Free The Alibi by Sandra Brown Page A

weekend
    mornings were longer and lazier, he liked to indulge
    in a hearty late breakfast. He was an okay cook, especially
    something as basic as bacon and eggs.
    Maybe they would cook breakfast together, dividing
    the chores, bumping into one another as they went
    about them. Laughing. Kissing. Then they could
    carry their plates out onto the porch to eat. He smiled
    at the thought of tomorrow morning.
    "This morning," he corrected, checking the clock
    and realizing that it was well after midnight.
    Yesterday had been a bitch. He had left Charleston
    upset and angry, frustrated on many levels. Nothing
    in his life had been right. Never in a million years
    would he have guessed that such a sour day would
    end with his making love to a woman he hadn't
    known existed a few hours ago. Nor that it would be
    such a meaningful experience.
    He continued marveling over the caprice of fate
    until he heard the water in the bathroom shut off. He
    forced himself to wait two minutes more, not wanting
    to reappear too quickly or at an inopportune time.
    Then he grabbed two bottles of water and made his
    way back to the bedroom.
    "By the way," he said as he pushed open the door
    with his bare foot, "I think it's time we properly introduced
    --"
    He stopped when she turned quickly from the
    dresser, the telephone receiver in her hand. She hung
    up immediately and blurted out, "I hope you don't
    mind."
    Actually, he did mind. He minded one hell of a lot.
    Not that she had used his telephone without asking
    first. But that she had someone in her life who was
    important enough to call in the wee hours of the
    morning within minutes of making love to him. It
    stunned him how much he minded.
    He'd dallied in the kitchen, fantasizing about having
    breakfast with her, counting the minutes until he
    could return with propriety. Now he was standing
    here with a dumb expression on his face and a semi-erection
    poking against his undershorts. And all this
    while she was placing a phone call to somebody else.
    He set the bottles of water on the nightstand.
    He felt stupid and ridiculous, alien feelings for
    Hammond Cross. Usually self-confident and on top
    of any given situation, he felt like a real dumb-ass,
    and he disliked the feeling intensely.
    "Would you like some privacy?" he asked woodenly.
    "No, it's all right." She replaced the receiver. "I
    couldn't get through."
    "Sorry."
    "It wasn't important." She folded her arms across
    her waist, then nervously dropped them to her sides.
    If it wasn't important, then why in hell were you
    trying to place a call at this time of night? he wanted
    to ask, but didn't.
    "Is it okay if I wear this?"
    "What?" he asked distractedly.
    She ran her hand down the front of the old, faded
    T-shirt. He recognized it as a fraternity party shirt
    from college days; it caught her mid thigh "Oh. Sure.
    It's fine."
    "I found it in the chest of drawers in the bathroom.
    I wasn't snooping. I just--"
    "Don't mention it." His curt tone spoke volumes.
    Her hands formed fists at her sides, then she shook
    them loose. "Look, maybe it would be better if I left
    now. We both got a little carried away. Maybe the
    ride on the Ferris wheel went to our heads." Her stab
    at humor fell flat. "Anyway, this was ..." Her words
    trailed off as she glanced at the bed.
    Her gaze lingered there probably longer than she
    intended it to. The jumbled linens were a poignant reminder
    of what had taken place on them, and how in
     
    volving and satisfying it had been. Words whispered
    with unrestraint seemed to echo back to them now.
     
    While in the bathroom, she had washed. Hammond
    could smell soap and water on her skin. But he
    hadn't washed. He smelled like sex. He smelled like
    her.
     
    So when she said hastily, "I'll just change back
    into my clothes and be on my way," and made to
    move past him, his arm shot out and caught her waist.
     
    She came to a standstill, but she didn't turn toward
    him. She stared straight ahead. "Whatever else