn hot.”

“Good.” Tory jerked. “Oh damn, I’m going to come right now.”

“You come for me, baby,” Reese whispered. She backed up a step, pulling Tory with her, and leaned her ass against the counter so she wouldn’t fall down. Nothing made her come harder or faster than Tory coming in her arms. Her hips spasmed. Close now. So damn close. She tried to keep her rhythm, wanting Tory to have everything she needed, but her mind was blurring, her control slipping. “I’m right with you.”

Tory cried out, gripping Reese’s wrist so hard she’d probably leave a bruise. Reese groaned, her thighs shaking, pleasure detonating in her depths.

“Oh my God,” Tory murmured again, leaning bonelessly against Reese’s chest. “I don’t know how you do that to me.”

“Do what?” Reese rested her chin on Tory’s shoulder, breathing hard.

“Make me come like it’s the first time, every time.”

Reese chuckled. “Always feels like the best time, every time. Hell, my head is ringing.”

“Darling,” Tory muttered, dragging herself from Reese’s embrace, “that’s my phone.”

“Any chance you can ignore it?” Reese grabbed a robe from the back of the door and handed it to Tory. “You’re off today, remember?”

“I know, I know,” Tory called as she rushed into the bedroom. “Hello? Dr. King.”

Reese followed and leaned against the doorway. Across the room, Tory juggled her cell phone in one hand as she shrugged into the robe. Her hair was wet and tangled, her breasts flushed and still tight-nippled from her recent orgasm. Her shoulders and arms were muscled from her daily rowing, her toned abdomen slightly rounded, her thighs tight. She was beautiful. Looking at her made Reese’s chest so full she could barely breathe.

“All right. I’ll be right there.” Tory tossed her phone onto the bed and gave Reese an apologetic smile. “I’ve got to make a stop at the clinic. Nita is busy with someone in heart failure and the paramedics are bringing in a trauma patient. I’m sorry. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“That’s okay. We’ll catch a later flight.” Reese strode to the closet and pulled out a button-down navy blue shirt. “We can call Wendy’s office from the clinic.”

“We could wait until next month,” Tory said hesitantly.

“No, we can’t.” Reese stripped off her egg-stained T-shirt and tossed it toward the hamper on her way to Tory. She had been reluctant at first, worried and a lot scared. But Tory wanted this, and now, so did she. Grasping Tory’s shoulders gently, she kissed her. “The thermometer says today is the day. We’re going to Boston to make a baby.”

Tory wrapped her arms around Reese’s waist and pressed her face to Reese’s chest. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

“I seem to recall something about that.” Reese kissed the top of Tory’s head. “I love you back. So, you ready to do this?”

“More than ready.” Tory smiled. “Let’s go take care of business.”

*

“You said you were going to take off the straps,” Mica said, gripping the sides of the stretcher as the vehicle swayed around a corner and accelerated. She didn’t really feel as if she was going to fly off the stretcher, but holding on to something made her feel more in control. Flynn squatted beside her, fiddling with the intravenous line she had inserted into Mica’s right wrist. Her dark blond brows were drawn down in a frown, her lids—layered with long, thick blond lashes—curtained her eyes. She couldn’t see Mica staring at her, so Mica stared. Flynn was good-looking in a crisp, Anglo kind of way—arched cheekbones, wide jaw, squarish chin with a tiny dent. Thin, narrow nose. She reminded Mica of the white girls who came from uptown to hang out in the rough bars of the barrio and flirt with dangerous boys. A couple of them had even flirted with dangerous girls. The first time a skinny redhead with perky breasts, bare midriff, and two-hundred-dollar jeans had flirted with her, offering to buy her a drink in exchange for a ride on Mica’s motorcycle, Mica had laughed it off. She’d been afraid her homies would somehow sense the way her stomach twisted and she got all hot inside when the girl had smiled at her with just the tip of her soft pink tongue tracing over her full lower lip. Watching the redhead’s tongue slide over the rosy surface, she’d gone liquid in places she never did when Hector touched her. She’d feared what Hector would do if he even suspected she enjoyed the Anglo girl’s attention—less afraid for herself than for the girl. So she’d turned away, straddling Hector’s lap at the bar instead, making a show of kissing him. But that night in the small alcove off the living room where she slept behind a blanket tacked to the archway, she’d thought about that redhead and her nipples had tingled and she’d gotten wet. When she woke in the morning, aroused and uncomfortable, she’d made herself come thinking about the redhead’s tongue moving in slow motion over her pussy.

Flynn made her think of those rich girls with her clear, flawless skin and handsome face, but she was nothing like them, not really. Flynn looked at her with calm, certain eyes—eyes that asked for nothing. Those other girls had taunted and teased and flirted, all the while flaunting their privilege and fleeing back to their safe neighborhoods in their expensive cars as the night grew dark and perilous. She’d never slept with the redhead. She’d never slept with any of them. But she’d secretly wanted to.

“I never said I’d take the straps off, but I can loosen them,” Flynn said, reaching for the buckle on the nylon belt across Mica’s chest. She released that one, then the one across her hips. “Dave is a good driver, but I don’t want you getting dumped on the floor. Is that better?”

Mica’s tank had pulled up, and her bare stomach tingled where Flynn’s fingers had brushed over her skin. No one had touched her in months, and those hands had been rough and hurried. Not careful and caring, like these.

Mica tried to turn her face away, afraid Flynn, with her piercing blue eyes, would see too much. “This thing on my neck is worse than the straps. Can you take it off?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry. I think your neck is okay, but I don’t want to take any chances until Dr. King clears you.”

With every passing second, Mica’s mind cleared and the churning in her midsection grew. She knew what these clinics were like—cold, impersonal, harried places where the sick and the injured were an inconvenience at best, targets for the frustrations and disappointments of others at worst. She would be sucked back in when she was so close to being free. What could she say to make Flynn let her go? “I can’t pay.”

“Do you have any insurance?”

Mica laughed mirthlessly. “Do I look like I have insurance? I can’t pay for this. You’re not helping me by forcing me to do this.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll talk to Dr. King. There are ways to—”

“No. I don’t want you to talk to anybody. I’ll take care of things,” Mica snapped. The last thing she needed was someone else asking questions about her. “You’ve already made enough trouble.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m overstepping,” Flynn said softly, and the concern in her voice softened the edges of Mica’s anger.

“Never mind,” Mica said. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’ll handle it.”

“Okay. Whatever you want.” Flynn squeezed her forearm lightly. “We’ll get you checked out, you can call your boss, and Dr. King’s office manager—Randy—can sort out the financial stuff.”

Mica grimaced. As if anything could be that simple. “Sure. Whatever.”

The ambulance slowed, made another turn, and crunched over gravel, finally stopping. The siren died with a lingering wail that echoed the ache in Mica’s chest.

“We’re here,” Flynn said. “I’ll stay as long as I can. If we get another call, I’ll have to leave.”

“I don’t need you to stay. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” Flynn said.

The doors swung open, and bright sunlight streamed into the back of the ambulance. Mica blinked, tears blurred her vision, and a large dark shape loomed in the doorway. Hector! She jerked, her heart pounding erratically, and yanked at the straps imprisoning her. She must have made a sound, because Flynn gripped her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s all right. Does something hurt?”

Mica wet her lips as the man climbed into the van. He might not hurt her right away, but if Flynn— His features became clearer. The other paramedic. Not Hector. Mica took a shuddering breath.

“Mica?” Flynn asked.

“Everything’s fine.”

Maybe if she said it enough times, it would one day be true.

The sky whirled dizzyingly over Mica’s head as Flynn and the big man slid the stretcher out of the van. The collapsible legs clanked down with a jolt, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her body shook as the paramedics maneuvered her across the uneven surface, stones crunching beneath the wheels with the snap of bones breaking. With her neck held immobilized by the wide stiff collar, her vision was limited, but if she tightened her belly and lifted her shoulders she could see a little bit in front of her. The first time she tried, the pounding in her head got worse but she felt less imprisoned, and that made the pain worth it. The second time, her stomach somersaulted. A police cruiser was parked next to the stone steps leading up to the door of a low-slung gray building that must be the clinic.

“Why are the cops here?” Mica wiggled her arm out from underneath the restraining straps and yanked on the buckle. “I didn’t do anything. I’m not going in there.”

“Hold up a second, Dave.” Flynn hurriedly moved up the side of the stretcher until she was peering down at Mica. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Let me up.”

“I’m going to release the straps,” Flynn said, “but you have to promise—”

“Flynn,” Dave said, his gravelly voice holding a warning.

“It’s okay,” Flynn said in his direction, her eyes asking for a promise Mica didn’t want to make. “The straps are bothering her. She won’t try to jump off.”