Slow Burn Page 7

  She wanted to be alone. To lick a few wounds. Danny seemed to understand. Danny always seemed to understand everything. She never got an argument from him.

  She slipped away quietly.

  Sly didn’t live in a rich neighborhood, certainly not like the one her parents had chosen. His house was like his business—old. It was a testament to all that he did.

  It was on one of the city’s oldest golf courses, with nice—but not outrageous—houses surrounding it. It was what they called “Old Spanish,” with lots of arches, balconies and a courtyard entrance, and another courtyard to the side, surrounding the pool, which was a fairly new addition. Sly liked golf, but he liked his privacy more.

  Despite the air conditioner in her brand-new Jeep, Spencer arrived at the house feeling hot and sticky and cranky. She left the car in the driveway, brought in her grandfather’s mail and set it on the Victorian buffet in the entry. Sly lived quietly, without live-in help. And he believed strongly in the work ethic, though he had told Spencer he agreed with her parents and was glad she hadn’t taken a job through high school, because keeping her grades high was just too important. “Money can be lost, young lady,” he used to tell her. “I had friends who lost everything in the Great Depression, but you know what? Even then, some of them were left with something—and that was an education. They had the know-how to pick their fannies back up out of the dirt and get going again.” But he didn’t mind letting her work a bit for him, house-sitting when he needed it, keeping an eye on his mail and bills when he wasn’t there. She fed Tiger, his fat alley cat. The arrangement worked well for her. She loved his old place; she’d learned a lot about building from him, and she appreciated the craftsmanship of the place.

  She climbed the stairs to the guest room and found one of her sleeveless summer dresses in the closet, and underwear in a drawer, and ducked down the hall to the main bath, where Sly had installed a whirlpool to add to the value of the home. She turned the water to hot and the jets up as high as they would go, then stripped off her bikini and sank in, hoping the warm water would ease away some of humiliation of her encounter with David. She sank down beneath the water, letting it soak her hair.

  The next thing she knew, there were hands on her shoulders. She nearly inhaled the water, she was so frightened, but he jerked her out of the water too quickly. To her amazement she found herself staring at David Delgado, still damp, still in swim trunks, but unarguably right there with her.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing now?” he demanded.

  She stared at him, incredulous. “I was about to wash my hair!” she responded furiously.

  “What?” He sounded stunned.

  “What did you think I was doing?”

  He looked taken aback. Abashed. Even embarrassed. “Damn it, Spencer, I knocked about twenty times. And when I came in and found you, you were underwater and you weren’t coming up!”

  “You thought I was trying to drown myself. Over you? Oh, my God! And you’re supposed to be so wonderfully humble!” she seethed.

  He sat back, balancing on his ankles. His teeth were clenched, his eyes narrowed. “You really are a piece of work, aren’t you, Spencer Anne Montgomery?”

  She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to feel or hear his contempt. She stared straight ahead, belatedly realizing that she was naked and feeling terribly vulnerable. She hugged her knees to her chest. “Since you think so little of me, David Delgado, I’d appreciate it if you would let yourself back out of my grandfather’s house and leave.”

  He stood. He was going to leave, she realized. Just like that. He was walking away. Of course, it was what she wanted him to do. Wasn’t it?

  She stood up, wrenching a huge white towel from a nearby rack and winding it around herself. He was already out in the hallway, and she followed him. “Rich doesn’t mean evil, you know!” She felt as if she were choking. She didn’t know whether she wanted to hit him or to…

  He turned around, staring at her. “I came to see if you were okay. You left so quickly, I was afraid you might have hurt yourself, and I know you would have been too proud to let anyone know.”

  She waited a second, trying to decide whether he was insulting her or offering her a strange compliment.

  “I really did know what I was doing.”

  “It was dangerous, Spencer.”

  She exhaled. “Maybe. But just a little.”

  They stood there in the hallway then, staring at one another. Though Spencer could feel her wet flesh growing cold in the air-conditioning, she felt hot and flushed at the same time.

  “Are you going back to the rock pit?” she asked him finally.

  He shrugged. “I guess not. The party’s probably broken up by now. Did you want to go back?”

  “I guess not. I imagine everyone’s gone off to get something to eat by now.”

  He grinned. “We were having a picnic.”

  “Yeah, but you know that crowd. No ice-cream sundaes on a picnic. Too many bugs.”

  “No doubt,” he agreed. He paused again. “You want to try to find them?”

  She kept staring at him, wishing she knew what to say. She didn’t really want to do anything. She wanted him, his attention. No distractions.

  No Terry-Sue.

  She shook her head. “No. Umm, Sly’s fridge is always full.”

  David nodded. “He’s got a great pool out there, too.”

  “Yeah, he does. You’ve been in it, haven’t you?” She didn’t quite know David’s relationship with her grandfather, but she knew he’d been to the house.

  “I’ve never been swimming here,” David said simply.

  “Well, there’s always now.” She tried to say the words lightly.

  “Look, if you wanted to be alone…” he began.

  She shook her head. “No, really. Sly is gone for the weekend, so the place is mine. Go on out the side door. I’ll just put my suit on and join you.”

  He shrugged and headed for the stairs. Spencer dived into the bathroom and plucked her bikini from the floor. She donned it in two seconds flat and went flying after David.

  He was already in the water, swimming cleanly from one end of the pool to the other. She dived in after him, recklessly going straight for him. She caught his ankle, dragging him under just after he surfaced for a breath.

  She jackknifed as far from him as she could while he came to the surface, sputtering, deep blue eyes glittering with laughter as they touched on her. “You do like to live dangerously, don’t you, Miss Montgomery?” he asked her.

  “It’s the only way!” she called back. He kicked off the bottom, coming after her. Spencer let out a little shriek and started down the length of the pool. She was good, but he was stronger and caught up with her just as she reached the deep end. He let her get a breath, then dragged her down.

  She would gladly have given up breathing altogether. His arms were around her, her body crushed flush against his. She could feel the muscles in his arms, the bones in his hips, the shape of his sex beneath his swim trunks. It was intoxicating. She’d never in her life felt anything like what she was feeling now. A strange, almost unbearable excitement.

  They came to the surface together. He could stand where they were; she couldn’t. His arms remained around her, and he was looking at her. It was different from his angry look or his amused look. The water reflected a strange light in his eyes. “Spencer,” he said huskily. “You should—”

  He was going to push her away. She couldn’t let it happen.

  She smiled, pressing closer and parting her lips just slightly, almost whispering against his.

  He groaned, and then his lips touched hers. They were incredibly hot, hungry. They brought a tidal wave of sensation. She had never felt so flushed, nor so very sure of what she wanted. She felt his tongue press into her mouth, then all but devour it. The world faded away as they kissed. It came back when she felt his hand covering her breast, holding it, feeling the weight and texture, his thumb rub
bing over her nipple through the thin material of her bikini top. Something hot pulsed through her body, centering between her thighs. She had never felt so wonderful, nor could she remember ever wanting anything so badly, even though she wasn’t exactly sure what it was she wanted. Him. More and more of him. Touching her. Making her feel this wonder.

  He broke the kiss, still holding her. “Oh, God, Spencer, I can’t…”

  She didn’t want to hear it. “David…”

  He pushed her away, swimming hard for the edge of the pool, then jumping from the water to the deck. Spencer followed him, feeling a flood of brilliant red embarrassment rush to her face. Well, that was it. She had practically thrown herself at him, and he was walking away.

  She leaped from the pool, completely humiliated again—and crushed. She almost turned away to run up the stairs and throw herself on the guest bed to cry herself into oblivion. But she didn’t back away from things. And she was mad enough to have it out then and there.

  “What is it, Delgado?” she demanded, keeping her voice as low and scornful as she could, her hands on her hips, her head tossed back. “I don’t come with equipment big enough to rival Terry-Sue’s?”

  He’d been walking away, but that stopped him. He turned to her, dripping wet, his hands on his hips, the length of the pool between them. Then he started walking to her. “You know Spencer, I’m trying to remember that you’re younger than I am. That you’re just a naive little rich kid trying to get her own way.”

  “How dare you say such a thing to me? I’ve never acted like that!”

  “The hell you haven’t! You put your nose in the air every time your back is against a wall.”

  “I fight any time my back is against a wall.”

  “You’re Sly’s granddaughter!” he lashed up harshly.

  “You’re afraid of my grandfather!” she said incredulously.

  He took two menacing steps toward her, but she held her ground. “I’m not afraid of anybody, Spencer. I like Sly. I like him a hell of a lot.”

  “He’s a good man,” she said coolly. “A kind one. Kind to refugees.”

  It was a low blow, but she wasn’t able to stop herself.

  And it had an effect on him. She could see his pulse beating furiously in his throat as he took the last few steps toward her. She was almost five foot eight, but David could stare down at her, and he did, so close that he was almost touching her, but not quite.

  “What is it, Spencer? What do you want? ¡Que tu quieres?” Then his hands were on her shoulders again, forcing her to back away. “You want something different from the other light-skinned gringa girls, don’t you? You think I’ll give you something hotter? Something better? Fine, let’s go. There’s the floor. Is that what you want?”

  “Stop it!” she shouted at him, shaking, longing to shove him but suddenly afraid to. She wasn’t quite sure what she had let loose. She hadn’t known that he was aware that their folks talked about him sometimes, that they hadn’t quite accepted the fact that Miami was becoming an international city. She’d never imagined that he might be sensitive about it, not David Delgado.

  “Stop it! Damn you!” she snapped. “It’s nothing to be ashamed—”

  “Ashamed!” he almost roared at her. He swore. In Spanish. She wasn’t sure exactly what he called her, but she got the general impression. “I’m not ashamed,” he told her. “The only time I even feel the least bit embarrassed is when I stop myself from telling your high-and-mighty friends what bigoted asses they are! Tell me, Spencer, what kind of a game is this? Do you want to grow up and be able to whisper to your bridge club that you were intimate with a Hispanic once upon a time? What the hell do you want? Have all the rest of them fucked except for you?”

  “I really don’t know what anyone else has done,” she told him. “And I don’t care. I care about you,” she whispered flatly. “I’ve always cared about you, and I wanted you—I wanted to make love with you—for that reason, and that reason alone.”

  He stared at her, opened his mouth, then closed it. Then suddenly he was holding her again, crushing her in his arms. She had never felt so cherished.

  “Oh, God, Spencer!” he whispered. “Oh, God, I feel like an idiot.”

  “If you don’t care about me…”

  “Don’t care about you? You fool. I’ve thought you were the most perfect thing in the world since I first set eyes on you.”

  “Really?” she breathed. She leaned against him and wound her arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of him. She was so giddy she was afraid she would fall. She leaned back instead, holding on to him as hard as she could. She raised herself on her toes and kissed his lips, moving even closer against him, if that was humanly possible. She teased his earlobe with a flick of her tongue, kissed his throat, his shoulder. She did things she’d only seen in the movies or heard whispered about by the other girls.

  He let out a groan. “Spencer, if you don’t mean this, it’s time to stop.”

  “I mean it,” she told him solemnly.

  He stared at her, waiting, his pulse still throbbing at his throat. Then he picked her up, swept her from where she stood and into his arms. “A bed?” he queried.

  “The guest room. Upstairs,” she told him. She was a little bit embarrassed again. Afraid to breathe. Afraid to take her eyes away from his. She clung to him as he started up the stairs.

  When they entered the guest room she thought the light was just right. It wasn’t night, but the sun had fallen. He laid her down on the bed in a field of shadows. She heard the soft thud of his damp trunks as they hit the hardwood floor. She felt his hands on her again, tugging the string of the bikini top, easing the pants off her bottom. Then they were both naked. She felt herself shivering, though she wasn’t cold. She wasn’t even frightened, really. She was just afraid that she wouldn’t please him, that she wouldn’t prove to be everything he wanted.

  His flesh was against hers. Warm, wonderful. He was touching her all over. It was so intimate it was almost unbearable, and so wonderful, because it was him. She could accutely register each and every different sensation, the rough hair of his legs against her own, the warmth of his breath touching her, the texture of the hair at his nape, where her fingers raked it. He’d been chewing gum; he tasted of spearmint. His weight was settled between her thighs, and she was so keenly aware of his sex that it was a form of anguish.

  He went slowly. Kissing her lips. Making her feel the longing again, the excitement, the explosiveness.

  “You’ve done this,” she whispered.

  He hesitated for a minute. “Yes.”

  She hoped it wasn’t with Terry-Sue.

  “Want to stop?” he asked.

  “No!”

  A minute later she almost wished she’d said yes. Sex had been made out to be such an incredible, ecstatic thing. She was supposed to be in paradise. She wanted to be shot.

  “Spencer?”

  She couldn’t speak; she simply clung to him as things became bearable. Because it was David. When it was all over it was wonderful in a different way. Wonderful because he had become so impassioned, so excited, because she had felt him reach some incredible plateau. He was drenched; he had come into her like liquid fire, and then held her as if she were the most precious thing in the entire world. And they had lain there together while the night fell and the shadows deepened. She thought he’d fallen asleep, but she didn’t dare. She had to be in her own house before eleven.

  But he hadn’t fallen asleep. He was suddenly leaning over her, a slight smile curving his lips. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “What was it like?” he asked.

  “It was…”

  “Awful?” he suggested.

  “No!” She felt his amused stare; he knew.

  “It was…” she tried again, but he laughed.

  “Well, I don’t suppose the first time has to actually be awful, but it’s usually not great. Now the second time is supposed to be great,” he said.


  Just his voice, that husky tone, made excitement stir inside her once again. She felt breathless even before his lips touched hers, before his fingers played over her breasts, roamed downward, teased where both the fire and the pain had burned. He kissed her lips, then moved down her throat. He took the tip of her breast in his mouth, teasing it with his teeth and tongue. The excitement lapped higher and higher. He kissed her belly, her inner thigh. Higher. She almost screamed in protest, but then he was hovering over her. She didn’t quite have the nerve to touch him there yet, but it didn’t matter. He was lowering himself over her, into her. Kissing her mouth again, his tongue playing with hers while his body penetrated hers a second time. It was every incredible, sensual, erotic, forbidden wonder she had ever heard that it could be, the magic shared by those who knew. She climaxed with a surge of passion that amazed her, and even then she thought she’d never known such happiness. Such intimate, binding pleasure. She’d shared it with David, found it with him. And still she lay in his arms, bathed in a soft sheen of perspiration, feeling the crisp hair on his legs brush against the softness of her own, the sheets a tangle around them….

  She bolted awake, feeling as if she almost reached the ceiling above her head as the alarm let out a shattering screech. The sheets were in a tangle, as if she had tossed and turned through the night. Her pillow lay on the floor.

  It was morning. Six o’clock. Time to get ready for another workday.

  She stared across the bed, to where Danny should have been lying. Except that Danny had been dead for more than a year now. A long time.

  Not nearly long enough for her to be dreaming about her first encounter with his best friend. Even if it had occurred long, long before her marriage.

  She stood up, stripping off her nightgown, heading for the shower and swearing beneath her breath.

  “Damn you, David Delgado. Damn you. And damn you, too, Sly, you old fox!”

  The water was pouring down on her. She could dimly hear the phone ringing and decided to let the machine pick it up.

  It did. She heard her own voice, then the voice that had plagued her sleep, her dreams, her nightmares. David.