Jill Sorenson - Crash Into Me

“Lisette’s staying over tonight,” she reminded him, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear.

“Hell, no, she isn’t.”

“Dad. Her parents are going to Big Bear. I asked you a month ago.”

He swore sulkily, remembering that Lisette’s mom had called and made the plans herself because Lisette couldn’t be trusted home alone. She was even more of a wild child than Carly. The last time the Bruebakers had left her in charge, she’d thrown a ten-keg rager on the west lawn. “Fine,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “But you’re still grounded, so you two aren’t going anywhere. And no pot!”

Carly rolled her eyes as she slammed the door, a good sign she was feeling more like herself. Any other morning, Ben would have spent several hours in the ocean already. Carly was so self-reliant that she usually made breakfast, got ready, and went to school under her own steam. He thought he was being cool, letting her have her independence. Now he could see that he’d given her freedom when what she’d really needed was his attention.

He stretched his neck, trying to relieve the ache brought on by several nights of too much stress and too little sleep. On impulse, he took out his cell phone and dialed the number for Scripps Hospital as he drove away.

A crisp-voiced operator asked how she could direct his call.

“I’m trying to solve a mystery,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, trying to lay on the charm. It sounded pretty rusty. “A woman saved my daughter from drowning the other night and I’d like to thank her.”

The operator made a mew of sympathy.

“In the chaos, I didn’t catch her full name,” he continued, “and I’d like to send her a token of my appreciation. Is there any way you can take a peek at the emergency report and see if it lists her address?”

“Oh, sir, I’d love to give you that information, but-”

“Ben,” he interrupted helpfully, keeping his fingers crossed. “My name is Ben Fortune.”

She hesitated. “Ben…Fortune?”

“Yes.”

Clearing her throat, she said, “Well, I think we can make an exception, just this once…”

Sonny was getting out of the shower when a loud, warbled sound alerted her. She wrapped a towel around herself and listened for a few seconds before she realized that the strange, off-key melody was her front doorbell.

Curious, she peered through the peephole. Ben Fortune’s image was distorted by the warped glass. Interesting. How had he found out where she was staying?

When a shiver of awareness traveled down her spine, she didn’t lie to herself and call it unease. Having a suspect invade her turf should have made her feel apprehensive, not excited, but she’d always been a little twisted.

He raised his hand to depress the buzzer again, so she opened the door. “Don’t do it. I can’t tolerate that particular combination of sounds this early in the morning.” She smiled, pleased with her pre-caffeine wit.

He didn’t smile back. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” she said, studying his face. He was a damned fine-looking man, even with bloodshot eyes and a hard, tense mouth.

She stepped aside, inclining her hand in invitation.

Her apartment had come furnished with thrift-store rejects and bargain buys. The brown wool couch, with its scratchy cushions and sharp, rectangular shape, looked like a throwback from the seventies. It was so uncomfortable people must have been avoiding it for decades, because it was still in good condition.

A lacquered oak coffee table and green vinyl armchair, also genuinely retro, and undeniably ugly, were the only other points of interest.

“Like what I’ve done with the place?”

“No,” he said, not bothering with diplomacy.

She frowned. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Not really.” His eyes moved from her breasts to the tops of her thighs, lingering everywhere skin met terry cloth.

Discomfited by his perusal, she did a slow sweep of his body, proving that two could play at ogling the opposite sex. He was wearing a sky blue T-shirt that clung to the muscles of his chest and faded jeans that hung loosely on his hips. Instead of shoes, he had on a pair of ancient brown flip-flops, the kind only men with good-looking feet could pull off, and only then if they were near a beach. His were long, narrow, and tanned, like his hands.

He couldn’t have appeared more casual, but she could tell by his rigid stance, his fists clenched at his sides, that he was far from relaxed.

“Coffee?” she offered, making one last attempt at hospitality. She didn’t have much, but she did have a coffeemaker, and fresh brew.

“No.”

Dare she ask? “What do you want?”

When she moistened her lips in anticipation, something dark flashed in his eyes. Almost unconsciously, she retreated, not aware of what she was doing until she felt the wall at her back. Stepping forward, he braced his left hand against the wall, beside her head. He had an interesting mouth, she thought, fixating on it. There was a small scar just above his upper lip, on the right side-a thin line, like a fingernail crescent.

He leaned in, putting his face very close to hers. “You lied.”

She was so hypnotized by his mouth that the words coming out of it didn’t immediately register. “I did?”

“You said you lived a mile away. My house is right across the street.”

“I-” She broke off, feeling breathless. “I was disoriented.”

“I called Scripps Hospital for your address, and they told me the emergency report says you gave Carly’s name when you called nine-one-one. You knew who she was. At my house, you pretended not to.”

Comprehension dawned. “Is that why you think I went in after her? To cozy up to you? Squeeze you for some cash?”

“Maybe.”

Indignation burned through her. “Screw you.”

“Okay.” His response was flat, almost nonchalant, but she knew he was serious. “How do you want it? Because I’m in the mood for hard and fast.”

It was probably the least romantic proposition she’d ever heard. And the most tempting. Ben Fortune was a very dangerous man if he could insult her and titillate her in the same breath. In her mind she told him to go to hell, but her throat closed up around the words.

His gaze locked on the curve of her lips and he hesitated, as if not quite certain how to proceed. Ironically it was she who leaned into him, pushing away from the wall and tilting her head back in brazen invitation.

And when he took her up on that sensual offer, closing the final distance between them, it was also she who panicked. She felt the full length of his hard body against hers, and just like always, she panicked. Before he had a chance to kiss her, she hooked her foot behind his ankle and shoved at his chest with enough force to send him crashing to the floor.

For a moment, he just stared at her, a stunned look on his face. Then he scanned the room for other assailants, as if she’d attacked him as part of a nefarious plot. Seeing no imminent threat, he raised himself up on his elbows. “Why did you do that?” he asked, truly bewildered.

Sonny crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her bare toes, feeling heat creep into her cheeks. “You were crowding me.”

“I wasn’t going to force myself on you.”

Her head jerked up. “I know,” she replied. Strangely enough, her reaction had nothing to do with his status as a suspect. It was more about her past than about him.

For a moment there, she hadn’t been thinking about the case at all.

Warily, he motioned for her to stay back. “I’m going to get up and go now. No sudden moves, okay?”

“I apologize,” she said, wanting to kick herself for making such an obvious blunder. Grant would have a conniption fit if he knew she’d broken character. “Please don’t leave. Sit down for a minute. Did I hurt you?”