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Dying to Please Page 16
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Sarah knew her own worth, her own strength; she was neither a Kleenex to be used and casually tossed away, nor a butterfly who would gaily flit away on her own. Cahill wanted her, but he was wary of anything except a sexual, superficial relationship with anyone, and he wasn't certain exactly how serious he wanted to get with her. They had fun together, but on a certain level they were like two heavyweight boxers, circling, each testing the other's strength, not committing until they knew whether or not they were going to get hammered.
She liked him more than anyone she had dated before—but then how could she not like someone who would take her to both a bowling alley and a symphony? She had known from the beginning that the physical chemistry was great; overwhelming was a better word. Still, she could resist physical attraction if that was all there was. In Cahill's case, the total package was as seductive as a Lorelei, pulling her to him.
Lunch was a sandwich and a glass of water, eaten in her quarters. The silence beat at her, until she thought she could hear her own heartbeat. She washed the knife she had used, and the glass, and put them away. Then she burst into tears.
Half an hour later she found herself sitting on the steps leading from the portico to the flower garden. The bright sunshine beat down on her upturned face, her bare arms, and the air was redolent with the sweet freshness of spring. Birds chirped madly in the trees, their colors flashing as they darted about. Bees zipped from bloom to bloom, drunk on nectar. Inside the house was sadness, but out here was life and warmth.
Footsteps sounded on the stones behind her, and she turned her head to see Cahill. “Hi,” he said, dropping down to sit beside her. “You didn't answer the doorbell, so I walked around to see if your truck was here.”
“I'm here,” she said, unnecessarily. “I'm just . . . taking a break.”
He studied her taut face and swollen eyes, then gently eased her into his arms and cradled her head against his shoulder. “Bad day, huh?”
“So far, it sucks.” God, being held felt so good. He was solid and strong, and she turned her face against his neck so she could inhale the heated aroma of his body. She put her arms around him, one arm looped around his neck and the other pressed to his back; her fingers dug into the layered muscles there, traced the indentation of his spine.
He tilted her head back and kissed her, and his palm settled warmly over her right breast. She allowed the caress, leaning into him and surrendering to the kiss. Just now she needed cuddling, needed the physical comfort of his presence, so she didn't protest when he unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse and unhooked the front closure of her bra, pushing it aside. Fresh air gently brushed over her bare flesh, puckering her nipples; then they were covered by the hot slide of his callus-roughened palm. “God, you're pretty,” he said, his tone low and rough. “Look at this.”
She opened her eyes and looked. Her breasts were the color of warm cream, with small, pinkish brown nipples. She wasn't overly endowed, but her breasts plumped in his palm, his hard, tanned fingers in sharp male contrast to the very womanly curves. He stroked his thumb over one nipple and it beaded more tightly, flushing with color.
A sound like far-off thunder rumbled in his throat, and she looked up to see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “I'm working,” he said hoarsely.
“You couldn't prove it by me,” she murmured. She thought she could sit here in the sunshine for hours, letting him fondle her. Except she wouldn't be sitting here for hours, she would very shortly find herself on her back, on the stones of the portico; not exactly a comfortable place for lovemaking.
“I just stopped by to check on you. I can't stay.” He kissed her again, his hand still working its warm magic on her breasts; then he reluctantly released her. Actually, he released her as if it tore his skin off to separate from her. “Just remember where we were, and we'll pick up there tonight.”
Feeling much better, she rehooked her bra and began buttoning her blouse. “Sorry, it doesn't work that way. You'll have to start over.”
“Not a problem,” he said, smiling.
She snorted. “I didn't think it would be.” Then she smiled, too, a little mistily. “Thanks for stopping by. I was feeling blue.”
“I noticed. Six-thirty again?”
She nodded. “I'll be ready.”
“So will I.”
“That wasn't what I meant.”
“Well, hell,” he said in disgust.
Already she could feel her smile edging into a grin, feel laughter beginning to bubble. “Go back to work, Cahill, and remember: Never take anything for granted.”
“Well, hell,” he said again.
CHAPTER 16
ON WEDNESDAY, A WEEK AFTER THE MURDER, SARAH FOUND herself following her old schedule. She had forgotten to reschedule her karate and kick-boxing sessions anyway, so she worked in the house until it was time for the classes, then devoted herself to the hardest workouts she had put herself through in a long time. It's exactly a week today, she kept thinking. Exactly a week. A week ago, the most important thing in her life had been finding out who'd sent her that pendant. Today, she couldn't remember exactly how the pendant looked. It had been relegated to unimportance by what had happened later that night.
She was supposed to go to a movie with Cahill that night. Remembering that she'd gone to a movie last Wednesday, too, she knew she couldn't do it. She called the number Cahill had given her, and he answered immediately.
“This is Sarah. I'm sorry, but I can't do a movie tonight.”
He paused. “Has something come up?”
“No, it's just . . . it was a week ago today, and I went to a movie then, too.”
“Okay.” His tone was gentle. “We'll do something else.”
“No, I—” She wanted to be with him, but maybe after last night a cooling-down period was in order. She had managed to keep things from getting out of hand, or even progressing any further than they already had, but he was making serious inroads in her resolve. The cooling-down period was for her. “Not tonight. We're still on for tomorrow night, but I won't be good company tonight.”
“Are you getting cold feet?”
Trust him to bypass sympathy and politeness, and go straight to the heart of the matter! “Trust me,” she said wryly. “If my feet are cold, it's the only part of me that is.”
He blew out a short, sharp breath. “You just made it impossible for me to sit down.”
“I hope no one can overhear you.”
He ignored that. “I'll be at home if you change your mind, or if you decide you want company.”
“Thanks, Cahill.” Her voice was soft. “You're a sweetheart.”
“Told you you'd be calling me that,” he said smugly.
No matter what, he could lift her spirits. She hung up feeling slightly elated, the way she always felt around him. The fizz saw her through the rest of that difficult day.
On Thursday night, on the way to the symphony, he said, “I have a friend who's dying to meet you. He's lowlife scum who thinks he can charm you away from me, but if you don't mind feeling dirty by association, he really, really wants to do some target practice with you. I have an extra weapon you can use, since we still have yours.”
She laughed. “He's a lowlife scum who makes you feel dirty by association? Sure, I'd like to meet him.”
“Thought so. How about tomorrow afternoon, about two o'clock, at that range you were at before.”
“Two o'clock? Don't you have to work? Or are you sending me out to get dirty by association all on my own?”
“I'm off half a day tomorrow, and all of the weekend.” He slanted an appraising glance at her. “Wear that dress.”
If that wasn't just like a man. “To target practice? In your dreams.”
“You have no idea about my dreams,” he said feelingly. In one of those swings of temperature so common to spring, the day had seen the mid-eighties and hadn't cooled down much with sunset. Sarah had dressed accordingly, in an sleeveless aqua sheath that made her warm coloring