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They’d slow-danced, his arms sheltering her, a place she longed to stay for the rest of her forever. They danced fast, until she’d been breathless from exertion. They’d done the Electric Slide, the Macarena, and even the Hokey Pokey.
Her pity-date-hero had turned out to be a hell of a good sport. Not exactly what she’d expected from such a hunky, calendar pin-up man.
He clutched her right hand, his grip steady, reassuring. Her left hand draped across his shoulder, toying with the silky strands of his hair along the back of his neck. She pressed her cheek against his chest, savoring the sensation of hard, lean muscles that contrasted the softness of her own skin, her own body. A quick mental flash of his calendar photo made her heart-rate pick up. What would it be like to be pressed against him, skin to skin?
Yeah, right, like that would ever happen.
Still, a girl – a woman, she corrected herself – after all she was 21 tonight – was entitled to her fantasies.
And thank God she’d never written her smuttier Detective December fantasies where her snoopy brother could read them!
The spice of Peter’s aftershave had faded and mingled with the scent of male skin. His fingers trailed lazy paths across her back. She let herself float in the sensations, lost in a dreamy state of bliss in his arms.
Until the dreamy sensations became overwhelmed by a rude awakening, the resurgence of pins and needles in her left fingers. A companion set of tingles erupted in her left foot. So much for fantasy. She clenched her jaw and focused on finishing the dance without stepping on his feet.
The band launched from “Three Times a Lady” into something way too loud, hard and fast, with a heavy rock tempo. She eased away from Peter. The beat took up residence inside her skull, hammering away with savage intensity. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“What’s wrong?” His voice, laced heavily with concern, sliced through the din of the ball room and the thudding in her head. The warmth of his hand slipped around her elbow.
“Nothing. I think maybe I need to sit this one out, that’s all.” She opened her eyes and forced a tremulous smile for him.
“Bull. You’ve gone three shades lighter, your eyebrows are pulled down, and a little nerve in the side of your jaw is twitching.” As he spoke, he propelled her away from the dance floor.
“Oh, my, you make me sound so attractive. It’s a wonder men aren’t flinging themselves at my feet.” She stumbled slightly as her left foot refused to obey fast enough to keep up with him. His hand at her elbow steadied her.
Great. She was no longer a woman in a killer dress, dancing with a sexy man. No, now she was back to a semi-invalid who couldn’t even walk properly. Hot tears crested in her eyes, and she blinked them back.
He slowed his pace. “They’re not flinging themselves at your feet because they’d have to get through me first. You’ve heard of dance with the one that brought you? That’s me.”
He steered her through the throngs of partiers to a fairly secluded place near the far wall, easing her down into a chair. He crouched beside her, extended his hand to slide the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Tell me, Sunny. I’m not your brother who needs to be sheltered from your condition.”
The gentleness in his voice penetrated the walls she’d built to keep the world out of her “condition” as he called it. “It’s too loud in here. And whatever magic your father did is wearing off.” She sighed. “My head is pounding and my fingers are tingling. And I can’t take any pain meds because of the champagne. I’ve been off them for days just for tonight.”
“Ahh, Sunny.” He took her left hand in his and gently massaged it, causing a new surge of tears to well up in her eyes. He was so damn sweet. “I’m sorry.” He swiveled his head, glancing toward the exit. “You want to get out of here?”
She shook her head. “No, please! I don’t want to go home yet. It’s only a little after ten. Please, Peter...” She traced the line of his jaw with her right hand, then cupped his chin, urging his head up ‘til his gaze lifted from her left hand to her face. “Please. We both know this is my last birthday, my last New Year’s Eve. Don’t make me go home before midnight. I just…I just need to rest a bit, find someplace quiet for a few minutes.”
He offered her a sad half-smile, then pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m not going to make you go home before midnight, Cinderella.” He rose to his feet, but stared down at her. “I’ll see what I can do. Wait here, okay?”
“I’m not about to run off.”
He turned and moved in the direction of the main doorway.
“Peter?” she called after him.
He paused, and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Yeah?”
“You’re the best-looking fairy godmother a girl ever had.”
His grin started small, but grew quickly. His pearly whites flashed at her, then he shook his head and chuckled. “Thanks. I think. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Then he vanished into the press of the crowd near the bar. Sunny lifted her right hand and massaged the back of her head.
Only a few more hours until the New Year. And if she were very, very lucky, maybe the handsome Detective December could be convinced to kiss her again at midnight.
***
“I just wanted you to have your nice, quiet place to rest,” Peter said as the elevator eased to a stop and the doors parted with a ping. He grasped Sunny’s elbow and guided her into the corridor and down the hallway. He fumbled with the keypass card in his jacket pocket, swiped it through the magnetic lock, then pushed open the door.
She hesitated in the doorway.
“Don’t worry. I’m not planning on pouncing on you.” His fingers brushed across the soft skin of her cheek.
She glanced up at him. Through the pain and weariness in her blue eyes, a spark of something…humor?...appeared and she offered him a slight smile. “My loss, I’m sure.” She winked at him.
He lowered his hand as his gut tightened. Part of it was in response to her teasing, but part of it was pure admiration for her grace in what had to be the most difficult situation anyone could ever face. How he wished her fate could have been different, that they’d met under different circumstances.
He’d never imagined posing as Detective December for the PBA’s calendar would land him in a situation like this.
“Come on, let me show you around, then we’ll get you settled for a rest.” He tugged her gently into the suite.
“Show me around? What’s to show…” Her mouth gaped open for a minute as she swiveled her head. “Holy moly.”
Peter grinned and guided her through the marble-tiled foyer. As they passed the cherry desk with the fax machine, he draped her jacket over the back of the matching chair. She set her purse beside the phone. Peter then guided her into the living area.
“Oooo, wait a minute.” She grabbed his arm for support and kicked off her low-heeled black pumps. She wiggled her toes in the plush carpet. “Aaahhhh. If I sink too far into this rug, you’ll pull me out, right?” Another glance around the room. “This place is amazing! I had no idea there were hotel rooms like this.”
“Hey, Cinderella deserves nothing but the best on her birthday.”
“But…but this all must be costing you a fortune.”
He laughed. “Never mind about that. Let’s just say that the manager of this hotel has a certain soft-spot for me. My sister had her wedding here.”
“Oh. That must have been beautiful.” Sunny eased past the round dining table and chairs, crossing to the floor-to-ceiling windows. She eased the curtain aside. “I always dreamed about what my wedding would be like…”
“Don’t.” Peter found himself at her side before he realized he’d moved. “Don’t talk about things like that, Sunny.” He pressed his fingertips against her lips. “Focus on the here and now, not anything else.”
Her lower lip quivered beneath the pads of his fingers and she glanced downward. “I’m sorry.”
“Sshhh. Don’t be sorry. I just don’t want you to dwell on anything like that tonight. Tonight we celebrate New Year’s and your birthday.” He slipped his hand beneath her chin and urged it up. “Look at me, Sunny.”
Long lashes fluttered as she raised her gaze to meet his.
“I’m amazed by your spirit and your courage. Earlier tonight you were afraid this was a pity date. The only thing that’s a pity is I’m not going to have enough time to really get to know you.”
Though moisture shimmered in her eyes, she offered him that tremulous, but brave smile.
It sucker-punched the breath right out of him.
“We’ve got tonight, who needs tomorrow?” she said.
“Wasn’t that a song?” He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.
She nestled into him, her own arms going around his waist. “Yes. Maybe it should be our theme song.”
“Maybe.” The warmth of her body pressed against his made him think things he had no right thinking, made him want things he had no right wanting. “Maybe you should lie down now. The bedroom is upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” She lifted her head from his chest. “Up-stairs? You’re joking, right?”
He smiled, and turned her around to face the staircase tucked into the corner. “Nope. Upstairs.”
“Will you…come with me?” She glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes hopeful.
He swallowed hard, then shook his head. “No. I think I’ll just go into the living room and turn on the TV while you rest.”
“Then I’ll lie down on the couch.”
He could see a spark of fear in her eyes, understood the deep desire not to be alone. Though there were times when his soul craved solitude, truth was, he’d had more than enough of being alone in his life. He held out his hand. “Okay, come on, then.”
Several minutes later, she was settled on the couch, and the big-screen TV blared Dick Clark’s Rocking New Year’s Eve Party. Peter stabbed the remote until the volume lowered to soft level. “I’ll be right back,” he told her, laying the remote on the end table near her head.
He wandered back to the dining area, removing his bowtie along the way. He shoved it into the jacket pocket, then took the jacket off and slung it over the back of one of the chairs. His shoulder holster went under it, after he checked the safety on the Beretta. The top two buttons of the dress shirt were next, and he rolled his head, vertebrae popping, to get the kinks out of his neck.
Much better.
A quick trip upstairs, and he returned with a pillow and blanket in hand. “Lift up your head.”
She did, and he tucked the pillow in beneath her and draped the blanket over her. Then he lifted up her feet and slid onto the couch, laying them back down in his lap. Absentmindedly he began to massage the ball of her stocking-clad foot with his thumb.
Her moan of pleasure shot straight to his groin.
For a moment he held his breath.
Her foot twitched in his lap. “Don’t stop. God, that feels so good.”
His heart pounded in his chest. Damn, how he wanted to hear those words from her in another context. He wanted to strip that velvet dress off her and investigate those fabulous curves closer. Wanted to listen to her call his name as he drove them both to the peak of pleasure.
Get a grip, Caine. She’s a sick woman. And you’re one sick man for thinking of her like that.
His fingers had resumed their massage, and she sighed. “Mmmmm, lovely. You have talented hands, Detective. Oh, wait!” She threw aside the blanket and turned around on the couch, settling her head, face in, on his thigh.
He swallowed a groan.
Her blond hair fanned out across his knees. “Rub here. That will help so much, Peter.”
She guided his fingertips to the back of her head and he automatically rubbed. The music from the TV droned on in the background.
Her head was on his thigh, for God’s sake. Mere inches from a portion of his anatomy that throbbed with every pounding beat of his heart.
The woman was trying to kill him.
He could imagine Nicky’s coroner’s report: Detective Caine aka Detective December died of a heart attack brought on by unrelenting sexual desires. And then Nick would add with a smirk to the rest of the precinct: But he died like a man. With a hard-on.
***
Her breathing evened out and the tension lines in her face faded as sleep claimed her.
At least one of them was relaxed.
Peter stroked the soft, blond hair sprawled across his lap. At peace, she resembled an angel – and he was headed straight to hell, the way he was imagining her pretty face flushed with passion.
Avoid temptation. Gingerly he slipped out from beneath her head, leaving the pillow to take his place and covering her again with the blanket. He headed for the windows and opened the curtains, gazing down on the myriad of city lights. So many people out there, celebrating, and yet, he felt completely cut off from them, so alone.
Was that how she felt, facing death?
The times death had tried to claim him had been sudden, no time for advance contemplation. Falling down the stairwell in that building had barely left enough time for a clearly thought, “Oh, Shit!” before the impact had launched him into the bizarre, chaotic world of the bardo.
Cold radiated through the window. His breath fogged the pane, obscuring his view. He turned back into the room. If nothing else, he would make sure her last birthday, her last New Year’s Eve was something she’d treasure, something to hang on to when it got rough.
A few phone calls would cover things.
At precisely quarter to twelve, he knelt beside the sofa. He pressed his lips to her forehead, then murmured, “Have we changed fairy tales, Princess? From Cinderella to Sleeping Beauty? Wake up, it’s almost pumpkin time.”
Her head shifted on the pillow. Silken eyelashes fluttered, then opened. The haze of sleep melted away and she smiled at him. “Will the limo driver turn into a mouse?”
“Donnie?” Peter chuckled. “Donnie is sometimes a weasel, sometimes a rat, but never a mouse.” Donnie’s attempt at a “respectable” career probably wouldn’t last much longer, either. But it had worked out for tonight. And he still made a great snitch, having overheard a number of interesting conversations from the driver’s seat.
Peter ran his fingers across her forehead. “How do you feel now?”
“Better, thanks. Just too much noise, I think. I’ve always been sensitive to loud noise, even before…”
“Well, we’re going to ring in the New Year right here, nice and quiet like, just the two of us.” He rose to his feet. “You stay here, and I’ll be right back.”
Sunny sat up as Peter padded from the room. Shoeless, she noted. Maybe men’s dress shoes hurt as much as women’s did. Whatever the case, the handsome detective had certainly made himself comfortable during her nap. She tossed the blanket to the end of the couch.
Peter returned toting a tall, frosted, silver ice bucket and two fluted champagne glasses. He positioned the ice bucket beside the couch and then set the glasses on the table. “For our midnight toast,” he explained.
Actually, she’d had another tradition in mind for midnight.
Peter plucked the remote from the end table and un-muted the TV. The roar of the Times Square crowd behind Dick Clark floated into the room.
Softly, she realized, in consideration for her head.
“Be back again.” Peter darted from the room once again and returned with more stuff in his hands. “A crown for my princess.”
She giggled as he set a cardboard tiara on her head. “Lovely, thank you so much. But where’s your party hat?”
“Aha.” He produced the Santa hat from behind his back with a flourish. “I figured since it was this hat that brought us together in the first place…” He left off with a broad grin and plunked the hat on his head at a rakish angle.
“I love that hat.”
“I’m glad.”
“But I have to confess, it wasn’t really the hat that did it for me.” She rose to her feet.
“It wasn’t?”
She shook her head.
His eyes widened. “My considerate personality?”
“Nope. Although that is definitely attractive, it didn’t quite come through your pose, Detective December.” She stepped toward him, closing the gap between them. In the dim light that filtered in from the dining area and from the big-screen TV, she couldn’t be certain, but thought she saw a flush creep across his face.
Damn, the man was cute as hell.
“That doesn’t leave much, does it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it leaves a lot of unexplored territory.” She slipped her arms around his waist, felt him flinch back ever so slightly.
“Sunny,” he whispered, a rasp in his voice.
“One minute and counting!” Dick Clark announced on the TV.
“One minute ‘til midnight, Peter,” she said, glancing up at him. They locked gazes. A shimmer of satisfaction crawled over her as she noted the flicker of desire in his hazel eyes. A slow burn ignited deep in her belly.
“30 seconds!” crowed Clark.
Sunny fastened her gaze on his lips. “30 seconds.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her own lips, and he groaned softly.
At the ten second mark, Peter’s head began a slow descent. Sunny tilted her face up and closed her eyes. At five, he picked up the count in a whisper, his words a soft puff against her lips. Three…
Two…
One…
Contact. As the crowds on TV shouted “Happy New Year!” Peter’s lips brushed against hers, hesitantly at first, then more boldly. He nibbled on her lower lip, then pulled it into his mouth, sucking gently. When she gasped, he claimed her mouth completely, probing with the tip of his tongue. She responded in kind, dipping in along the ridges of his teeth, parrying his tongue thrusts with her own.
Hot, sweet, and totally invigorating. It was as if she could taste his very soul. He was life, and warmth, and shelter from the storm, and she let herself drown in him. The muscles in her legs quivered; the pins and needles dancing across her body were more sparks than anything else.
He left her gasping for air when he pulled away to whisper, “Happy New Year, Sunny,” into her ear.
“Oh, yeah,” she muttered, arms still clasped tightly around his trim waist.
He glanced down at her. “Shall I pour the champagne?”
“Never mind the champagne, just –“
“Damn, I almost forgot!” He pulled away from her, snapping off the TV and clicking on the stereo. He fiddled with the dials for a moment, then a DJ’s voice filled the room.
“… dedication going out from Detective December to a very special lady, wishing her a very happy birthday, and a Happy New Year.”
The opening strains of “We’ve Got Tonight” floated from the speakers. Peter held open his arms in invitation. “May I have this dance, Princess?”
She moved into his embrace. Bodies pressed tightly together, they moved slowly in time with the music. Sunny found herself singing along. “Deep in my soul, I’ve been so lonely, all of my hopes fading away, I’ve longed for love, like everyone else does…”
She let the words trail off, realizing how close to truth they were, how deeply they cut.
Peter picked it up, surprising her with his smooth voice. “I know it’s late, I know you’re weary, I know your plans don’t include me, still here we are, both of us lonely, both of us lonely.”
She smiled at him. “We’ve got tonight, who needs tomorrow?”
He wrapped his arms around her tighter, and dipped his mouth to hers again, a crushing, deep, toe-curling kiss that went on forever and beyond.
The song was over when they surfaced for air.
She hadn’t felt this good, this alive, since September.
He pressed his lips against her forehead. “Now, about that champagne…”
She shook her head. “Forget the champagne. Take me to bed.”
His mouth dropped opened, then snapped shut. “Huh?”
“I want you to make love to me, Peter.”
“M-make love to you?” He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Sunny. I mean, you’re sick and all –“
“I’m not sick, I’m dying. There is a difference. It’s not like I’m contagious or anything.”
“But-but I’m so much older than you –“
“And I’m not going to get any older than I am right now, and we both know that.” She pressed forward, grinding against the ridge of his arousal. “Just like we both know you want me as much as I want you.”
She watched his struggle play out across his face, in his eyes. “Please, Peter. Make love to me.”
He groaned, then quickly scooped her into his arms and headed for the stairs. “Your brother is going to kill me.”
She giggled, looping her right arm around his neck. “I think it’ll be worth it.”
“I know it will.” He kissed her again as he ascended the stairs.
***
As he carried her into the bedroom, Peter debated where to set her down. Plopping her in the middle of the king-sized bed would look a tad over-eager. Instead, he carried her close, where the jade-green oriental lamp from the night table cast a circle of light onto the floor. He slowly lowered her, setting off a series of sparks as her curves dragged across the planes of his body.
Her gaze shifted to the bed. Her body trembled in his arms, the cardboard tiara wobbling on her head. He stroked his palm across her back. “Are you sure about this, Princess? There’s still time to change your mind.”
Her hands
splayed over his chest and she looked up at him, shaking her head slightly.
“Not changing my mind, no, but…”
“But?”
Her trembling fingers slid across his white dress shirt, lingering near the first fastened button. Another tremor rumbled through her body and into his.
“You’re afraid.” A sudden flash of insight. He groaned. “Oh, damn. Don’t tell me you’re a virgin. That I can’t do.” He lifted his hands off her hips and held them in the air like a perp at the wrong end of his Beretta.
“No.” Her face flushed scarlet. “I mean, I’ve been around the block, Detective.” The scarlet deepened. “Not that I’m easy or anything, I mean, I know I came on to you and all, but, I’m not.”
“I don’t think you’re easy, Sunny. Relax.” He lowered his hands. With one, he brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “So, why are you afraid?” His right hand settled on the curve of her waist.
She lowered her gaze. “I’ve been around the block before, but only…only with a boy.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And you…you’re a man.”
A rush of warmth surged through him, kicking him in the chest. A slow grin tugged one side of his mouth upward. “Yes, I am.” He traced the curve of her hip. “And you are a very sexy woman.”
Her head jerked up. He caught the disbelief in her eyes before she voiced it. “I am?”
He nodded. “Shall I show you how sexy?”
Her head bobbed a fraction of an inch.
He snaked his hands to the small of her back and pressed her forward, into the evidence of his desire. “You’ve been tempting me all night.”
“Wow,” she whispered. “All night? I had no idea. I mean, I hoped…”
Peter silenced her by dropping his mouth over hers and kissing her until he couldn’t tell where he left off and she began. The velvet of her dress whispered sexy invitations as his hands traveled, exploring her tempting curves.
“Wait.” She groaned, pressing against his chest. “I…I…” Her gaze darted around the room, fastening on the doorway over his shoulder. “Is that the bathroom?” Her cheeks, already flush as a result of their kissing, deepened another shade.
“Yup.” He took pity on her and stepped backwards. “Take your time, Princess. I’ll wait.”
She grinned at him. “Such a gentleman, not to start without me.” She darted toward the door.
He chuckled as she hightailed it out of the room. The poor thing was nervous as hell. How to make this easier on her? On both of them? He took one look at the high poster bed, and reached for the buttons of his shirt.
He was all set when she returned to the doorway, babbling away a mile a minute. “Did you see that bathroom? Ohmigod, I could live in that bathroom! The tub is enormous and…”
He’d have given a million bucks to see her face, but his pose didn’t allow for that.
Silence cut through the room.
He waited until he began to worry that she’d either bolted on him or passed out. Then he cleared his throat. “Detective December, live and in person, at your service, ma’am.”
Nothing.
Finally, he shoved the Santa hat up off his eyes and peeked out at her. “Sunny?”
She stood, open-mouthed and staring, several feet from the bed. Finally she inhaled deeply.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Her trembling index finger wavered in the air as she pointed at him. “You,” her voice cracked, “You forgot your hay.”
Rich laughter rumbled in his chest. “Hay gives me a rash.” He patted the bed at his side. “Come here.”
Sunny forced her legs to obey her commands and moved to the very side of the bed. She knew she looked like an idiot, staring at him, but holy Hannah, those muscles were even more impressive in person. Uh, that and the fact that absolutely nothing was hidden by the new version of the calendar pose. Damn, there was a hell of a difference between men and boys. She swallowed hard and climbed onto the edge of the bed, kneeling at his side. She lowered her butt onto her feet.
“What did you think about while looking at that picture, Sunny?”
“I-I wanted to…” She stared at his well-shaped pecs, unable to look higher and meet his eyes, and not wanting to look lower and meet his…yeah, that. Her cheeks scorched at the thought. Yeah, great lover she made. Peter was sure to be impressed.
Yeah, right.
“To what?” he prodded.
“To touch him. You. To know what those muscles felt like under my hands.”
He picked up her hand and placed it on his chest. Like the man himself, it was silk over steel. She hadn’t expected the softness of his skin – or his soul. From the picture she’d expected only a total tough guy. With an enormous ego. What she’d gotten was a sweet, thoughtful, incredible man.
If she had the time, she could easily fall in love with him. But time was a luxury she didn’t have.
They had tonight. Now. This minute.
His heart thudded a steady, quick tempo beneath her palm. “So, go ahead,” he urged. “Touch.”
A soft smattering of hair covered his chest. She allowed her fingers to stray through it, tracing the outline of his muscles. “You didn’t have any hair in the picture.”
Peter chuckled. “They shaved me. I think that was the worst part of the whole thing. Except for the hay rash.”
“You really got a rash?” She glanced at his face.
Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “Yup. Not fun.”
She laughed. “I’ll bet.” Her other hand slid onto his chest, began swirling patterns over his taut skin.
“Kiss me.”
Sunny leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. In seconds, her mind went blank as the sensory input overloaded her weary brain cells. His hands coursed down her sides, over her back, then drifted lower to cup her buttocks, all while his talented mouth worked magic on her own. With a start, she realized that men even kissed a lot different than boys did.
Happy New Year to me.
At some point, the rasp of a zipper and a sudden cool draft across her back let her know his busy hands had started undressing her.
A tangle of velvet gave way to the scraps of lace she called underwear, which gave way to bare flesh. The satin sheets caressed her hot skin once he’d managed to shed her clothes. The press of his hard muscles against her soft curves was better in reality than she’d ever dreamed.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, mouth against her neck. He kissed a trail down to the hollow of her throat, his tongue creating waves of heat that spiraled through her. He trailed his tongue lower, tormenting her by kissing circles around her breasts.
Finally she arched her back. “Peter, please!”
He chuckled. “Something you want, Princess?”
“You’re a man, I think you damn well know what I want!”
His chuckle grew into full-fledged, throaty laughter. “Impatient, aren’t you? We’ve got all night.” His tongue darted across her nipple, causing her to gasp. Then he began a masterful exploration of her body, his hands and mouth dancing across her skin.
Slick with sweat, she writhed under his ministrations. He took her to the brink of passion then pulled her back, each time taking her higher and higher, then dropping her out until she begged him for release.
He trailed flames down her body with his mouth. When he settled between her thighs, a tingle of apprehension, mixed with longing, speared her. She clenched the satin sheets in her hands.
Warm breath from his mouth heated the very part of her that suddenly seemed the center of the entire universe. He kissed her in the most intimate way, a way she’d never experienced before. Two talented fingers slipped inside her. “Ohmigod!” she gasped.
Shooting stars raced across the room, even after she closed her eyes. Her breathing grew ragged. She twisted the sheets around her hands and climbed higher, higher…
And this time, he pushed her over the edge. She cried out victoriously as her body shuddered.
When her breathing slowed and the room stopped spinning, she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, a smug grin on his face. “Well?”
“Men are so much better than boys.” She smiled, stroking her fingers across the planes of his face. The scuff of five o’clock shadow bit her fingertips. Funny, she hadn’t noticed that against her thighs. “Now, make love to me. I want you inside me.”
He joined them with one sure, slow stroke, filling her so completely she thought she’d die on the spot. And what a way to go. Her heart thudded in her chest. “Peter!”
“Hold on tight, Princess.” His biceps and shoulders rippled with the effort of propping himself over her. He eased back, then began an exquisitely languid pace. Not a fumbling boy in a hurry, Peter took his sweet time making love to her.
Eventually, though, they both succumbed to the temptation of a quicker tempo. Sunny wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him faster, deeper. Sweat reduced the friction between their over-heated skin.
“Oh, oh, Peter!” she cried, clutching his shoulders as once again he took her to the stars.
“Sunny.” He groaned in her ear. “Sweet, sweet Sunny.” He bucked convulsively several more times, then his arms bowed and more of his weight pressed against her.
Only their ragged breathing filled the room.
After a few minutes, he rolled over, onto his back. His arm snaked around her shoulders and he drew her against him, then dragged the covers up over them both.
She laid her head on his chest, listened to the pounding of his heart as it slowed from runaway-freight-train hammering to a more normal pulse.
He pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “That was great.”
“Mmmmm.” Bones and vocal chords melted by bliss, she merely purred her agreement.
Slowly his breathing evened out, and he dropped off into sleep. Sunny lay still as long as she possibly could, enjoying the warmth of his body next to hers. But without the distraction of his hands moving across her skin, the pins and needles began to annoy her, and the dull throbbing in her head made her restless. She propped herself on her elbow to study the angles of his face. A strand of hair drooped across his forehead, and she gently pushed it back. She pressed her lips in its place.
“Thank you, Peter,” she whispered. “It’s been a wonderful birthday and a New Year’s to remember.”
He shifted in sleep, and she froze in place until he settled again. She slipped from the bed noiselessly, then turned to look at him once more.
He was almost sweet enough to make her reconsider her plans. But, she couldn’t be that selfish. He’d given her the greatest night of her life. And there was Rob to consider.
Above all, a plan was a plan.
She padded softly toward the bathroom.
***
“Peter.”
Her voice drew him upward from the warm, soothing arms of his post-love-making snooze. He stretched out his legs, kicking off the tangle of sheets.
“Peter!”
The plaintive note in her second call shot him up-right. “Sunny?” He scrambled off the bed and headed in the direction of her voice. The black marble tile of the bathroom floor chilled the soles of his feet.
Wrapped in a white bath towel, she sat on the edge of the big Jacuzzi tub, shoulders hunched over, her legs inside. Water burbled down the drain. Damp tendrils of her blond hair clung to the back of her neck.
Peter pushed the strands aside, leaned over, and gently grazed his teeth across the vertebrae. “You should have called me while you were still in the tub,” he murmured, drawing his mouth along the curve of her shoulder.
She sighed. “I am still in the tub.” Her shoulder dropped further down.
He lifted his attention from the bare skin exposed by the top of towel to glance at her face. Her eyes were downcast and her mouth curved into a tiny frown that made him want to kiss the dour expression away. “What’s wrong?”
The last of the water slurped and sloshed around her feet as it vanished down the drain. Sunny’s right hand toyed with the edge of the towel where it rested against her thigh.
“Sunny?”
She inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled loudly. Silence stretched for several heartbeats before she spoke. “I-I don’t want to be a burden.”
“What are you talking about?” He eased himself onto the wide, tiled ledge surrounding the tub.
“I can’t get out,” she whispered. “I got into this tub, but I can’t get out.”
“I don’t understand.”
She lifted red-rimmed eyes to meet his gaze. Her lower lip trembled. “I need help. My damn leg…”
“Ahhh.” Understanding dawned. The ledge was wide, and probably harder to negotiate when wet. Thank God she hadn’t tried to climb out and fallen. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help every now and then, Sunny. All you had to do was ask.” He didn’t tell her that offering help was a time-honored Caine family tradition. He rose and turned around, draping his right arm around her shoulders, working the left behind her still-damp knees.
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being lifted out of a stupid bathtub.” She pressed her face against his chest as he hefted her into his arms and carried her back to the bedroom.
“The pleasure’s all mine, Princess. You look damn cute in this towel.” The bed shifted beneath his knees as he clambered onto it and lowered her against a pillow in the middle.
Eyes scrunched shut, she turned her face away from him. In the soft light spilling from the bathroom, he could see a pink tinge spread across her cheeks and down her neck. Embarrassment? “Look at me, Sunny.”
She shook her head slightly.
“I’m not going to go away. And neither is your condition.”
“No kidding,” she choked out, voice rough. A single tear trickled from beneath her clenched lashes.
He caught it with his lips as though swallowing the salty offering could swallow up all her pain and sorrow. He pressed a kiss against her cheek. “I wish I could change things for you. I’d do it in a second.”
Her eyes fluttered open. Her palm spread across his chest, her fingers fanning out. When the tip of her nail grazed his nipple, electricity arced through his skin. He sucked in his breath. For a moment, they simply gazed at each other. “You have a very warm and giving heart, Detective. If you always follow it, you’ll be on the right path.”
“Right path?” He shook his head in an attempt to clear the hormones that were rapidly clouding his thinking. How could she know how often he questioned his path? How divided he felt at times, torn between two very different worlds, even between two fathers? “Were you talking about me with my father while he dosed you with his terrible brews?”
The corners of her mouth inched upward even as she sniffled. “My, what a big ego you have. Actually, I don’t believe your name came up in discussion.”
There was something vulnerable in the depths of her blue eyes. And something else he couldn’t name but wanted desperately to chase away. “Big? I’ll show you big.” He pressed his growing erection against her thigh, and was rewarded by her chuckle.
“Yes, show me. Until dawn, it’s still our night. Make me forget for the rest of the night, Peter.”
He lowered his head, used his teeth to unwrap the white towel, set his mouth to work making love to her. He could make her forget for the rest of the night, all right. But somehow he knew forgetting Sunny Lambert after tonight was going to be a whole lot harder.
***
The faint light of morning greeted Peter when he woke again. The king-sized bed seemed enormous. Probably because he was alone it. For a moment, the night’s events flashed by like a blur, like some kind of out-of-focus movie, a figment of his imagination. But the indentation in the pillow beside him had been caused by someone’s head. He grinned at the Santa hat draped across it, a blond hair attached to the red fuzz.
For a dying woman, Sunny certainly had an overwhelming supply of passion. Maybe it was because every moment was precious to her. But he’d never in his life experienced a night quite like the last one – and rather doubted he ever would again.
“Sunny?” he called, rolling from the bed. He scooped his underwear from a nearby chair, pulled them on, then his tux pants. No noise from the bathroom. He headed for the stairs.
The treads squeaked lightly beneath his feet. His gaze shot first to the table – and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. His shoulder harness sprawled on the round, glass top. The Beretta lay next to it.
And he damn well knew he hadn’t left it there.
His stomach clenched. Her words from the bathroom rang in his ears: I don’t want to be a burden.
The gun hadn’t been fired. But the very idea that she’d handled it made him want to puke. He picked it up, checked the safety – still on – and slipped it back into the holster.
On silent feet he crossed to the living area. She perched on the window sill, gazing out. His tux jacket hung on her slender form. He placed his hands on her shoulders.
She jumped, startled.
“What are you doing?”
“Watching the sunrise. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Peter glanced over her head. Orange and pink streaks tinted the sky over the city. A blanket of fresh snow coated the buildings and streets. A New Year. A fresh start. A clean slate. But there’d be no new beginning for her. He tried to imagine how she had to be feeling. But his own feelings got in the way.
“Peter?” She reached up and covered his hands with her own.
“Yeah, nice.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Don’t you know you never, ever touch a cop’s gun?”
“I just-I was just looking at it.”
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“N-nothing.” She shuddered beneath his hands. “I…”
“Suicide is a crime. I am a cop.”
She let go of his hands, dropped her own into her lap. Her head lowered. “Why is it a crime?” she whispered. “Who’s the victim if the killer and victim are the same?”
“Who’s the victim?” He grabbed her by the elbows and pulled her to her feet, turning her around to face him. “Rob, for one. Anyone else who cares about you.” Like maybe…me?
Her gaze lifted, eyes widening. “I want to spare Rob. I don’t want him or anyone else watching me turn into a drooling vegetable, having to change my diapers or God only knows what.”
“How do you know that’s going to happen?”
She lifted her right shoulder in a half shrug similar to his father’s favorite gesture.
“If you cut your time short, Sunny, you steal from Rob. And yourself.” He spun her back around to the window. “Look at that sunrise. You said yourself, it’s beautiful. But you know what? Tomorrow’s might be even better. If there’s a chance you might see it, don’t you want to take it?” He wrapped his arms around her.
Her body trembled. “I’m tired, Peter. I’m tired of being brave, being strong.”
“Then let someone else be strong for you.” He pulled her back against his chest. “Lean on me.” What was he saying? Another loss was the last thing he needed in his life – but he knew he couldn’t just walk away from her. Either way, it was going to hurt.
She twisted in his arms and pressed her face against his chest. “I’m afraid.”
“I know.” He stroked her hair. “You hide it well. But you don’t have to be brave with me.”
His words and gentle touch offered permission, and Sunny let herself go. For the first time since her diagnosis, she cried fully where someone else could see her, hear her. Tears streamed down her face, and down his chest. His warm arms cradled her, sheltered her, supported her, until finally there were no more tears left.
Sniffling, she lifted her head, gazed into soft hazel eyes filled with compassion, laced with a pain of their own. Something deep inside her burst with bittersweet joy, and she handed her heart over to him. How cruel of fate to taunt her with love at this point.
Then again, she’d never felt this joyful hurt, this amazing sensation. Suddenly all the songs, all the stories, all the poems made sense to her.
She raised her right hand, cupped his face.
He grasped her hand and turned his head, pressing a kiss into her palm. “No more thinking about offing yourself, right?”
She lowered her gaze.
“Sunny?”
“I’m afraid the pain will be too much to bear. It’s bad enough now, what will it be like when…”
“You think blowing your head off won’t hurt? Newsflash, honey, it might not hurt for long, but it will definitely hurt.”
“I wasn’t going to use your gun. I wouldn’t let you get in trouble. I was going to… Never mind.”
“You don’t know how it’s going to end.” He drew her tightly into his arms again. “Please, Sunny, hang onto that courage I know you have. I’ll help you. Pop will help you. But don’t leave before you have to.”
She let him hold her for a long time, considering all the implications of dumping her plan, then swallowed hard and nodded against his chest. “Okay.”
“That’s my Princess.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw the silver champagne bucket. “Hey, we never had our champagne last night.”
“As I recall, you were interested in something other than champagne last night.” He released her and crossed to the bucket alongside the sofa, drew out the bottle. It dripped water into the silver container as he held it aloft. “The ice melted, but it’s still cold. Shall we toast the morning?”
“Yes.” God, he looked so sexy, wearing only the black tux pants, and nothing else. His muscles bunched and corded as he wrestled with the champagne bottle. She could watch him forever.
The cork popped and shot across the room. Peter poured the bubbly liquid into the pair of fluted glasses, then strolled casually back to her. She accepted a glass from him.
He clinked his glass against hers. “To sunrises. To my brave Princess. To tomorrow - as many of them as we get to share.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
***
Epilogue – The Next New Year’s Eve, One Year Later
“Shift’s almost over, partner. How’s that paperwork coming?”
Peter glanced up from the keyboard as Skalany perched on the corner of his desk. “Huh? Oh, it’s almost done.”
“Good. Since shift ends at 11:00, that means we both have time to get someplace to celebrate the New Year.”
“Whatever.” Peter returned his attention to the keyboard.
Mary Margaret leaned closer. “Don’t you have plans? Where’s Jordan tonight?”
“I have plans. They don’t include Jordan. She’s on first shift right now, pitched a fit that I wouldn’t try to trade off for the night, and decided to go out with her friends. Besides, like I said, I have somewhere to be at midnight.”
“Whoa. You’re in a mood. In fact, you have been all day. What’s got your shorts in a knot, Detective?”
His throat tightened at her choice of names for him. He glanced down at the bottom left drawer of his desk, and his fingers twitched with the urge to pull out the mementoes. But not in front of Skalany.
“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
“You mean Sunny?” He cleared his throat to get rid of the rasp in his voice.
“Yeah, I mean Sunny.” She spoke softly. “I’m sorry I got Detective December involved in something that ended up being painful for him.”
Peter yanked open the top desk drawer, shoved his hands inside and made a big production of searching for a pen. “I have work to finish, Skalany.”
“Okay.” Her mouth drew down, and concern etched her face, but she jumped down off his desk and started back for her own.
“He’s not sorry,” Peter called after her. “Those may have been the most real – or maybe it’s surreal – five days of his life.”
Mary Margaret turned and offered him a shaky grin. She nodded, then scooted back to her desk.
With fingers that seemed stiff and hard to control, Peter finished typing the report, then hit the print button. Thoughts of Sunny and the five amazing days they’d shared flooded him. His throat tightened again as he pushed them aside. Not here. He wouldn’t think about her here.
He ripped the report out of the printer, signed it, then threw the pen down on the desk top. He lifted his leather jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged into it, then leaned over and opened the bottom left drawer.
Reaching way into the back, his hand closed around something fuzzy. He pulled it from the drawer and crammed it into his jacket pocket. After turning in the report, he headed for the door.
What seemed like an eternity later, Peter slipped from the Stealth. The crisp, cold air bit the skin of his face. Overhead, stars dazzled brightly in the crystal clear sky. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he made his way down a narrow path.
He hadn’t been here since the day he’d stood beside her brother while they lowered her into the cold, frozen ground; laid her to rest beside her parents. Yet with unerring precision, he found his way to her grave.
A rose-colored tombstone had been placed sometime in the past year. Peter crouched down beside it. He pulled off a glove and ran his fingers over her name. “Hey, Sunny.” A small bouquet of mixed flowers with a half-limp helium balloon attached rested beside the stone. He poked at the balloon, sent it rocking.
“I see your brother’s already been here to wish you a happy birthday.” Peter’s nose tingled, his throat tightened. A wave of sorrow he’d struggled to hold at bay broke loose and washed over him.
He bowed his head as images of their brief time together flooded him – Chinatown, eating Peking duck, drinking tea with LoSi, and setting off firecrackers. He’d taken vacation time and whisked her away to the Blaisdell cabin. They’d played in the snow like a couple of kids, and it hadn’t mattered that her snow-angels were a little lopsided on the left sides. They drank hot chocolate with whipped cream and made love in front of the fireplace. They watched every sunrise, though none came close to matching the spectacular colors of New Year’s.
And he’d never felt more alive, more aware of the tiny miracles of each and every day.
She’d been happy. He knew that with a certainty that reached to the bottom of his soul. She’d been so animated, face practically glowing as she stood in the center of the Cape Cod’s tiny living room and told her brother about their trip.
She’d offered Peter a true smile then, not a brave front, not a quivering smile-in-the-face-of-adversity, but a smile that lit up her whole face, including her blue eyes. She’d started walking toward him, stopped with a sudden lurch, and he’d watched the spark go out as she stood there.
Peter raked his hand through his hair, then gave the limp balloon another half-hearted poke, struggling to see through the tears welling up in his eyes.
Nicky had assured him a ruptured aneurysm near the tumor meant she’d been gone before she’d even hit the floor, that she’d felt no pain.
Just like that, she was gone. Just like she’d wanted.
Quick and painless.
For her, anyway.
“I’ll never be the same for having known you, Sunny,” he murmured, his breath clouding in the frigid night air. “It was worth every minute. When I was with you, everything seemed so clear.” Not so anymore.
An ache lodged in the middle of his chest. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was, indeed, going to be the end of the Caine line. He loved all the wrong women. Now there was Jordan in his life, and she drove him crazy half the time. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could be a Shaolin Cop anymore. His future seemed so unclear.
Follow your heart, Sunny’s voice echoed across his brain.
He jerked his glance up to stare at her name across the stone. “Follow my heart? Yeah, right.” He sighed deeply. “I’ll try, Princess. I’ll try.”
Off in the distance, church bells pealed, ringing in the midnight hour.
“Happy New Year, Sunny.” Peter pressed his fingers to his lips, then against the cold stone. His knees popped as he rose to his feet. “Geez, I’m getting old.” He glanced down at her grave. “But you, you’ll always be 21 and beautiful. And Detective December’s Princess.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Santa hat, rubbing the fuzzy tassel in his palm. He draped the hat across the corner of her tombstone.
Then he turned on his heel and strode briskly toward his future, leaving the hat – and a piece of his heart – behind.