The Alibi (9 page)

turned, and strode back to his car. She

dropped the gas cap in her haste to screw it back in.

Finally getting it secured, she rounded her car and got in. She started her motor; his car pulled up beside

hers.

He looked at her as though to make certain that she

was as resolute as he, that she wasn't going to bolt

and disappear the first chance she got.

Which she knew was what she should do. But she

knew with just as much certainty that she wouldn't.

Not now.

Hammond didn't take an easy breath until her car

came to a full stop beside his. He got out and went to

open her door for her. "Watch your step, it's dark."

Taking her hand, he led her up a crushed-shell path

toward the cabin. A small porch fixture provided just

enough light for him to see to open the lock with the

key he had brought with him from Charleston.

He pushed the door open and ushered her inside. A

local lady cleaned the place whenever needed. He

had scheduled her to come earlier that day. Rather

than smelling musty, like an empty, infrequently used

dwelling, the cabin smelled clean, like freshly laundered

linens. Per Hammond's request, the air conditioner

had also been left on, so it was pleasantly cool.

He closed the front door, separating them from the

porch light and plunging them into complete darkness.

He had every intention of being a good host and

gentleman, of showing her around the cabin, of offering

her something to drink, of telling her more

about himself and giving her time to adjust to being

alone with him only hours after their meeting. Instead,

he reached for her.

She came willingly into his arms, seemingly as

eager for his kiss as he was for hers. Her mouth responded

warmly to the thrusts of his tongue that

stroked and tested and tasted her until he had to pause

to catch his breath. Lowering his head, he pressed his

face into her neck, while her hands closed around the

back of his head and her fingers combed through his

hair.

He kissed his way up to her ear. "This is crazy," he

whispered.

"Very."

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"Of me?"

"No."

"You should be."

"I know, but I'm not."

His lips rubbed against hers in a not-quite kiss.

"Afraid of the situation?"

"Terrified," she said as her mouth dissolved

against his.

Finally ending the kiss, he said, "This is rash and

reckless and--"

"Totally irresponsible."

"But I can't help it."

"Neither can I."

"I want so much to--"

"I want you to," she sighed as his hands slipped

beneath her top and covered her breasts.

Any misgivings he had that the desire was onesided

vanished when her head fell back, offering her

throat to his lips while he caressed her. Her breath

caught and held when he fumbled with the front clasp

of her brassiere, but she released a soft murmur of

pleasure when his fingertips brushed her bare skin.

Her hands moved over his back. He felt all ten of

her fingers kneading muscle and exploring ribs and

spine. Her palms skimmed over his belt, settled on

his butt, pulled him into her.

They kissed once more, a long, deep, provocative

kiss.

Then he took her hand again and pulled her along

behind him as he felt his way across the living area

into the bedroom. The cabin wasn't luxurious by any

means, but he hadn't sacrificed all creature comforts.

Into a room too small for one, he had crammed a

king-size bed.

It was across this that they fell, coming together in

its center and twining around one another with the

blind, mindless craving of new lovers.

She lay on her side facing away from him.

Hammond tried to think of something appropriate

to say, but he discarded possibilities before they were

fully formed. Everything that came to mind sounded

either false, corny, cliched, or a combination thereof.

He even thought about telling her the truth.

My God, that was incredible.

You are incredible.

I've never felt like this in my life.

I don't want this night ever to end.

But he knew she wouldn't believe any of it, so he

said none of it. The long, strained silence became

even longer and more strained. Eventually he rolled

to his side and switched on the nightstand lamp. She

reacted to the light by pulling her knees up closer to

her chest, if anything becoming more withdrawn and

untouchable.

Discouraged, he sat up. His shirt was twisted and

unbuttoned, his pants unzipped, but he was still wearing

both. Getting up, he removed everything except

his boxers. When he looked up again toward the bed, she had rolled onto her back and was watching him,

her eyes wide and apprehensive.

"This is an awkward moment. That's fair to say,

isn't it?"

Hammond gingerly sat down on the edge of the

bed. "It's fair, yes."

She wet her lips, rolled them inward, averted her

eyes from his, and nodded. "Are you trying to think

of a graceful way to get rid of me now?"

"What?" he exclaimed softly. "No. No." He extended

his hand to touch her hair, but let it fall before

it reached her. "I was trying to think of a way to get

you to stay the night without making a complete fool

of myself."

He could tell that pleased her. Her eyes found his

again. She smiled shyly. Still sex-flushed, her lips

slightly swollen from hard kissing, her hair tousled

around her face, clothes in more disarray than his had

been, she looked incredibly seductive. Her breasts,

freed from her brassiere, lay softly against her chest

beneath her top. But her nipples were distinct against

the weave. He started getting hard again.

"I'm a mess." Self-consciously she tugged her

skirt down over her thighs. Both of them ignored the

pair of panties lying on top of the bedspread at the

foot of the bed. "May I use your bathroom?"

"Right through that door." He stood to leave so she

would have more privacy. "I'll get us something to

drink. Are you hungry?"

"After eating all that junk food at the fair?"

He returned her smile. "How about some water?

Juice? Tea? Soft drink? Beer?"

"Water's fine."

He hitched his chin toward the connecting bathroom

door. "If you need anything, just ask."

"Thank you."

She seemed reluctant to get off the bed while he

was still in the room, so he smiled at her again and

left her alone. Thankfully the cleaning lady had

stocked the fridge with bottled drinks, including

water. While there, he took an inventory of staples. A

half dozen eggs. A pound of bacon. English muffins.

Coffee. Cream? No. He hoped she drank her coffee

black. Orange juice? Yes. A six-ounce can of concentrate

in the freezer.

He rarely ate breakfast unless it was a business

meeting. But in the country, where the weekend

mornings were longer and lazier, he liked to indulge

in a hearty late breakfast. He was an okay cook, especially

something as basic as bacon and eggs.

Maybe they would cook breakfast together, dividing

the chores, bumping into one another as they went

about them. Laughing. Kissing. Then they could

carry their plates out onto the porch to eat. He smiled

at the thought of tomorrow morning.

"This morning," he corrected, checking the clock

and realizing that it was well after midnight.

Yesterday had been a bitch. He had left Charleston

upset and angry, frustrated on many levels. Nothing

in his life had been right. Never in a million years

would he have guessed that such a sour day would

end with his making love to a woman he hadn't

known existed a few hours ago. Nor that it would be

such a meaningful experience.

He continued marveling over the caprice of fate

until he heard the water in the bathroom shut off. He

forced himself to wait two minutes more, not wanting

to reappear too quickly or at an inopportune time.

Then he grabbed two bottles of water and made his

way back to the bedroom.

"By the way," he said as he pushed open the door

with his bare foot, "I think it's time we properly introduced

--"

He stopped when she turned quickly from the

dresser, the telephone receiver in her hand. She hung

up immediately and blurted out, "I hope you don't

mind."

Actually, he did mind. He minded one hell of a lot.

Not that she had used his telephone without asking

first. But that she had someone in her life who was

important enough to call in the wee hours of the

morning within minutes of making love to him. It

stunned him how much he minded.

He'd dallied in the kitchen, fantasizing about having

breakfast with her, counting the minutes until he

could return with propriety. Now he was standing

here with a dumb expression on his face and a semi-erection

poking against his undershorts. And all this

while she was placing a phone call to somebody else.

He set the bottles of water on the nightstand.

He felt stupid and ridiculous, alien feelings for

Hammond Cross. Usually self-confident and on top

of any given situation, he felt like a real dumb-ass,

and he disliked the feeling intensely.

"Would you like some privacy?" he asked woodenly.

"No, it's all right." She replaced the receiver. "I

couldn't get through."

"Sorry."

"It wasn't important." She folded her arms across

her waist, then nervously dropped them to her sides.

If it wasn't important, then why in hell were you

trying to place a call at this time of night? he wanted

to ask, but didn't.

"Is it okay if I wear this?"

"What?" he asked distractedly.

She ran her hand down the front of the old, faded

T-shirt. He recognized it as a fraternity party shirt

from college days; it caught her mid thigh "Oh. Sure.

It's fine."

"I found it in the chest of drawers in the bathroom.

I wasn't snooping. I just--"

"Don't mention it." His curt tone spoke volumes.

Her hands formed fists at her sides, then she shook

them loose. "Look, maybe it would be better if I left

now. We both got a little carried away. Maybe the

ride on the Ferris wheel went to our heads." Her stab

at humor fell flat. "Anyway, this was ..." Her words

trailed off as she glanced at the bed.

Her gaze lingered there probably longer than she

intended it to. The jumbled linens were a poignant reminder

of what had taken place on them, and how in

volving and satisfying it had been. Words whispered

with unrestraint seemed to echo back to them now.

While in the bathroom, she had washed. Hammond

could smell soap and water on her skin. But he

hadn't washed. He smelled like sex. He smelled like

her.

So when she said hastily, "I'll just change back

into my clothes and be on my way," and made to

move past him, his arm shot out and caught her waist.

She came to a standstill, but she didn't turn toward

him. She stared straight ahead. "Whatever else you

may think about me, I want you to know that... that

this isn't something I do casually or routinely."

Softly he said, "It doesn't matter."

She looked at him then, turning only her head. "It

matters to me. It matters to me that you know that."

Moving carefully, he rested his hands on her

shoulders and brought her around to face him. "Do

you honestly think it was just a ride on the Ferris

wheel that brought us to this?"

As though to keep her lower lip from trembling,

she pulled it through her teeth and shook her head no.

Placing his arms around her, he drew her close and

hugged her. Just that. And he held her for a long time,

with his cheek resting on the crown of her head, toes

touching, sharing body heat. Barefoot, swaddled in

his T-shirt, she seemed smaller and daintier than before.

Embracing her like this made him feel virile and

protective. In fact, since meeting her, he had felt like

goddamn Conan.

He chuckled at the thought. She raised her head

from his chest and looked up at him. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking how good you make me

feel." Then his smile was replaced by a worried

frown. "What about you? Are you all right?"

She tilted her head in puzzlement. "Yes."

"I mean . . . with . . . you know."

"Oh." Her gaze dropped to his Adam's apple.

"Yes. Thank you for doing the responsible thing."

He kept a box of condoms in the nightstand

drawer. But never had one been so difficult to open

and put on. Embarrassed now by his clumsy

wrestling match with the stubborn thing, at a time