One-Night Alibi

She laughed. “Hardly. I think he’s in the cabana banging one of the bridesmaids. It was just a casual date. I don’t care.”

“You need a ride home?” The words slipped out.

“I might.” She tickled the back of his neck with her fingertips.

Was this exotic creature coming on to him? He wasn’t exactly a troll; he knew some women found him attractive. Some liked the whole idea of dating a cop—it was a power thing. Others liked his surfer-boy looks, or they found out he had a house at the lake and a boat and thought he had money.

But not this kind of woman.

He asked himself if perhaps he was being played, but he couldn’t figure out her angle. Yeah, this encounter felt...off somehow. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to put an end to it.

He didn’t like games. But something compelled him to find out how this one would play out. He would call her bluff.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” he said. “We can leave whenever you want.”

She put her lips close to his ear and whispered, “I can go anytime. But first, I think you should see the garden.”

The song ended and they pulled apart. He had no interest in flowers, but the idea of strolling among fragrant roses with Liz was oddly appealing.

“I love gardens,” he lied. “Lead the way.”

She wobbled a bit on her high heels as they made their way around the enormous pool illuminated by dozens of floating candles. Maybe she’d had one too many martinis. He didn’t want to hook up with her if she was going to regret it. And really, he had no business getting entangled with anyone, let alone a mystery woman, when his life was such a mess...no matter how alluring she might be.

They were just going to look at flowers, he reasoned. They hadn’t reached the point of no return. Either of them could still bow out gracefully.

She took his hand, pulling him along, wanting to go faster in a suddenly childlike way. “It’s the most amazing garden. The Logans’ gardener, Hung Li, is a world-renowned rose cultivator. He has some prizewinning varieties that were developed right here.”

She escorted him off the patio through a fancy gate in a redwood fence. A charming path of flagstones meandered through what had to be an herb garden, given the scents of sage and lavender greeting Hudson’s nose.

“The Logans’ chef, Cora, uses as many homegrown fruits and vegetables as she can,” Liz continued as if she were a tour guide.

Stone benches were scattered here and there, along with pieces of huge marble columns strewn about, an echo of the ancient Rome theme inside the foyer. More statues, too.

He’d heard that Daniel acquired archaeological antiquities from private collectors all over the world, and he’d made provisions in his will for the items to be donated to appropriate museums in the items’ countries of origin.

It took some kind of ego to do that.

They passed an enormous greenhouse, where Hudson caught glimpses of hothouse tomatoes through the windows. Row upon row of empty garden space, waiting to be planted, surrounded them.

Finally they reached another fence, a quaint white-picket affair that called to mind a country garden in rural England. On the other side, a small plot fairly burst at the seams with roses. Houston’s mild winters meant you could have flowers year-round, if you worked at it. Apparently someone here did.

Rosebushes climbed fences and trellises grew out of huge urns and directly from the ground. The garden overflowed with red and pink and white roses, peach ones, yellow ones, roses in colors Hudson had never seen before. Even in the falling dusk, the colors were so vivid they hurt his eyes.

Hudson would be the last person to expect the sight of a bunch of flowers to move him, but the explosion of color took his breath away.

Or perhaps it was the woman standing next to him, whose beauty outshone even the most stunning of these roses.

“See this one?” She pointed to a bright yellow rose with orange-tipped petals. “It’s called Texas Sunrise. And that one over there?” She pointed to a peculiarly shaded purplish-pink rose. “That’s the Houstonian.”

“You sound like you know a lot about roses.”

“Well, I know what I learned on the tour Mr. Li gave earlier.” She winked one long-lashed blue eye at him, and swear to God, he almost swooned.

“What’s that over there?” he asked, pointing to another small, fenced-in area that sported a very different look from the carefully cultivated and pruned roses. Flowering shrubs, trees and vines grew in untamed profusion. A small brass plaque on the gate read Hummingbird Garden.

Hudson quickly realized why. The moment they entered the space, small winged creatures could be spied zooming all about the place, sampling nectar from both flowers and the feeders. There must have been at least fifty of them. Some had bright red throats, the color visible only when they turned a certain direction.

“Good golly.” Liz barely breathed the words, she was in such awe. With that one decidedly unsophisticated expletive, the polish of wealth and privilege dropped away, revealing something of the little girl she must have been.

Tearing his eyes away from the sight of the tiny birds, Hudson chose to look at her instead. Liz’s mouth was open slightly, her eyes bright as her gaze darted around the secluded garden.

One of the little critters stopped midair about six inches from Liz’s face, seeming to look into her eyes in a curious way, then abruptly zoomed off.

She laughed in surprise and delight. “I’ve never seen so many at once.” She kept her voice low, so as not to disturb the hummers. “And I’ve never seen them this close. It’s like we stepped into a magic storybook.” She turned then to look at him, and she must have seen something of what he was thinking—that he’d never been so close to such a beautiful woman, and that her naked sense of wonder was surprisingly erotic.

Hudson felt privileged—as if he’d seen a side of her few ever saw.

Whatever she’d seen in his face, she must have liked it, because when he leaned in to steal a kiss, she didn’t object. She sipped a quick breath before their lips met.

She tasted of the martini she’d recently drunk, and he wondered idly how many she’d had. Only one or two drinks could lower inhibitions. He suspected Liz wasn’t the type who picked up strange men at weddings; then again, he didn’t know her at all.

Her lips also tasted of strawberry lip gloss, and when he ruffled her hair, he caught another whiff of that fruity scent—apple, maybe.

Unable to resist, he placed a series of light kisses along her jawline, then dipped his head to nuzzle her neck, pressing his nose against her soft skin.

Mangos. Her skin smelled like a ripe mango right off the tree, like the ones he’d had in Mexico. The woman was a veritable fruit basket of sensations. Even her breasts reminded him of ripe fruit, and he suddenly realized he had one of them in his hand. Her nipple peaked, pressing against his palm through the silky-thin material of her dress.

Liz moaned, soft and low.

Boisterous laughter drifted from the pool area, reminding Hudson that they were still in a public area, that anyone could happen upon them. He wouldn’t really care, but she might.

“I want to take you someplace more private,” he said, his lips close to her ear.

“Do you live alone?” she asked, not bothering to play coy.

“Yes. But my house is at Lake Conroe.” He didn’t want to drive all the way out there. An amorous mood sometimes had a way of evaporating during an hour on the road. “How about we find an empty room around here somewhere?” Surely some place in this monstrous house they could find a room with a lock and a bed or a sofa.

“Too many people around. Let’s go.” Without waiting for agreement, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the hummingbird garden, the magical little creatures forgotten. Hudson hadn’t paid his respects to the bride and groom, but he doubted he would be missed.

He and Liz entered the house through a side door, making their way through a mudroom, then the huge granite-and-stainless-steel kitchen, which was bustling with activity. A champagne cork popped. A tray of hors d’oeuvres came out of the oven. No one paid two interlopers any attention.

Under other circumstances, Hudson would have wanted to gawk at the opulence of Daniel Logan’s home. But his attention was too firmly fixed on the siren who had, for some questionable reason, culled him out of the herd of men in attendance at the society wedding.

Maybe his luck was turning.

CHAPTER TWO

ELIZABETH DOWNEY HADN’T meant for this to happen. As she sat in the passenger seat of Hudson Vale’s classic 280Z, her gaze fixed on his firm profile as he deftly wove the sports car through traffic on I-45, she considered speaking up, changing the course of her actions. She could tell him she’d changed her mind. She had no doubt he would promptly turn around and take her back to the wedding or to her own apartment.

She’d never met Hudson until today, but she knew a lot about him. When she’d seen the headline about a Montgomery County sheriff’s detective allegedly beating Franklin Mandalay during a bogus arrest, she’d been consumed with curiosity—about the incident and about the cop who’d stood up to a powerful and wealthy attorney. She had learned everything she could about Hudson, even paying a private investigator to suss him out, find out his story.

There wasn’t much. Other than one incident during his rookie year when he’d been reprimanded for punching a wife-beater, Hudson Vale had an exemplary record. Prior to becoming a cop, he’d led a completely normal life. Two parents, a brother, middle-class suburbia. His dad had been a Houston cop, retired now. The Vale boys had gone to public school, then community college. The younger brother, Parker, was also a cop.

Hudson had never been arrested. He’d never been married. His only debt was a sizable mortgage on his house.

Elizabeth’s eyes had nearly popped out of her head when she’d spotted Hudson at the reception. She had stared at him rudely, she knew, but she’d had to be sure it was him. His photos certainly hadn’t done him justice. In two dimensions, he was uncommonly good-looking. In three, he made her skin tingle and her mouth water. He made her think of sinful things.

She’d just wanted to meet him, that was all. Share one harmless dance. Size him up. But within five minutes of meeting him, she knew one or two dances wouldn’t be enough. She sensed a lot going on behind those hazel eyes and the easy smile that faded when he thought no one was looking.

While his attention was on his driving, she took a leisurely inventory of his features. He had a strong jaw and a slightly hawkish nose—those were her first observations. His hair, worn a little long for cop standards, was wavy and streaked by the sun. It would probably curl if he let it get much longer.

His eyelashes were way longer than any man’s ought to be. His lips were full, and whenever a car slowed in front of them, he teased his lower lip with his teeth, a gesture that did strange, squiggly things to her insides.

She cracked the window, drawing a rush of fresh air onto her face.

“Want me to turn on the AC?” Hudson asked.

“No, this is fine.” She focused on his hand, which rested casually on the gearshift knob. He had a couple of healing scrapes on his knuckles. Souvenirs from his violent encounter?

They lapsed into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward.

Again, she thought about telling him she’d been hasty. She could stop this now. End the encounter. But the little she’d learned about Hudson only made her want to know more.

“What made you become a cop?” That was a legitimate thing for her to ask. Any new acquaintance might pose a similar question.

“My dad was a cop. I admired him—still do. My brother’s a cop. My uncle’s a cop. Guess it’s in the blood. What made you become a social worker?”

I knew it would drive my father crazy. “Long story.”

“We’re not on a tight schedule.”

“Like a lot of people, I didn’t know what I wanted, so I just gravitated toward classes that interested me. Ended up with a bachelor’s in sociology and a master’s in psychology. Social work was a good fit, and I like helping people.”

“How do you help people? I mean, what sort of social work do you do?”

“I work at a free clinic. People who come to us aren’t just physically sick, they’re often in very bad situations—bad relationships, substance abuse, prostitution. I counsel them on how to escape those situations and create better lives for themselves.”

Hudson nodded. “Hmm.”

She couldn’t be sure, but she sensed a slight note of disapproval. He could join the crowd. A lot of people thought she could have done better, and didn’t hesitate to tell her so. Others thought social work coddled criminals and the lazy.

Maybe she could have been a doctor or a lawyer. Certainly her father thought so. But she liked her career just fine.

“Don’t you get frustrated?” Hudson finally asked.

“How so?”

“Dealing with the dregs of society. Seeing the same people making the same mistakes over and over.”

“First off, I don’t think of them as dregs. More like, people who started life at a disadvantage, maybe made some bad choices.” It was true some people never learned. But she firmly believed she helped others.

“You must have a kind heart. Seems whenever I try to help people, I get the shit kicked out of me one way or another.”

“But you keep trying, right?”

“Sometimes I don’t know why. Have you ever tried to rescue a cat from a tree?”

“No, actually.”

“Damn thing will scratch you to shreds every time.”

She wanted to argue that people weren’t cats. They were basically good, if you gave them half a chance to be. But Hudson was clenching his jaw. She’d accidentally hit a nerve. Maybe she’d better back off. She wanted to know more about him, and antagonizing him probably wasn’t the best tactic.

Suddenly he looked at her and smiled. “Sorry. You have no idea what a rough couple of weeks it’s been.”

Actually, she did. And she should tell him. Honestly, she’d thought he would recognize her, or that someone would tell him who she was. But he couldn’t know, or he’d have never let her into his car.

She pushed the whole mess out of her mind. She was riding down the freeway in a cool car with a hot guy. She had nowhere to be, nothing else to do. For once in her life, she would stop worrying about all the consequences. She’d never indulged in a one-night stand before. Maybe it was time. She listened to a lot of the women she counseled talking about getting carried away, unable to control themselves enough to make sensible decisions. She’d always assumed she was above such behavior.

Maybe not.

Hudson’s house was at the end of a cul-de-sac on a double-sized wooded lot. Like many waterfront homes, it stood on stilts, with only the garage on the ground floor.

He pulled his car into the garage and parked it; they got out, but they had to go back outside and climb a set of wooden stairs to a wraparound porch.

She fell in love at first sight. The house was small, probably only two bedrooms, but a wall of windows looked out on the lake, making the living room seem huge. He flipped on some lights. The place was furnished simply with a couple of low sofas and two chairs, rattan, clean lines. The wood floors were covered with slightly threadbare rugs.

What she really loved about it was, it wasn’t a man cave. No huge TV or stereo system. No cast-off shoes littering the floor or spent pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table.

“Have a seat,” he said as he headed into the kitchen. “I’m going to get myself a Mountain Dew.” He stuck his head in the fridge. “I have other soft drinks, beer and, um, orange juice.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He popped the top on his own soft drink and took several swallows as he joined her in the living room. She’d chosen one end of a sofa, inviting him to make his move.

He sat across from her, set his can on a coaster on the coffee table and propped his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “You can relax, you know. I’m not going to jump you.”

She realized she was sitting stiffly, her back straight as a fence post. Leaning back against the cushion, she crossed her legs. “Really? I thought that’s what we came here for.”

“Thought we’d talk first.”

Uh-oh. She didn’t like the sound of that. And he suddenly looked a lot more like a cop conducting an interrogation than a potential boyfriend eager to make a conquest.

She tucked one foot under her leg. She could brazen this out.

“Why were you staring at me? At the wedding?” he asked.

“’Cause you’re cute.”

“A woman like you must have ‘cute’ guys lining up to have sex with you. You don’t need to pick up a strange one at a wedding.”

“You must think I’m pretty shallow, that I’d just settle for any cute guy to satisfy my raging libido.”

“You don’t seem shallow,” he admitted.

Maybe she ought to be afraid. He was accused of police brutality. Some really violent guys became cops so they could have a socially acceptable outlet for their...urges. He’d been accused of beating suspects twice...enough to form a pattern.

Maybe the P.I. she’d hired hadn’t done a thorough enough job. Maybe Hudson Vale wasn’t as nice a guy as he appeared on paper.

Then she had to laugh at herself, silently at least. The Logans’ valet had witnessed them together. Even if Hudson had violent urges, she doubted he was stupid enough to assault her when they’d been seen leaving the wedding arm in arm.

Anyway, how could a man who was charmed by a bunch of hummingbirds be anything but a good guy?

“Something just seems a little bit off, that’s all,” he said almost apologetically. “I’ve learned over the years not to ignore my instincts. I thought at first you were trying to make someone jealous.”

“I’m not, trust me. My date was just a date. In fact, it was a fix-up,” she admitted. “When he went after one of the bridesmaids I was totally relieved.”

“Now I know you’re fibbing. You can get your own dates.”

“I guess I can. I got you.” Of course he was suspicious of her. He was a cop, one who’d faced off against a powerful, ruthless man who would stoop to any means to prove Hudson had assaulted him for no reason. “But is it so hard to believe I saw something I liked and went for it? I’m sure I’m not the first woman to make a play for you.”

“No. But definitely the only one who looks like a supermodel.”

“Now who’s full of bull?” But she smiled. She liked it that he thought she was pretty. She knew she was reasonably attractive. And she was tall. But supermodel was a real stretch.

“It’s like I won the lottery or something.”

“The lottery? How much did you have to drink at that wedding?”

“I only had half a beer, or I wouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel. You were the one guzzling a martini when I first saw you.”

“I do not guzzle. And if you’re implying I was drunk, you’re wrong. No false courage needed.” She matched his steamy look with one of her own.

He drained the last of his Mountain Dew, then crushed the can in one hand.

The macho show of strength made her heart flutter faster than the hummingbirds’ wings they’d so recently witnessed. He cavalierly threw the can over his shoulder. It sailed through the pass-through into the kitchen and sounded as if it landed in the sink. Then he came out of his chair, skirted around the coffee table and landed next to her.

“Hi, there.”

“H-hi.”

“Wanna make out?”

She very much did. She’d predicted Hudson would be a stand-up guy, but the boyish charm was a surprise, and it melted her jaded heart. She couldn’t resist him, especially because he wasn’t pushing her straight to the bedroom. The hungry look in his eyes told her he wanted her, but he didn’t pressure her. His attitude was refreshing.

Elizabeth looped one arm around his neck, drawing him closer. He exuded warmth and an electric tension that her body responded to. Her skin prickled with heightened awareness, her chest tightened and she felt hot between her legs, hot and tickly, as if she was being brushed with rose petals. All from him touching her shoulder.

They took their time getting to that next kiss. She looked into his eyes, wishing she could dive right inside him, his delicious warmth enveloping her like a safe blanket. She parted her lips slightly, needing more oxygen. They shared the same air for several heartbeats before he finally closed that small gap between them and claimed her mouth with his.

He tasted like citrus, and she realized it must be the Mountain Dew. But the electric tingle of his mouth, the firm brush of lips on lips, tongue on tongue sizzled through her body. She would never be able to think about that beverage again without associating it with Hudson.

He shifted her onto his lap. His erection pressed against her thigh, and he adjusted her slightly so it nudged between her legs. His groan was more like a growl of pleasure.

They kissed for a long time. She learned everything there was to know about his mouth and what it could do to her, unable to stop herself from imagining how it would feel to have his talented tongue employed elsewhere on her body. She wanted him to lick her from head to toe like a giant Popsicle, and then she wanted to do the same to him.

He smelled good, like soap and leather, citrus and sunshine. His skin tasted incredible. She ran her tongue along his jawline, exploring the slightly sandpapery texture. He teased her ear with his tongue, which caused her to go very still so she could concentrate on every sensation. When he nipped her earlobe with his teeth she was sure she would spontaneously combust.

He hadn’t even touched her breasts, but she was ready to skip over the rest of the foreplay and get him inside her. She was afraid she would climax before they were joined, and while that wouldn’t be all bad, their first time she wanted them to come together.

Their first time. The thought set her back on her heels. As if there would be more. She knew how impossible that was, but she was already fantasizing about seeing him again.

“Condoms?” she asked between kisses, because that was the only word her sex-fogged brain could manage.

“Bedroom.”

She clamored off his lap and grabbed his hand, pulling him off the sofa. Like eager children, they raced toward the back of the house.

He didn’t turn on any lights, so she received only a few fleeting impressions of his bedroom—bigger than expected, with a king-size bed on a platform. Some kind of dresser or chest in the corner. A ceiling fan overhead; that would be nice in the summer.

The bed was made, another unbachelorlike detail she filed away. Unless he’d planned to make a conquest at the wedding and had cleaned up in anticipation, she could conclude that Hudson was a good housekeeper, and that he didn’t need a lot of stuff around him to make him happy.

Hudson yanked back the covers, raising the faint scent of vanilla.

He didn’t press her onto the mattress immediately; instead he took her in his arms and kissed her again, deftly lowering the zipper at the back of her dress. He smoothed the silky fabric off her shoulders and it slithered down her body and pooled at her feet.

Feeling uncharacteristically shy, she was glad to be in semidarkness. She didn’t fixate on her body like some of her friends. She was lucky to be naturally slender, so she didn’t fight her weight, but she didn’t spend hours at the gym or taking Pilates classes. She wasn’t ripped and toned. In fact, she might be considered too thin, and the push-up bra she’d bought to help her A-cups fill out the dress was a bit of false advertising. When he unhooked and removed it, she had to resist the urge to cover her breasts with her arms.

He inhaled sharply. “I’m going to turn on the light.”