Just This Night (8 page)

Once I'd exited the office, I leaned against the hallway wall, sucking in a deep breath. Then I forced my wooden legs to walk me back to my car.

After all, as Richard said, I had a big day tomorrow.

And he didn't know the half of it.

BETH

O
h Beth, you feel so good. . . .”

Strong hands circled my waist from behind, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt and skimming my belly with deft strokes. Closing my eyes, I leaned back, moaning as soft curves melted against solid steel. I could feel his desire, pressing hard into my back, unapologetic, unrelenting, st
rong.

“You don't feel so bad yourself,” I managed to mutter as his hands continued their exploration, traveling upward, cupping my breasts, calloused fingers circling the tips until they hardened to sharp peaks. I bit my lower lip, squirming as the ache pooled in stomach. My legs clenched together, begging for release.

His amused laughter rang in my ears. “Hang on now, princess, that's my job,” he scolded. Then he lowered one hand, his touch searing across my stomach before slipping between my thighs.

Oh God.

I moaned, involuntarily rocking against his hand, desperate to relieve the exquisite torture his touch had invoked.
It'd been so long since I'd felt this way. Too damn long. Maybe I'd never felt this way before at all.

Now his thrusts matched mine. Harder and harder, higher and higher. My vision spinning, my fingertips numb. My back arching, my head thrown back. My hands grabbing fistfuls of—

Sand?

I jerked awake, the sharp piercing ring of a cell phone rudely breaking through my dreamland. Mind still foggy, I struggled to sit up, blinking my bleary eyes to clear them. It was then that I realized where I was. Where I'd fallen asleep. Where I'd been having the most erotic dream ever—right out in the open in front of God and everyone.

And not quietly, either, judging from the disturbed faces of my fellow beachcombers. My face flushed. Oh dear.

I'd originally swung by the beach on my way home after my conversation with Richard, hoping a quick swim would alleviate some of the tension headache brought on by today's events. But I hadn't even made it to the water. After spreading my towel out on the sand, my heavy eyes had simply closed. And now, glancing at my still ringing cell phone, I realized the two minutes of shut-eye I'd promised myself had stretched to two hours.

I pressed the accept button. “Hello?” I asked, still groggy, after bringing the phone to my ear. “Elizabeth White speaking.”

“Beth.” The assignment editor's voice barked on the other end. “We have breaking news. Can you work this afternoon?”

I clutched the phone, suddenly wide-awake. Breaking news? They wanted me, Beth White, to work breaking news?

Of course they do, you idiot. You're a dayside reporter now, remember?

My heart fluttered excitedly in my chest. My hands gripped the phone tightly between my fingers. When Richard had first offered me the promotion it had seemed so unreal. And I was half-convinced on the way home that I was going to wake up and find out it was all some crazy dream. But no. This was really happening. Right here. Right now.

There was breaking news. And they wanted me to cover it.

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound as professional as possible, nervous adrenaline spiking through my veins. “Where do you need me?”

“There's a fire in East County. At least one home involved. We don't know much else,” the assignment editor informed me. “We'll have you head down there and check it out. If there's anything good, Richard wants a package and a live shot for the six o'clock news.”

“No problem,” I declared with a grin. This was awesome. So awesome. “You want me to head to the station now?”

“No. There's no time. We'll have the new guy—Jake MacDonald—swing by your house and pick you up in the live truck. He's maybe five minutes out.”

My smile faded. Right. Jake MacDonald. Jake MacDonald, swinging by my house. The very same house that he'd ravaged my naked body in only two nights before. The very same house he'd vacated without a trace first thing the next morning.

Hell, at least he wouldn't need GPS . . .

I swallowed hard, the thrill of breaking news suddenly blanketed by sheer dread. Sure, I'd already known they'd be pairing me with Mac. But I guess I'd hoped to have twenty-four hours to get used to the idea. Maybe even find a way to meet up with him for coffee before our first official shift tomorrow morning to discuss the whole thing. We could have talked it out, made jokes about karma, and promised not to let the awkwardness affect our work.

But that, evidently, wasn't in the cards. The news waited for no one. And I knew asking for another photog during a breaking news situation was only going to make me sound like a diva. I had one month to prove to Richard that I deserved this promotion. And no one—not even Morning After MacDonald—was going to mess that up for me.

“Beth? Are you still there?” the assignment editor asked, sounding impatient.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” I sputtered. “Tell Mac to head on over. I'll be waiting.”

“Mac?”

My face flamed. “Sorry. Jake MacDonald. I . . . I . . . Anyway . . . Yeah.”

I hung up the phone, cheeks still burning as I tossed it into my beach bag. As I pulled my arm away, I accidentally brushed it against the canvas and let out a yelp as pain seared through me. I looked down, my eyes widening as I realized the aftereffects of my accidental sunbathing: my skin reduced to a crimson colored mess. I cringed. This was going to feel awesome up close and personal to a raging fire. Not to mention the boiled lobster look was sure to be a real hit with the viewers back home.

Seriously, I could not catch a break if one was lobbed directly at my freaking head.

But there was nothing I could do about it now and I was running out of time, so I gathered up my things and started the five-minute walk back to the house. Stephanie wouldn't be back for a few hours, which was another bummer since I'd wanted to discuss the whole shift change thing with her—hoping to soften the blow a little. I could have called her, I supposed, but she was probably busy getting ready for the nightly newscast. And this was definitely something that would be better discussed face-to-face anyway.

I wasn't stupid: I knew there was no way she wasn't going to be pissed—I mean, who wouldn't be? But, at the same time, I had to make her understand somehow that it wasn't my fault. That my promotion had nothing to do with her demotion. That if it wasn't me, Richard would have assigned someone else to take her shift. It was just an unlucky coincidence that I was first on his list.

Yeah, maybe it was better I had time to work on this little pep talk.

Beeeeep!

A loud honk startled me back to the present. I looked up, surprised to see a News 9 live truck pulled up in front of my driveway, Mac in the driver's seat. He was here already? I'd hoped to at least have time to change out of my bikini.

My breath hitched as I caught sight of his face behind
the windshield. Seriously, why did he have to be so freaking hot? I mean, that rugged jawline, those piercing eyes, that hint of stubble whispering across his cheeks—what that stubble felt like whispering across my thighs. Suddenly my erotic beach dream came raging back to me and I swallowed heavily.

Get your mind out of the gutter, girl. And back on the job.

“I'll just be a minute,” I yelled across the lawn, turning my key to open the front door. Once inside, I dropped my cover-up and worked to swap bathing suit for business suit with the speed of Superman in a phone booth, gritting my teeth to ignore the excruciating pain of wool rubbing against raw, sunburned skin.

Beeeeeep!

I looked up, annoyed. Was he honking again? Geez. I'd just gotten the call five minutes ago. What did he expect? At the very least I had to glop foundation over my lobster skin. Was that so much to ask?

Beeeeeeeeeep!

I scowled. Okay fine, I'd apply my makeup in the car. Grabbing my phone and purse I ran out the door, across the front yard, and into the truck, just in time for him to lay on the horn again.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

“I'm here, okay?” I cried, slamming the door behind me. “I mean, I know it's breaking news and all, but it's not like I could report live from my bikini.”

He turned, giving me a puzzled look. “What?”

“The beeping, of course!” I gestured angrily to his steering wheel, still a little out of breath from running to the vehicle. “It's rude and unnecessary. I was going as fast as I could. I don't know how you do things in Boston, but here we try to show our coworkers a little respect.”

“Respect,” he mumbled under his breath. “That's a good one.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

“Look, a cat crawled under the truck when I first pulled up,” he said flatly. “I didn't want to run it over when I pulled
out.” He paused, then muttered, “I guess that's just how we do things in Boston.”

A . . . cat? Oh God. I stared at him, speechless. He sighed, shook his head, then laid on the horn one more time. Sure enough, a moment later, a black and white tabby shot from under the vehicle, crossing my neighbor's yard and leaping over the fence.

Mac gave me an expectant look, his blue eyes flashing something unreadable. “Now. If you need more time to get ready . . .”

I swallowed hard, pretty sure my already sunburned skin was now a disturbing shade of purple. “No,” I stammered. “I'm fine. Let's go.”

Mac nodded, putting the truck in gear without another word, guiding it back onto the narrow beach road that led out of my neighborhood and onto the freeway. As he drove, I stared out the front windshield, feeling hot and stupid. Not to mention humiliated beyond belief. Why had I snapped at him like that? I was supposed to be trying to make things less awkward. Instead, I'd somehow managed to create a hostile work environment our first five minutes on the job. What if he went back and said something to Richard? What if he asked for another partner? What if Richard took that as a sign I wasn't ready for the new gig after all?

What if I let my hurt feelings over a stupid one-night stand end my entire career?

“I'm sorry,” I said, turning back to Mac. He was staring out the front window, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckled fingers. “I'm a bit . . . flustered right now. I just got promoted and this is my first breaking news assignment. I didn't mean to take it out on you.”

He gave a small nod, so slight I could scarcely recognize it. I waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. I squirmed in my seat. I had to make this right somehow. Or we'd be living through hell each and every workday.

“Look, can we somehow start over?” I blurted out. “I mean, I know the situation is beyond awkward. Trust me, if I had any idea who you were in that club, I would have never,
ever . . . well, you know.” I wrung my hands in my lap. “But it happened. It happened and there's no way to take it back. And now we're stuck together, whether we like it or not.”

Mac grunted, giving me the distinct impression he was in the “not” camp.

I sighed. “As far as I can see it, we have two choices. We can continue to fight and make each other miserable for the foreseeable future. Or we can suck it up and move forward and do our jobs like professionals. I don't know about you, but this job is a really big deal to me. And I'm not about to let something this stupid screw up everything I've worked for my entire life.”

I paused, the silence stretching out between us. For a moment I thought he wouldn't answer. But finally, he cleared his throat. “I need this job, too,” he said, his voice gruff.

Relief flooded my insides. “Great,” I said. “Okay. Then we're in agreement. We're moving on. From this point forward, this car will be a magically awkward-free zone!” I forced a grin, waving my hands in the air in emphasis, as if casting a spell. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw his mouth twitch, but I couldn't be sure.

I sighed. Spell or not, this was going to take some work.

I reached toward the dashboard, turning up the police scanner. Then I grabbed my reporter notepad and started to take notes. We wouldn't have a ton of time once we got to the fire and I wanted to have some questions ready for the potential interviewees. As a bonus, I hoped it would serve as a distraction from Mac's flashing blue eyes.

But
that
, I soon realized, was going to take a
lot
more magic.

*   *   *

T
hough most tourists probably considered San Diego a tropical oasis, to the east of the city stretched miles and miles of desert. Each year the lack of rain would turn the area into a powder keg for brushfires. And when the winds picked up, those fires could decimate entire towns.

I peered out the window as we pulled up alongside the
blaze, pinpointing the displaced family, standing a little ways away, watching the ravenous flames make a quick meal of their home. A toddler, wearing sooty-footed pajamas, sat on the curb, innocently playing with a stuffed bear. A young mother held a baby close to her chest, tears streaming down her face, splashing on the child's bare head. A heavyset man put a meaty arm around her shoulder and she laid her head against his.

My heart panged; my first world problems suddenly seeming so trivial and ridiculous in the face of what they must be suffering. Here I was, all stressed out by a one-night stand gone wrong and an uncomfortable work environment while this family had literally just lost everything they owned.

Mac put the truck in park, then turned to me. “I'll go get some good flame shots while you scout out who's in charge and have them make an official statement. I assume you want to interview the family as well, so go see if they'll talk. I'll be back in about ten to do the interviews which will give us plenty of time to edit and feed our video back to the station.”