Macayla frowned as Oliver pulled up before her new temporary home. The totally modern house was built at the dead end of a point of land that jutted into Tampa Bay. It didn’t look at all like the description Jefferina had given her. Mansion built on 180 feet of prime waterfront property. It was certainly nice. What electronic-gated, four-car-garage mansion wouldn’t be? Still, she was disappointed because from where she sat in Oliver’s front seat, there wasn’t a bit of water view to be seen. In fact, the house looked like any nice house on any block anywhere in the area. It was a split-level, two-story stucco surrounded by tall matching stucco walls and lush tropical plants on either side of the drive so that one could not see the neighbors.
“Well, it’s not the estate I was expecting, but it’ll do.”
Oliver shook his head, his expression grim as he turned up the radio. “The storm is intensifying. I should be in there with you tonight.”
“Sure you should.” Mac grinned. “But I’d get nothing done. I have responsibilities, animals to take care of.”
The old twinkle in his blue eyes flashed to life. “I’m an animal. You could feed and pet me.”
“You heard what Jefferina said. Not gonna happen.” She leaned in to land a quick kiss good-bye.
His hand shot out and snagged her behind her head and held her month to his. The peck turned into a full-mouth drown in his scent and heat and taste. When they finally drew apart, she was in his lap and her bra was unclasped, his shirt pulled up, and skin-to-skin contact felt so good her nipples were gumdrops glued by humidity to his chest.
“I could come in and we could christen each of the beds in the seven bedrooms.”
She grinned at him. “We wouldn’t make it past the entrance floor.”
“Fair dinkum.” He grinned back.
“But you need to hold that thought. For three days.”
He pushed her hand down between them so there was no doubt about how ready he was for action. “Why don’t you hold this instead?”
She hadn’t meant to leave her hand there, but his dick was so hard beneath the denim of his jeans. And it just seemed like the thing to do, to squeeze and lightly knead and— She jerked her hand away. “You don’t play fair.”
“Am I winning?”
He stroked a thumb across the seat of her shorts and grinned. Busted. It was damp. “I won’t stay long. Promise. Just a quick screw and I’m gone.”
Macayla moved her head slowly in a negative but her hand had moved back to his erection. After a hard squeeze that drew a gasp of need from him, she fumbled for his zipper. “That quickie needs to be here. I promised Jefferina I wouldn’t let you in. However, if we get arrested for lewd public conduct…”
“We won’t. Just let me make room.” His hands had found her waist and he lifted her back onto her side of the console.
Macayla was trying to wriggle out of her shorts when he suddenly let his seat back in a reclining position. A second later he had skinned out of his jeans, revealing a fully equipped erection of impressive size. He pulled out a condom and rolled it expertly over himself before turning to her with a grin. He rolled his hips provocatively. “Ready for a ride?”
She shucked her shorts and then climbed back on top of him. That’s all the invitation he needed to scoop his hands behind her and palm her butt cheeks.
She leaned over and kissed him as he maneuvered their bodies into the right position. She felt his fingers delicately part her, and then the tip of his penis slipped in. With a sigh of satisfaction she sank down farther on him, until inch by inch he filled her completely.
It was a wild ride, fast and hard, no time for subtleties or luxuriating touches or prolonged tension. This was sex pure and raw and intense. They were both sweating within seconds. He grunted with every thrust, as if he thought he could bury himself so deeply inside her they would never be able to separate again. It didn’t seem to matter that there was very little room in which to maneuver, or that her butt kept bouncing against the steering wheel. They were lost in the moment of urgent heat between them, a tangle of surging lust, damp skin, and warm mouths.
The climax came quickly, as if it had been months instead of hours since they’d been together. It was hard and sudden, almost painful. Macayla heard Oliver’s groan of surrender on the back end of her tsunami of release.
For a moment the world stopped. And then she was nose-to-nose with Jackeroo, who’d been watching them with intense interest from the backseat.
A flash out of the blue suddenly lit up the late afternoon, landing so close by it made a cracking sound before thunder blasted the surrounding air. As if the razor of electrons had slashed open the clouds, rain splashed down around them in ragged sheets.
Jackeroo barked loudly in protest of the sudden pyrotechnics. Macayla scooted off Oliver’s lap and grabbed her undies and shorts from the floorboard. “I’ve got to go. The dogs need to be walked before the serious weather sets in.”
They both dressed quickly in silence as the moisture from the rain fogged up the windows.
Finally clothed, she darted a glance at him. He was leaning against the driver’s door watching her with half-closed lids, as if he was thinking about jumping her again. She’d thought he would look sated. Instead he looked like a man who couldn’t get enough.
She smiled to herself. She’d never thought she was the kind of woman a man couldn’t get enough of. But what did she know?
She leaned across the console and kissed him quickly, a mash-up of lips and tongue that didn’t contain a lot of finesse but put her shaky world on notice as her sex fluttered in tiny aftershocks of delicious desire.
“See you tomorrow.” She grabbed her backpack of belongings, pushed open the door, and scooted out into the rain, gasping in surprise to find the thick splash of water surprisingly cold as it pelted her head and shoulders. She swung open the back door to grab her backpack and leaned in to give Jackeroo a pet. “Take care of the big guy. He’s going to be a little cranky.” She offered Oliver a sympathetic glance over the seats. “See you soon.”
His grin dissolved. “Call me after you’ve checked out the place. I’m not leaving here until you do.”
“Okay.” She slammed the car door and ran for the front gate, where she punched in the security code she’d been given. Happy to hear the dead bolt grind and release, she pushed through to use the code on the keypad to the right side of a pair of leaded-glass entrance doors.
The view on the other side halted her just inside.
“Holy shit.”
This was a house in which the view ruled. Across a great room decorated in expensive but casual furnishings, floor-to-ceiling windows offered an uninterrupted view of Tampa Bay. Everywhere she looked, the panoramic water view just didn’t stop. It was magnificent. Or scary, depending on how much a person liked water.
She pulled out her phone as another brilliant flash lit up the interior. “I’m in. I’m fine.” No point in torturing him with a description of a place he couldn’t share with her. Damn shame.
“Use security even during the day. I don’t like you being here alone. Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?” Oliver sounded concerned, not sexy. Well, not deliberately sexy.
“I’m fine. Like Jefferina said, this job gets me off the street and away from the places I can usually be found. No one will be looking for me here. Now go find shelter before it gets ugly.”
“Don’t do anything heroic, Macayla.”
“You mean like walk the dog?”
“Shit. I can do that for you.”
Macayla turned back to face the front doors and could see his car idling on the street. “If you so much as place one booted foot on the drive, Kelly, I’m cutting you off. Forever.”
He chuckled. It was a low dirty chuckle and made all her lady parts tingle. “You’ve got until tomorrow. Did I tell you the clock’s running on my visit?”
“No.” Her heart gave a funny quiver.
“I just turned down the second job I’ve been offered since I flew in.”
“Where do they need you?”
“Actually, it’s local tonight. I’m on an Internet loop that allows professional search-and-rescue groups to know my location at any given time. That’s how they found me. The local SAR groups are checking with one another just in case they’re needed during or after the storm. I told them I’m busy.”
“Why did you do that?”
He paused so long she thought the line had gone dead. “You’re in trouble, Macayla. You might need help. I can help.”
Not exactly a declaration of anything. But what could she expect? They may have smashed private parts together with lusty enthusiasm several times, but that didn’t make a relationship. Yet he was turning down work to stay here. Did she seem that needy, or out of her depth? Or worse, was he feeling sorry for her? Pity was the worst.
“I’m not in trouble tonight. You saw the spec sheet on the alarm system in this place. Monitors and cameras. I’m afraid to scratch for fear it’s being recorded. Please call back and see if they could use your help—and Jackeroo’s.”
“You wouldn’t feel deserted or anything?”
“I’d be relieved that you’re doing something important instead of knocking around in a boring hotel room.” Or sitting in a bar attracting every woman with your eyes. “Go. Be useful.”
“You’re the best, Macayla.”
With that thought keeping her company, Mac went to look out the windows at the bay.
The water was choppy with whitecaps, reflecting a lead-gray sky. The wind had yet to gain strength but intermittent rain spattered the patio and decks, dimpling the surface of the pool that took up a huge chunk of the backyard. It was a saltwater pool, she remembered from her paperwork. Beyond the bay itself, lightning flickered like a shorted bulb in the western sky.
A private dock with both a boat lift and a Jet Ski lift completed the backyard amenities. Just what every house needs, she thought with a chuckle. Of course, there was nothing to lift today, with a storm making headway toward land. Usually the bay was dotted with sailboats and tracked with water-skiers. At the moment, nothing rode the waves but a few brave terns and pelicans.
The rest of the huge outdoor living space was furnished with teak lounge chairs, an outdoor dining table for six, and wicker couches under a gazebo the size of her entire house. She hoped the furnishings were anchored because when the wind picked up, she wouldn’t be chasing lawn furniture in sixty-mile-an-hour gusts.
In fact, it dawned on her as she picked up her damp things to go in search of a towel with which to dry off that the lightning and power of the bad weather to come would be impossible to get away from. The entire back of the house was made of the same floor-to-ceiling windows. Even the doors were mostly glass.
Not a single blind covered a window. The sheer drapes hung between wide expanses of glass wouldn’t keep out sights or sounds when closed. No wonder a family with small children had left for a more ordinary hotel’s solid walls and blackout curtains.
Once dried off with a towel from the master bath, she moved to the windows of the bedroom, drawn by the telescope that, once peeked through, allowed an up-close-and-personal view of the water and the neighbors on the far side of the bay. It occurred to her that while she could see the bay in practically every direction, there wasn’t going to be a lot of protection from the effects of the storm. She would have a front row seat to the lightning, rain, and bay surge.
As a kid she’d hidden in her closet with a flashlight when thunderstorms rolled through. Now she loved them, but maybe not quite this much. She felt exposed.
She backed away from the telescope, wondering how many of them across the bay were focused in her direction. The sense of being in a fishbowl increased. She was isolated, now that she thought of it. If someone wanted to get to her—
“Get to me?” She thumped her forehead with her palm. No one would even guess to look for her here. She hadn’t known she’d be here three hours ago.
Just because her place had been broken into and—what was the opposite of robbed? Cash-infused? There was no reason to think her every move was being stalked. She was safe. The only way for anyone to get into this place was through a security gate or the choppy bay that would be churning up into scary very soon. Besides, the system was monitored. Any sign of a break in the grid and the police would be called in.
Just to satisfy herself that that this was true, she checked the security system again. It was the cautious thing to do. It had nothing to do with the paranoia that was her constant companion now.
She really did need to settle down and do her job. That meant finding and caring for the animals. Where were they? She’d never entered a place with dogs and not heard them barking from the first crack of the door.
She dropped the towel and bolted through the door toward the main house, ashamed that she’d gotten caught up in worrying about herself when there were animals that needed her help and protection.
She found the two dogs, Mal and Zoe, huddled in their crates in the kitchen.
She grabbed their leashes from the top of their crates, then bent down and opened the doors. “Sorry, guys. Really sorry.”
A pair of mixed-breed dogs, some Lab, some something else, they were very very happy to see her. In fact, they did a little pee dance around her before she could leash and usher them out onto the rain-soaked deck. Served her right for making them wait. For the moment, the rain had stopped. But the bank of clouds swirling up from the south promised much more, and soon.
Mac looked around. The outdoor area was tiled from the house to the seawall. No grass in sight. “No. No. Come on. Mal. Zoe.” She tugged on the leashes as the dogs were doing the circle-to-squat dance. She wasn’t sure poop would stain the outdoor tile but she didn’t want to be the one to explain it if it did.
She finally found a patch of grass, thanks to the dogs leading her over behind the gazebo near the seawall. This must be their regular spot. The splash of bay got her twice before they’d done their business. Tomorrow she would have to walk them outside the property, pooper scooper in hand.
Lightning flashed close enough to make her blink. Terrified by the flash, Mal and Zoe froze like deer. The accompanying rumble of thunder made them bolt for the house, tugging her in their wake. Poor babies. No wonder they were shivering when she found them.
An hour later, her charges had been fed, played with, and walked again, this time under storm-darkened skies that leaked rain. But they had no interest in relieving themselves. She moved their crates into the laundry room, the only room in the house she’d found that didn’t have a wall of windows. She couldn’t keep out the thunder but they didn’t cringe with every flash.
Satisfied that they were good for the night, she checked her instruction sheet. There was a cat named Ninja. Look for in upstairs bedroom, the instructions said.
She was at the top of the stairs when something moved at the corner of her vision. Heart jumping from first to fifth gear, she turned toward the movement.
A cat emerged from the nearby doorway. The fluffy black Persian feline was not in a good mood. Back arched, tail down, it came skipping across the travertine floor toward her at an angle, hissing and yowling, spoiling for a fight.
“Hi, Ninja.” Macayla held still, knowing she’d get clawed if she bent to try to pet it.
Three times the cat came at her then skittered away, as if Mac were pursuing it. But she remained where she was. When Ninja tired of that game, Mac reached in her pocket and pulled out a small toy mouse made of yarn with a jingle bell in its middle. She lobbed it gently to land halfway between them.
The kitty paused to watch the toy jingle its way across the floor. After it lay still for several seconds, Ninja pounced. The mouse jingled. Ninja sprang back. Pounce. Jingle. Jump. Pounce. Grab. Shake. Jingle. Keep.
Ninja tossed it in the air a couple of times, shook it twice, and turned to walk away, tail loose and squishing as he wandered off.
“Yes! Final point goes to the Pet Detective.” Macayla gave herself a fist pump as the Ninja carried her prize off. The phone rang somewhere deep in the house as she finished up cleaning the cat box. It was still ringing when she located the landline in the kitchen.
“Hello. Um, this is the fish guy, Roland.” He sounded like a teenager whose voice was still changing.
“Yes. You were supposed to be here—” Macayla checked her paperwork. “—three hours ago.”
“So, like, I can’t be there today.”
“Not an option. I know nothing about saltwater tanks except that they have to be serviced daily. That means today.”
“Like I so know that? But the po-po picked me up on a totally bogus charge, and I’m, like, waiting on some righteous bail money to come in.”
Macayla opened her mouth to blast him for the bullshit routine, but he kept talking.
“I’ll walk you through it. There’s a sheet of instructions under the table that holds the biggest tank. We keep it there for emergencies.”
Emergencies that included arrests, Macayla supposed. She found the sheet. Under DAILY it read: Check fish for signs of stress, disease, or death.
“Death.” Macayla rolled her eyes as she held the phone in one hand and lifted the lid. Death would be obvious. She bent down and checked the waterline for floaters. Then the bottom. Nothing lying unnaturally still. “No deaths.”
“Now look for disease.”
She leaned in over the top wondering what a diseased fish looked like. “Anybody in there got a cough? Feeling achy? Runny nose?”
She heard Roland try to laugh and choke on it. She peered in deeper, looking for broken fins or great abnormal growths distorting the menagerie swimming past her view. “Nope.”
“Awesome. Now stress. That’s a real bitch for marine life in the home environment.”
Mac sighed. Stress was a silent killer, everyone knew that. No fish dead equaled no fish truly stressed. Unless it was that little yellow one hiding under the coral boulder. He looked pretty stressed. Eyes bulgy. Fins flicking nervously. Oh yeah. Fish.
Following Roland’s next instructions, she checked the temperature and tested the water, marking down her findings.
Finally it was time to feed them. It was not a pretty job. Frozen bloodworms. Briny shrimp. Freeze-dried jumbo krill. Algal wafers and sinking pellets.
By the time she was done, Mac was pretty certain sushi was off the menu for at least a month. Just as well, because she couldn’t afford it.
* * *
The full brunt of the storm moved in after nightfall, buffeting the house with keening winds and the sounds of surf stirred like food in the blender.
Macayla managed to tune out most of it. Dinner consisted of a cold chicken sandwich she’d made from leftover barbecue in the fridge. After eating three bites, she realized she wasn’t really hungry. Nor was she interested in anything on the TV. The main channels were full of Doppler radar images of the storm, while nothing on the cable channels looked even remotely interesting. She checked the doors and walked the dogs again, though neither of them was interested in performing their duties in gale force conditions. She put them in their crates and hoped for the best.
Finally, after prowling around like a cat, she found a CD of Up in the DVD player and settled in to watch the adventures of a widower, a fatherless boy, and a dog named Dug. But it was not easy to keep her gaze on the screen when the storm surrounding the house was louder and brighter.
She was propped up in bed in the upstairs second master suite when she finally gave in and texted Oliver. When I get rich enough, this is the 1st thing I’m buying. Memory foam mattress should be an inalienable right.
Then she held her breath, wondering if he would be able to read her message. He’d said he had some help over the years. Two miserable non-self-empowering minutes passed before she got a reply. Don’t u need a car 1st?
She smiled so hard she was glad no one was there to witness it. I need this mattress. I’d do wicked things 4 this mattress.
I have that mattress.
No u don’t.
Will have as soon as doors open to Mattress World tomorrow.
U don’t have a place to put it.
It can live at ur house. Plan to get wicked by sundown.
This is a three day job, at least, remember?
Ur place or that place. I got dibs on the mattress.
She laughed, really genuinely happy for the first time in a long time. Be careful out there. I’m all tucked in.
I will.
* * *
Oliver hung up and leaned his car seat back as far as it would go. Then he twisted until he’d settled his shoulders against the back. Jackeroo had climbed into the front seat and lay his head on his handler’s stomach. As lightning flashed, lighting up the car like a lantern, Jackeroo whimpered.
“Easy, boy. We’ve ridden out worse.” Of course, he might have thought about getting a heavier vehicle if he’d known he’d be keeping vigil in it while out in a storm. Right now they were rocking and rolling as the wind boxed with the chassis.
He leaned forward and checked the security gate of the house in which Macayla slept. He was certain she was safe. But he didn’t trust himself to be far away if she wasn’t. That’s why he was parked across the street.
Macayla would be mad as hell if she knew what he was doing. That’s why he didn’t tell her. His gut was queasy, a sign that something wasn’t right. He didn’t know what or why. That’s why he and Jackeroo were here. Just in case.
* * *
The wind had died down. That’s why she heard the hum of the engine. A boat on the water.
“What an idiot,” Macayla murmured, finding herself moored in the memory foam mattress beneath her. She didn’t bother to open her eyes. The Coast Guard must be checking to see if residents along the bay were safe.
Please keep the first responders safe was her last thought before drifting back into unconsciousness.