The Virgin Sex Queen Page 9
Finally, Alan broke the silence. “I think I’ve turned into a stalker.”
A grunt was the only reply he got in return.
“Today I went to the bookshop and spied on Sophie through the bookshelves.” Humiliating. Just the very memory had him cringing in his seat. How could he have done that? Why had he done that? How old was he, for God’s sake? Twelve?
Another grunt from Mike.
“I can’t believe it I did it.” Alan stared out the window. “The chick has done something to me.”
Third grunt.
“I mean, I don’t chase chicks.”
This time there came a snort.
“Okay, I do chase chicks, but I…well shit, man, I don’t know what came over me.”
Silence.
“One minute I’m reading this chick porn, the next thing I’m stalking Sophie.” He turned his head to look at Mike. “What does that make me?”
“Insane stalker.”
“Great. I might have known I’d get no advice from you.”
“You’re reading erotic romance. What can I say?”
“Oh, please, don’t hold back.”
Mike slid a slow, cold-eyed look at him. “You don’t stalk ladies.”
Alan’s eyes widened. “Ladies? You’ve met Sophie?”
“No. I’m just saying, you don’t stalk ladies.”
“So it’s okay to stalk women, just not ladies?”
Another cold-eyed look.
“Right.” Alan returned to staring out the window.
After several seconds, Mike rumbled, “You get laid recently?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“You’re always chasing women. Maybe you’re building up pressure and it’s squashing your pea brain inside your head.”
Alan’s head shot around so fast to stare at Mike that he almost gave himself whiplash. “Was that a joke? From you?”
The corner of Mike’s mouth twitched ever so faintly. “Just an idea.”
“I think I need CPR.”
“No, maybe what you need is a reality check.”
“Huh?”
“Why are you reading romances?’
“Don’t say it like that.”
Third cold-eyed look.
“Geez. Fine. I’m researching.”
“You want to get inside this lady’s head, you spend time with her.”
Alan snorted. “When I spend time with her, she messes with my head.”
“Which head?”
“Holy cow, that must be a record for you. Two jokes in five minutes.”
“I’m not joking.”
From the stoic expression Mike wore, Alan had no idea, but knowing Mike, he probably was serious. Which meant one thing. “If you’re saying my dick is leading my brain, you’re wrong.”
“So how does she mess with your head?”
“Are we now talking head or…?”
Fourth cold-eyed look.
“Right.” Alan rested his elbow on the doorframe. “Yesterday her cousin came in and interrupted us.” When there was no comment, he added, “I’d just been teasing Soph and somehow it all got weird.”
Still no comment.
“I sort of kissed her neck.”
No comment.
“I don’t know if she realised it.”
No comment.
“And I sort of felt her…you know.” Alan made an exaggerated shape of a heart.
“You touched her heart?” Mike queried.
“No! Her bum. It’s sort of, you know, heart shaped. Big heart.” He flexed his fingers, remembering the feel of it. “Soft.”
No comment. Great.
“Then I sort of touched her breasts. Underneath.” Man, she had big boobs. Huge handfuls. He just bet they’d spill over his hands, they were so big.
He could feel his mouth water at just the thought of the nipples tipping those boobs. Were they big and red or small and pink? Big and pink? Small and red? Whatever, he bet they tasted as sweet as strawberries that went up the whazoo.
Whoa! Jerking upright in the seat, he took a deep breath. “Right, where are we going?”
“Patrolling.” Mike didn’t even look at him.
“Right. Geez.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s pull into a service station, I need a drink.” And to pull himself together.
Jesus, he was getting a boner on the job.
Maybe Mike was right, he needed to get laid.
Waiting in line to get takeaway coffees, he had time to get himself under control.
Cripes, Sophie was just a friend who wrote romances. Nothing special. Big, pretty, intriguing, but just a friend. He was reading too much girly porn, it and she were messing with his head and his manly ways. He had to pull himself together, get back to his usual rhythm.
Yeah, that was all. Before he ended up in a nuthouse.
Getting back into the car with the two hot coffees, he handed one to Mike. “I’m giving up the girly porn, Mike.”
Mike just took the lid off his takeaway cup and blew in it.
“Going back to my male roots. Bugger this girly stuff. And tonight? Tonight I’m going to the gym and get me a gym bunny. Gonna take her home and boink her brains out. How’s that for a plan?” Satisfied, he sat back in the seat and swirled the coffee around in the takeaway cup.
Mike took a sip of coffee. “Home.”
“Yep.”
“Where Sophie is staying.”
“Shit.”
Getting home late that night, Alan closed the garage door and entered the house. His uniform was in his gym bag and the gym clothes he wore were sweaty from his workout.
Why the hell Mike had to accompany him to the gym he didn’t know. Probably to embarrass him by lifting three tonnes without breaking a sweat. That was why no chick had bothered with Alan, they were all too busy ogling the big cop with muscles like a world champion weight lifter.
To be truthful, Alan hadn’t actually approached any of the women and for sure there’d been some real lookers. Yet somehow he just wasn’t interested. Obviously too tired.
A few things had also reared their ugly little head. While he stood there lifting weights, watching another young bloke chatting up a gym bunny, he’d suddenly felt a whole lot wiser. And a whole lot stupid.
Geez, did he look as desperate as that young bloke, going from gym bunny to gym bunny, looking for a chick for the night? Pathetic. No. No way was he that sad. Was he? He had a bad feeling. No, he was different. He was just tired, that was all. Hard day at work and things.
Like stalking.
God, he couldn’t believe he’d actually done that. What had come over him? Why the hell had he suddenly become all jealous and he-man and chest beating, taking off to check that no other man was hanging around Sophie? What a loser.
But regardless, the fact remained that he wouldn’t take anyone home for the night, he was too tired.
Bullshit. The truth was he couldn’t bring a woman home with Sophie in the house. That was just plain crass.
Okay, another truth. For the first time since he’d joined the gym, none of those gym bunnies had done anything for him. Not a stirring in the loins, not a licking of the lips, not a sidelong glance at long legs.
Because of Sophie. Because all he could think of was Sophie in the arms of another man and he was ready to do some serious damage. That wasn’t an option, so he lifted weights and ran on a treadmill until he thought his legs would fall off and his knuckles would be dragging on the ground behind him when he walked.
The whole time Mike said not one word, just lifted weights, stayed by Alan’s side, grunted goodbye outside the gym and drove home to his beloved wife.
While Alan drove home alone and walked into the house alone. Threw his uniform into the wash basket and went for a shower. Alone. And noticed that Sophie’s door was slightly open. He could hear her voice, soft and low, and he caught a glimpse of her walking away from the window with a mobile phone to her ear. She disappeared from sight.
Entering the bathroom, he shut the door and then the torture began. The air was still damp, the warmth of it carrying the scent of some kind of flowery soap. The shampoo sitting on the end of the bath was strawberry scented - holy cow, strawberries again! - and on the bench where he and Sam had their stuff scattered was a little toilet bag. Just a small one, pink with green flowers.
He couldn’t resist it. Hooking his finger into one side, he pulled it open and peeked in. Toothpaste and toothbrush holder, deodorant, a tube of mascara, a tube of lipstick, some cotton buds, a wide-toothed comb, a hairbrush and a bottle of perfume.
Curiously he took out the perfume and uncapped it, holding it up for a sniff. Yeah, that scent was all Sophie.
Returning the perfume bottle to the toilet bag, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Now what was he doing? Going through a chick’s toilet bag!
Impatiently he shoved the bag aside, determined to stop being so bloody stupid. He was like a gawky teen with his first crush. Goddamnit, he was a man and as such he could control himself! No more sniffing women’s perfume, checking out their toilet bags, and no more reading bloody erotic romances!
No freakin’ more.
Chapter 4
Standing at the window, Sophie saw Alan’s car pull into the driveway and disappear out of sight into the garage. He’d been gone when she woke up that morning, apparently visiting a friend or something before going to work. Because of the lateness of the time, she wondered if he’d had to do overtime.
Phone to her ear, she listened with half an ear to her Aunt Tish moaning about Sophie’s latest erotic book. As usual, it was filthy, perverted, and Aunt Tish wanted to know when the next one was released.
“August.” Turning, Sophie walked back across the bedroom.
“Too long. Why is the length of time between releases so long?”
“Because there’s more than just my book coming out,” Sophie repeated for the millionth time. “I’m not the only author.”
“You’re a big seller. You’re important.”
“Aunt Tish,” Sophie said dryly, “I’m a small fish in a very big pond.”
“Don’t care,” retorted Aunt Tish, “you’re my small fish.”
“Aw, sweet.”
After a few more minutes of chatting, Aunt Tish hung up and Sophie lowered the mobile phone to the bedside table. From the bathroom right across the hallway she could hear the sound of the shower.
Alan in the shower.
Alan naked in the shower.
Alan naked in the shower with all that water just sliding down his body, slicking across those muscles, those dips and intriguing crevices, dripping from his sac… Grabbing pen and notebook, Sophie sat down on the bed and started jotting down impressions. One thing for sure, Alan was proving to be an inspiration.
Another thing for sure was that he was dominating her thoughts lately. Since yesterday, to be truthful. Since the episode in the kitchen when she’d been pressed against him, his hands on her bottom, his thumbs grazing her breasts.
Lowering the pen, Sophie took a deep breath. Oh God, she was never going to forget the sensation of his hands on her. Okay, it wasn’t bare flesh on bare flesh, but it was the closest she’d ever gotten to it in a romantic way.
Crying on Ghost’s shoulder couldn’t be counted. His hug was reassuring, comforting, more big brother like, and Alan’s embrace was, well, anything but. It was something that even now, a day and some hours later, still had her nipples peaking, her breath coming faster, and her hands itching to slide beneath his shirt to feel that hot, hot skin.
As for his lips brushing against her neck, oh sweet mother mercy, how easy would it have been to turn her head, to have her lips waiting for him? How would that feel?
Sophie fanned her face at the thought. Bloody awesome, she bet.
However, she wasn’t so sure that Alan had felt the same way about it. He’d high-tailed it to his room before she’d returned to the kitchen, and then he’d kept his distance, smiling politely across the room at her, joking with Chelsea and her husband, chatting to Sam, basically anything but mentioning or even referring slightly to what had happened.
Obviously it had meant nothing to him and that shouldn’t be a surprise. Alan was the proverbial chick chaser. The man had chased and bedded more women than probably even he knew. He’d been doing it since high school and there’d been a whole lot of years since for him to carve a hell of a lot more notches on his belt.
Hmmmm. Did he keep count? Lifting her head, Sophie gazed at the partially open door. Did he think of women as conquests? That didn’t sit well. She’d rather think of him simply loving female company and enjoying a roll in the hay than seeing women as notches on a belt. A lady-lover she could understand, but a lady-user, that was a whole other story.
The sound of the shower turning off had her thoughts going from Alan the Chick Chaser to Alan the Naked Hunk drying himself, running that towel down all those swells and valleys and length…
Crossing to the window, Sophie yanked it open all the way and leaned against the windowsill, taking deep breaths and welcoming the cool air that slid over her suddenly heated face. Cripes, never before had she ever got so aroused by just the thought of a man. Even her fantasies on paper had never made her feel like this.
Because this was the real thing. For the first time in her life, a man, a real live, breathing man, had her aroused, had her thinking things about him that she’d only daydreamed.
This was not the same, not at all.
Even worse, it was going to be something she wouldn’t experience, not with Alan. Maybe one day with some man, but not with Alan, and even though she’d never experienced any intimacy at all she just knew it wouldn’t be the same with any other man except him.
Scowling, she yanked the curtain closed. “Get a bloody grip! Bloody teenage crush! What are you? Twelve?” Swinging around, she stalked across the room. She needed a drink, something cold, something very cold.
Throwing back the door, she came face to face with Alan and whoo boy! It was enough to make her breath catch. Standing there with a towel wrapped loose and low around lean hips, the muscles in his chest and abdomen showed off to perfection with a slight dampness from the shower, his dark hair dishevelled and damp, that rebellious lock falling across his brow, Alan was every inch the wet dream.
Hello, wet dream.
Hello, wet panties.
Sophie gulped, her gaze following the droplet of water that slid down one perfect pec to tremble on the tip of a brown male nipple before it fell off.
Her mouth watered.
“Soph?”
Blinking, she dragged her gaze up that wonderful chest and higher until she met dark eyes watching her narrowly, a little distantly.
Narrowly? Distantly? Well, there was that something cold. It sluiced through her like water on a fire. Here she was having lurid fantasies about him and there he was obviously not particularly wanting her around him.
Then he smiled slightly, those dark eyes warming, “G’day, Soph.”
There went some little tingles through her. God, girl, get a grip! “Hey, Alan.” Play it cool. He’s playing it cool. Yesterday meant nothing to him. “Late shift?”
“Nah. Hit the gym after work.” He hefted some dubious-smelling clothes in one hand.
“Ah.” Not quite knowing what to say apart from can I lick that droplet running down your most excellent abdo? Sophie cleared her throat. “Right.”
“You okay?” His head canted to one side, that warm gaze intensifying, and she could almost see the cop creep into him as his gaze studied her. “You’re a little flushed.” Those eyes became all cop. “Someone bothering you, Soph?”
“What?”
“You were on the phone when I came in.”
“Oh. No, Ghost doesn’t bother me.”
“Ghost?” Dark br
ows shot up.
“My friend. He-”
“He?” This time dark brows lowered in a frown.
“Well, yes. Ghost is another writer.”
“Of what?” Now there was an undercurrent, but it was all from Alan’s side and it wasn’t friendly.
“What’s the problem?” Sophie was starting to feel irritated.
“It’s a simple question.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
The sudden hard gleam in Alan’s eyes wasn’t reassuring. “Why are you avoiding the question?”
“Why are you so interested?”
“Why are you so secretive?”
Sophie’s mouth dropped open. “I am not secretive.”
“So answer the question.”
Folding her arms beneath her breasts, Sophie glared up at him. “I feel like I’m being interrogated!”
The silence between them lengthened.
She glared up at him.
Alan gazed down at her, the intensity in his eyes darkening, deepening, until the irises were like dark chocolate, decadent and hot and something else, something so very predatory. “Trust me, Soph, if I was interrogating you, I’d get your answers.” He took a step closer, one step that brought him almost flush against her. Leaning down until their faces were close, until they were practically breathing in each other’s breaths, he looked her directly in the eyes, spearing her with that alluring mix of cop eyes and hot, threatening, promising decadence. “I’d have you screaming them out.”
All she could do was stare up at him, her knees weak and her pulses pounding.
Several long seconds passed as the silence thickened, darkened, something beating the air between them, but he broke it abruptly, straightening and swinging away, striding to his bedroom while tossing over his shoulder in a gravely voice, “Go to bed, Soph.”
The door shut decisively behind him and all she could do was gape at it. What the hell had just happened? God, she didn’t know if she was coming or going, and that wasn’t anything to do with the kind of coming that happened in her erotic romances. This was complete and utter bewilderment…along with a healthy dose of lust.