Hunter sat in a beach chair with a cold beer in one hand while his 43-year-old eyes gazed at the sights around him. The annual Hunter Family Reunion was well underway just north of his police stomping grounds of L.A. The annual family reunion was held in Montecito, just outside of Santa Barbara. He was thankful for the shades covering his eyes, which were now affixed on his police partner, Dee Dee McCall, who was jumping waves in a royal blue bikini with several of his young nephews and nieces. Her shriek of laughter as the bubbling surf tickled her naked skin made him warm inside and hard on the outside.
Her dark hair was piled onto her head, but the ocean breeze caused a few curly tendrils to escape, framing her beautiful face. He was thankful for his baggy swim trunks, and silently cursed his traitorous body. She was his best friend and confidante, and the best partner he could ever ask for. She was his, and no one else's. He made goddamn sure of that one. The tiny, un-flirtatious touches that she took for granted were actually his unconscious way of telling others to keep off. His mother had raised him to be a gentleman, and the feminine side of McCall enjoyed (and expected) him to open doors for her, let her go first, and allow him to slide her chair in and out for her when they went to dinner that wasn't from a corner hot dog stand or Chinese takeout.
He often wondered if she felt the same sizzle that he did when he touched the small of her back after he opened a door for her, or when he held her hand as tears streamed down her face in the police-issue unmarked green Dodge after an especially difficult homicide investigation.
He swallowed the final gulp of his beer and crushed the can, tossing it into a refuse container not too far from where he was seated in the warm sand. Not much of a drinker, Hunter realized that two casual beers while sitting in the hot California sun was NOT a good idea. His head swam with a slight buzz, and he shook it off as McCall turned and motioned for him to join her. Cold water was just what his buzzed brain and tightened groin needed, and he pulled his long body out of his chair and sauntered over to her.
"You're gonna burn," she said, and he swore that her dark eyes smiled with appreciation while they appraised his tanned body.
"Nah," he said. "I'll put a shirt on when I go back up." He gave her body a quick once-over now that he was nearer, noticing that her usual creamy white skin was now a light golden bronze. The few days on the beach with the Hunter family had been good to her. The sea spray clung to her in fine droplets of water. He swallowed hard as he skimmed her toned arms, the gentle swell of her breasts molded by her bikini top, her flat abdomen that swelled into slightly rounded hips, followed by beautiful legs that he knew would feel oh-so-good wrapped around his waist. He silently cursed his body and male hormones. He strode out into the ocean in front of her and dove into the next big wave that came his way. He turned after wiping the water off of his face, to find her right in front of him, as she had followed him into the ocean waters.
"Don't get my hair wet," she said softly, closing her eyes as the swell of a wave broke right in front of her. "That feels so good," she said. "It is so hot today."
She had no idea.
They stood together for less than 30 seconds before a large wave rolled toward them. "Jump!" he ordered, forgetting she was 12 inches shorter than he was. So much for not getting her hair wet, he thought with a chuckle, as the wave swallowed her, pulling her under. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him as she coughed and sputtered.
"Didn't anyone teach you to always keep your mouth shut when you're in the ocean?" he asked, teasing her. She floated in front of him as another wave brought more water swirling around them, pushing her into him. Hunter almost choked as he felt her legs wrap around him in an effort to steady herself – something he had just thought about a few minutes earlier, although he had envisioned her legs wrapped around him in his bed while he was diving deep inside her. His arms went around her as yet another wave pushed her into his chest, and she giggled in his ear as he battled to keep them both above water. And then suddenly, her laughter stopped.
With her legs still wrapped around him, the force of the last wave pushed her pelvis into his, and she felt the evidence of his arousal. And he knew the minute that she recognized it, because her eyes grew wide and her mouth slacked open with surprise. Her breathing became ragged, and the air between them grew thick. She quickly unwrapped herself, almost launching herself from his embrace back into the water. "I think I've had enough," she murmured, turning and making her way toward the beach.
"Fuck," he said to himself, and he swam around in the ocean for a while until his erection deflated in the cold sea water. When he returned, she had put on her beach cover and was gathering her things.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Um, I think it best if I go home," she said, purposely avoiding looking into his eyes.
Hunter stood in front of her, his hands resting on his hips as he cocked them to one side. "Why? This is supposed to be a weeklong reunion, and we've only been here three days."
She stood to her full height of 5'6" and looked straight at him. "You know why," she said softly, and he noticed her bottom lip tremble. "I can't . . . . I can't do this."
McCall turned to walk away but he was too quick. He grabbed her arm gently to stop her. "Please, don't leave." He gulped in frustration. "I want you to stay."
"Hunter -," she muttered, her voice laced with exasperation.
"What?" he demanded. "I can't help it. I'm a man. Consider it a compliment." He lowered his voice so the others didn't hear. "I'm a human being and I appreciate what I see," he tried to explain, and he lowered his gaze to the beautiful woman in front of him. "I can't help how I feel any more than you can help it that you're so goddamned beautiful."
Her mouth slacked open in surprise for the second time.
"I'm sorry," he continued.
"I'm sorry too," she said, her voice hushed and low. Her bottom lip trembled, and Hunter was shocked to see her eyes brim with unshed tears. He stepped toward her and used his thumbs to wipe away a stray tear that leaked out of each eyelid and down each cheek.
And without thinking (which was a normal Hunter-esque action when it came to McCall) he leaned down to kiss her. He heard her swift intake of breath as he lightly met her lips with his, slowly brushing them against hers in a feather light whisper. He felt her palms rest on his chest, as if to steady herself as his lips continued to brush over hers, trying to gauge a response from her. She stood stock still, unwilling to participate. Alarm bells went off in his head, and he knew he needed to pull away. And just as he began to come to his senses, a small whimper of pleasure emerged from her throat as her lips moved underneath his. He snaked his arm around her back, and as he increased the pressure of his lips against hers, her mouth opened and her tongue gently grazed his own.
Suddenly, she pulled her mouth away and stepped away from his grasp, her eyes wide with a mixture of sultry pleasure, surprise and - was it horror? She put the back of her hand against her mouth as she looked at him, her dark eyes looking as forlorn as a pup taken from its mother.
"This is why I have to leave," she finally said. "We can't . . . . We shouldn't be . . ." she stammered, before turning and running through the sand to where her car was parked. Hunter fought the urge to chase her down and demand an explanation, but instead, he turned and sat in his beach chair, not following her. He knew what she would say. His shoulders curved with dejection and self-disgust. How could he have done that? He should have learned from the first time. It had been a fucking disaster.
Crash and burn. McCall reclined in her garden bath tub in a mountain of Jasmine-scented bubbles surrounding her up to her neck. The glass of wine in her hand, which was coincidentally her third of the evening, had relaxed her muscles, but not her brain.
That kiss.
A liquid heat spread in her lower abdomen as she thought about it. She could still feel Hunter's touch and the feel of his tongue as it invaded her mouth. She wanted him. And it was physically obvious that he wanted her.
But there was no way that she would travel that road again. It happened once before, about 18 months earlier, and it had been 18 months of pure torture ever since. Since then, every woman he dated, or mentioned, was like a stake through her heart. Especially that blonde bitch, Megan Malone. God, she hated her with every cell in her body. McCall hated very few people. But of those few, Megan Malone was on the top of her list. She was everything that McCall wasn't - tall, blonde, obnoxious and overbearing. She never understood what Hunter saw in her.
But that was in the past, she reminded herself. And she wanted to keep it that way. The friendship she shared with Hunter was too pure, too perfect, to give up for the sake of sex. She hadn't had the pleasure of a man's intimate company since that night with Hunter. No one else compared to him, and she couldn't manage to let herself go with anyone else.
Cursed indeed. Damn him. Damn him for loving her. Damn him for confusing her. And she would be damned for falling in love with him.
She hadn't expected a long-term relationship from him. She didn't expect marriage, or a family. Not any kind of commitment. But when she returned from Quantico, she wanted to talk it out, see if there was anything to be salvaged. What she got was the cold shoulder from Hunter and a triumphant smile from Megan Malone. And once that woman was out of the picture and back to her own precinct where she belonged, the duo of Hunter and McCall fell back into their same routine of cops and robbers.
With the third glass of wine gone and the bath water growing cold, McCall heaved herself out of the bath tub. Primping always makes a girl feel better; she reminded herself after she thoroughly rubbed scented cream into her skin and then dropped a pale pink nightie over her head. She no sooner tied the sash of the matching robe when she heard a knock at her front door. Her stomach dropped. It could only be one person.
Hunter.
"Let me in, Dee Dee," he said outside the door.
She opened it and saw him standing there, a dozen pink roses in his large hands. The tall sergeant gazed appreciatively at her, starting with the dark curls on top of her head down to the tips of her painted toe nails.
"Hi," she said softly. "Aren't you supposed to be at a family reunion?"
He strode past her, not waiting for an invitation. Not that it had ever stopped him before. "There are three more days of reunion activities, and personally, I cannot stand one more interrogation from my aunts on your whereabouts." He turned and offered the roses to her. "Peace offering."
She frowned. Peace offering? "No need," she said softly, accepting the bundle of flowers and closing her eyes as she inhaled the fragrant scent.
"I think there is a need," he said softly. He followed her to her kitchen where she deposited the flowers into a large vase and filled it with water. Once the vase was set on the table, McCall took the wine bottle from her fridge and began to pour her fourth glass of the night. She would need it, she figured.
"Want some?" she asked thickly, noticing that the alcohol of earlier was starting to affect her.
"How much of this have you had?" he asked, taking the wine bottle from her grasp and checking the fill line, knowing full well that this was not her first. Her voice was throaty and her eyes were the windows of her soul, and right now, the windows looked to be swimming in a flood of wine.
"This will be four, I believe," she said, taking a sip. "Can I get you a glass?
"Humph," he grunted. "No, I don't think so." He followed her to the living room and sat down on the opposite side of her couch from where she was sitting, her feet curled underneath her. Her pink tongue swept her bottom lip after she took another sip of her wine, and the action sent a spark of desire through him.
He squirmed.
"So, what brings you here?" she asked.
"Lookit, I made a blunder of monumental proportions somewhere," he admitted. "I want to apologize for kissing you on the beach, first of all. I lost my head, I guess. I just . . . . I just don't know what exactly I did to make you mad at me all the time."
She stared at him, not saying a word. She drained the rest of her wine glass – most likely for liquid courage – and then rested her hands on her lap. She opened her mouth for a brief second as if to say something, but then closed it as tight as a clam. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her left hand and closed her eyes, searching for the right words.
"Rick - (he loved it when she called him by his first name) – sometimes I wonder where you brain is." And then her gaze drifted to his zipper. "No wait, forget it, I do."
He felt his anger flare. Okay, she was right to some degree. He liked his women friends on a casual basis. Someone to take to dinner on occasion, or slake his desires when he was in need. These were women who were like him – not seeking a romantic relationship, but rather a relationship of sexual convenience. McCall teased him about his romantic escapades. But what she didn't know is that since "that night" the escapades had come to a screeching halt.
"You're wrong, McCall," he responded, crossing his arms over his chest. "You've ruined me."
He got the reaction he was hoping for. She turned and stared at him, her mouth agape with surprise. "What do you mean, I ruined you?"
"Oh come on, you can't sit there and tell me that the night we spent together didn't change you? Ever since then, I haven't been able to be with anyone else." The words poured out of him, shocking even himself. "So don't sit there thinking that I'm out having meaningless fuckery with half the single women of Los Angeles, because I'm not." He leaned over toward her. "And judging from your date calendar, it's a safe bet that you're in the same boat that I've been sailing. So, I guess it's safe to say that we're in a jackpot together, aren't we?"
He struck a nerve.
And then a smirk arrived on her face, lifting up a corner of her mouth as she tried to stifle a giggle. "Wait a minute . . . . . . you expect me to believe that it has been almost two years since you've had sex? Give me a break!"
Hunter's groin twitched. His reflexes were much quicker than hers, which were now impaired from four glasses of wine within the last two hours. She shrieked as he quickly, yet gently, took hold of her arm and managed to pull her onto his lap in mere seconds. He grabbed her hand and placed it on the hot bulge under his jeans. "This is what you have done to me," he whispered, his voice now low and thick with desire. "I've been broken for a long time."
"But . . . after . . . you moved on," she responded, tears burning her eyelids. "With Megan . . ."
Hunter snorted as his hand gently rubbed the small of her back through the satin material of her robe. "Megan Malone? Give me a break." He scoffed. That woman grated at his nerves. Haughty bitch. The fact that she moved on to Lieutenant status on his and McCall's coattails after the Glazer case always rubbed him the wrong way. And he took great pleasure in knowing that Megan Malone was on McCall's hatred list.
McCall took his free hand and held it, and despite feeling the evidence of his arousal under her thigh, she knew they had to deal with the white elephant in the room once and for all. "Rick, I know what happened between us wasn't planned, and I told myself that it was a one-time thing."
He was mesmerized by her voice, her scent, and the feel of her small hand caressing his own.
"But I couldn't stop thinking about it, or you, but you never wanted to talk about it. And when I got back, there was Megan, everywhere you went, and I couldn't reconnect with you." He frowned as a stray tear edged out of the corner of her eye. "I thought . . . I thought maybe it didn't mean anything to you." She shuddered as a sob erupted from within her, and his heart burst into pieces when he realized the depths of her sadness. "It hurt, Rick. And after today . . . . at the beach . . . . I knew where we were heading, and I don't want to go there again."
"Dee Dee, there was never anything between Megan Malone and me. NEVER. EVER." He pulled her toward him and held her close, reveling in her familiar scent of Jasmine and the feel of her dark curls under his chin. "I thought that maybe you didn't want to talk about it and you wanted to leave it somewhere safe, because you always told me over and over again – I will never be with another cop. So, I left it alone, and tucked it away. But unfortunately, that tucked away memory was enough of a monkey on my back to keep me away from every other woman that crossed my path, because none of them were you."
She gently pushed herself away from him so that she could look at his face. He pulled his hand away from her and brushed the wet tears from her cheeks. "I never meant to hurt you," he said finally. "I was trying to NOT hurt you. Understand?"
"And now?" she whispered. She unconsciously fidgeted in his lap, and Hunter winced with sexual discomfort.
"Now, I'm thinking that no other woman will ever take your place," he said softly. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to give you what you want or need . . . but I'm willing to risk it all to try."
Within mere seconds, he stroked his way up her spine so that his hand rested behind her neck, and he gently pulled her toward him. His lips met hers, and he increased the pressure behind her neck, her mouth opened, and he reveled in the taste of her. It was the sweetness of McCall mixed with wine, and he suddenly grew concerned that he was taking advantage of her. He pulled away, his breathing labored already.
"I want you," she whispered, and her eyes were as clear and focused as they had ever been. She straddled his lap and met him for another kiss. His arms wrapped around her and his heart leaped when a groan of pleasured delight emerged from her throat. Their need was urgent, and Hunter felt strangled inside his jeans. Her nimble fingers had already unbuttoned his shirt and he was untying the sash of her robe as she pulled the shirt down and off his shoulders.
Hunter did the same with her robe, and after he pushed it down, he ran his hands lightly up her satiny smooth legs and under the hem of her short, silky nightgown. He realized she was naked underneath, and his cock jerked in realization.
"You have too many clothes on," she whispered, and made quick work of his belt and zipper. She stood up briefly and he lifted his hips so that she could pull off his jeans and boxer briefs in one quick motion. Her mouth went slack when she saw him, completely naked, and her desire mixed with his to make the room seem hot and heavy.
"Now you have too many clothes on," he added, and in one swift motion, he pulled her back onto his lap and he pulled the nightgown over her head. His hands traveled up her ribcage to her breasts, and he teased them with his fingers as he devoured her mouth with another long, deep kiss. He reached around her back to support her as his mouth traveled down toward one breast, suckling her gently at first before he increased the pressure. Her skin was sweet and soft . . . . everything that he remembered and couldn't get out of his brain all of these long, lonely months. Her head tipped back as she groaned with pleasure, and her hips began to move over him. His erection jutted out in front of him, and as he continued to caress her breasts with his mouth, she used her right hand to gently stroke him. He groaned as she manipulated him from root to tip, her thumb brushing the pre-cum that leaked off the tip like a pearl over the head and swirling it around and around, making him shiver with need.
He brought his mouth back to her lips and gently reached down between his legs where she was straddled and parted over him. She was slick, hot and swollen, and he felt her shudder as he found the spot that made her tremble. He had memorized every centimeter of her body all those months ago, and he remembered exactly what made her scream with pleasure. Her calves gripped his thighs as she moved against him, seeking what would fulfill her.
"Please," she begged him. He slid one long finger inside of her, and increased the pressure and speed of his thumb. She was so tight. And seconds later, she crashed and burned, her inner muscles squeezing his finger with the power of her climax. She was still contracting around his finger when he removed it and raised her hips, spreading her thighs wider to make their coupling easier.
"Easy," he whispered as he strained for some shred of self-control. He was glad he made her come without him, because once she was fully sheathed, he wouldn't last long. She hissed as he guided her hips downward. She was extremely tight, and he held his breath as she slowly lowered herself over him.
He was huge. This she remembered. And it still amazed her at how her own body stretched to accommodate him. She closed her eyes as he filled and stretched her to the point of bursting. She moved her palms up his ribcage and held onto him for support as she spread her thighs wider. She gasped as she felt him swell inside of her even more, and she could feel him against the soft, spongy tip of her cervix.
She knew he felt it too, and she closed her eyes as realization set in. They weren't protected.
"Rick, I'm not . . ." she began, but it was too late. He was already moving inside of her. The pleasure rolled over her in waves, and she felt sweat break out on his skin as he tried to control his own release. The cords of muscle in his neck were strained, and as she placed her lips against the soft spot where his neck met his collar bone, she could feel the fast and furious beating of his heart and his blood rushing through his veins.
"Jesus," he muttered. "I need all of you." And in one motion, he managed to remain locked inside of her as he maneuvered her to her back. She locked her legs around his naked waist and gasped as he lifted her pelvis with one hand and slipped even deeper. "Oh, God," he choked out. "I can't . . . I can't pull out," and she felt him shudder and erupt inside of her. She felt his liquid heat fill the deepest recesses of her body, holding him close as he jerked inside of her again and again.
He collapsed against her, and she stroked him gently until he gathered his composure. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. "This is what you do to me," he whispered. "You make me lose all control."
She smiled at him, and she gasped as he pulled out of her. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, concerned. She shook her head, no. He lifted her into his arms and strode into her bedroom. He stood her up to pull the covers from the bed, and she looked down to see remnants of their lovemaking slide down the inside of her leg. He grabbed a tissue from her end stand and as she reclined in the bed, he quickly wiped it off.
He took her into his arms and rested his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry," he said finally.
"For what?"
"For not being prepared. For not having more control." He stroked the side of her face gently. "Look at me," he said quietly. She opened her eyes. "What are the chances that I got one past the goalie?" She sighed. "I need to know."
"Well, if we were trying, this would have been a good time to do it."
He rolled on to his back and sighed. She rolled toward him and leaned up on her elbow to look down at him. "It was only once, Rick. Most likely, it will be okay."
"Do you know how many of my buddies in high school became fathers after 'only once'"?
She felt tears burn her eyelids. She had no intention of being with him in the Biblical sense that night, and he obviously didn't, either. They were unprepared. But neither of them were teenagers. He was 43 years old and she was 33. They knew how babies were made and where they came from. The thought of it was a dream she had buried a long time ago with Steve. But as Hunter broached the subject, it made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.
"Would it be that bad?" she asked finally.
He met her gaze and saw her lip tremble. Crash and burn. No, he couldn't allow it to happen again. He wouldn't. Something inside of his brain decided to man up. He leaned up and gently pushed her to her back, her dark hair fanning on the white pillow behind her head. He trailed his fingertips lightly down past her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts, and to her flat belly, where he rested his palm against it, letting her feel the heat of his hand seep into her. It dawned on him that within the few minutes that had passed since he made love to her, it was possible that his unleashed sperm were already knocking at the door of an egg lying in wait amidst the soft, feminine folds of her body. He closed his eyes, and he felt her hand close over his, that was still resting on her abdomen. Maybe she was already pregnant, and he felt his heart speed up with alarm bells sounding off in his head. Would it be so bad, she had asked.
He looked down at her and pressed a light kiss to her forehead and then to her lips. He cleared his throat. "No, it wouldn't be that bad. Not with you."
Crash and burn. He did, and he realized that was the nature of their relationship. Crash and burn. There were times when the crash was horrible and the burn was so hot that is scarred them both. There were others where the crash was a surprise, but the burn warmed them both from the inside out. He would make sure this was one of those times.