Jill Sorenson - Crash Into Me

Taking James by the hand, she dragged him upstairs, motioning for Sonny to follow. In her bedroom, she turned her critical eye on James first. She must have seen the warning in his expression, because she said, “You look good. But can I put some gel in your hair?”

He shrugged, scanning her bedroom, more interested in her private domain than the state of his hair. He appeared to be surveying the windows for break-in potential, when he caught Sonny watching him. Embarrassed, he turned his attention back to Carly.

Predictably, his gaze dropped to her breasts, which jiggled as she worked gel into his hair. His shoulders stiffened, and his cheekbones acquired a dull red stain.

Sonny hid a smile. Oh, to be a teenaged boy, in a constant state of sexual frustration.

When she was finished driving James crazy, Carly stepped back and nodded her approval. Then she faced Sonny. “You, on the other hand, need a lot more attention.” She made a gesture that indicated imperfection, from head to toe.

Pleased that someone besides himself was under scrutiny, the corner of James’ mouth quirked up. Out of loyalty to Sonny, for the tips, he said, “I think she looks okay.”

Carly sizzled him with a glance. “Go make nice with my dad. He’s in the kitchen.”

He paled. “Without you?”

“Yes. Offer to set the table.”

Muttering something about being crazy for agreeing to come, he wandered out to meet his nemesis.

Carly started fussing with Sonny’s hair, rubbing gel into it with her hands. She paused, testing its texture between her fingertips. “Your hair is so thick,” she mused. “It feels just like James’.” She tilted her chin up smugly. “So, what do you think of him?”

Sonny thought Carly had met her match. James was probably as unstable emotionally as she was. Ben had better be prepared for his daughter to grow up fast. “Are you ready for a steady relationship?”

“It’s not serious,” she said offhand.

“Just playing with his heart?”

Carly frowned. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. That sounds complicated.”

“Love usually is.”

She gave a trilling little laugh. “We’re not in love.”

“And three days ago, you didn’t want a boyfriend.”

Carly dismissed the idea that things were moving too fast, youthfully secure in her own judgment, despite the fact that it had already been proven faulty a number of times. She stepped back to study her handiwork. “Oh, wow. Your hair looks hot.”

Sonny glanced in the mirror. Carly was right, and she had a clever hand with styling. Instead of thick, unruly locks, her short hair fell back from her face in soft, sexy waves. “How’d you do that?”

Ignoring her, Carly rifled through her makeup drawer, coming up with a few items that suited Sonny’s coloring. “Your eyes are great,” she allowed, “but they overwhelm your face. You need to balance it out, soften your cheekbones, accentuate your lips.” Carly waved a brush like a magic wand over Sonny’s face, then applied a sunset-colored lip gloss.

Sonny had to admit the extra touches became her. When she smiled at her own reflection, Carly giggled in delight. Sonny couldn’t believe this was the same sullen girl from the restaurant. Her moods were indeed mercurial.

“We need to sex you up.”

“What?”

“Unbutton a little. You look all stuffy.”

“No way! Your grandmother is down there.”

Carly rolled her eyes. “She’s wearing a more daring outfit than this, believe me.”

Sonny looked down at her navy blue shirtwaist dress. Made of a stretchy cotton blend that molded to her figure, it wasn’t as stodgy as Carly made it sound.

“Oh, all right,” Sonny said, unfastening enough buttons to show a hint of cleavage.

“You aren’t Jewish, are you?”

“No, why?”

Carly took a delicate silver chain out of her jewelry box and put it around Sonny’s neck. It had a tiny cross that twinkled in the light, drawing the eye just where Carly wanted it to go. “There. Perfect.”

Sonny covered the cross with her hand. “Is your dad religious?”

“Not really. But he did go to Catholic school, and you look like a naughty nun. He’ll love it.”

Ben hated Carly’s boyfriend.

James Matthews had shaken his hand with more strength than necessary, called him sir like Ben was an old man, and looked him straight in the eye while he did it.

He was a punk, Ben decided, with a chip on his shoulder the size of Catalina Island.

James relegated the task of setting the table to Carly by pretending he didn’t know how it was done. She took over for him with a sweet smile, all the feminist training Ben had instilled in her down the drain in the blink of an eye. Then she offered to make a salad, and proceeded to do so with proficiency, James at her side. The two had been giving each other smoldering looks ever since.

You’d think chopping tomatoes was some kind of aphrodisiac.

Speaking of aphrodisiacs, Summer was looking tasty enough to gobble up. Ben couldn’t glance at her without feeling a sharp tug in his chest, and an equally troubling sensation lower. It was rude of him, but he’d decided to ignore her in order to stay focused on the task of hating James.

They went outside to eat, in a space warmed by standing heaters, lit by Chinese lanterns, and blessed with the gorgeous sights and sounds of the Pacific. In the background, the waters of an edgeless pool sparkled, and the Jacuzzi churned and bubbled, as hot and restless as Ben’s mood.

“What’s this?” a man called out from the other side of the patio. “Having a party without me?”

His friend JT was standing at the gate leading down to the beach. With the moon at his back, he was little more than an outline of broad shoulders and a glint of white teeth. Ben recognized him by his voice, which was low and distinctive, as raspy as rough-grained sand.

Ben muttered a curse under his breath. He didn’t want JT around tonight. He was too distracted to keep him away from Summer.

“I knew I smelled good things cooking,” JT said, not bothering to wait for anyone to invite him in. “You have room for one more?”

“Would you leave if I said no?” Ben asked, scowling.

“Hey, Mrs. Fortune,” JT called out, brushing past Ben and moving on to easier targets. “You get prettier every year,” he vowed, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Oh, you,” Grace said, pulling her hand from his with a smile.

When JT zeroed in on Summer, Ben felt his shoulders stiffen with apprehension. “Bonita señorita,” he singsonged. “Where’ve you been all my life?”

Summer laughed at JT’s Paulie Shore imitation, as amused by him as all women were. JT had always had a way with the ladies. In their wilder days, the two of them had frequently competed over the same girl in addition to the same wave. Ben’s professional success had often worked in his favor, but JT had been granted access to just about any bed on finesse alone. Once there, he was easily bored, never staying with one woman long enough to make a real connection.

“Are you Nathan’s boyfriend?” she asked.

Ben choked back a laugh.

JT placed a hand over his heart, where the barb had struck. “Cruelty, thy name is woman,” he groaned.

Summer darted a glance at Ben, not sure where she’d gone wrong.

“Frailty,” Ben corrected.

JT frowned at him. “Huh?”

“‘Frailty, thy name is woman.’ It’s Shakespeare.” Once again, his gaze roved over Summer’s sinuous physique. “And not really applicable, in my opinion.”

JT jerked his thumb in Ben’s direction. “Lose this buzzkill and run away with me. I’ll never correct you when you misquote.”

Although he knew JT was only joking, Ben had to stifle the urge to put him in a headlock. “JT is a friend of mine, not Nathan’s,” he explained. “My brother would never date such a poor specimen.”