Too Hot to Sleep

3

AFTER SIX YEARS on the police force, Officer Ken Medlock should have been used to late-night calls, but he still had trouble focusing on the voice at the other end of the line. He reached for the lamp on the nightstand, but remembered a split second after the sound of the hollow click that he’d forgotten to replace the burned-out bulb.

Did the woman say she was “Georgia”? His mind spun as he tried to place the name—a new dispatcher? Blinking seemed to help clear the cobwebs. One-thirty. Damn, the last time he’d looked at the clock had been less than an hour ago. His intermittent insomnia seemed to have grown worse as the temperature climbed—and now this interruption.

“Rob, I know it’s late, but I’ve been thinking about…us…all evening and I was wondering…that is…” The woman with the sultry voice inhaled and Ken opened his mouth to tell her she had the wrong number.

“I’m not wearing panties.”

His mouth snapped shut and his manhood stirred, proving at least one part of his body was processing information.

A small trembling laugh sounded. “I’ve always wondered if you were a boxer man or a brief man.”

What was the mystery woman’s intention? Engage in a little late-night dirty talk to entice this Rob guy to come over? “Boxer,” Ken blurted, then swallowed and leaned back onto his requisite three-pillow stack. Had he lost his mind? Or more appropriately, had he lost his shame?

“Mmm. Do you sleep in them?”

When I sleep. He couldn’t remember such a welcome interruption though—few of his dreams were this good. He might have thought his partner was playing another practical joke on him, but even Klone wouldn’t go this far. And the woman sounded so sincere, she had to be the real thing. His job required him to make life-and-death split-second judgments, but suddenly he was gripped with indecision—’fess up, hang up, or play up.

His body made the decision by sending a flood of desire to swell his deprived loins. What would be the harm in succumbing to one wild impulse? Before he had time to reconsider, he muttered, “Mmm-hmm.” Knowing she might realize her mistake any second, he held the mouthpiece a few inches away from his mouth. On the other hand, if she didn’t know what kind of underwear Robbie Boy wore, maybe she’d just met the man. Or maybe she was a prostitute. Ken had lived in the South for most of his adult life, but had never met a woman named Georgia.

“I thought it was time to let you know how I feel.”

Or maybe her boyfriend simply didn’t know how good he had it. “Okay,” he offered.

“But not if this makes you uncomfortable.”

He found the crack in her confidence endearing. Did she have any idea how sexy her voice sounded? And the only thing uncomfortable at the moment was his hardening erection. “I’m fine. Um…go on.” When silence followed, he was afraid she was onto him.

“Can you shed those boxers?” she whispered.

In for a penny, in for a pound. Ken reached beneath the warmish pilled sheet and slid off his shorts in three seconds flat, not an easy feat in a waterbed while juggling a phone. The TV remote he’d left on the bed crashed to the wood floor. “They’re gone. Are—” Ken wet his lips, “are you undressed?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I’m wearing a white button-up blouse and a white bra.”

Ken closed his eyes. “Take…take them off,” he urged.

From the rustling sounds, he surmised she was stripping. His mind whirled, wondering what this woman who called herself Georgia looked like. Was she redheaded? A brunette? Blonde? Brown eyes? Blue? Hazel? Long hair? Short? Sections of his fantasy woman clicked into place like the tiles in a vertical slot machine. Long, dark hair, blue eyes, a great smile, curvy. And peeling off her clothes.

“They’re off.”

Ken bit his tongue to keep from asking more questions that might end the phone call. His hand slid beneath the sheet, and he imagined Georgia easing into the bed next to him.

“It’s hot over here,” she continued, much to his relief. “And I just couldn’t sleep after leaving the club. All that nudity affected me.”

She was a stripper? That explained the stage name. His conscience eased somewhat. At least she wasn’t some innocent lady shedding her modesty for the first time. And she must have an incredible body. Her shadow of an accent didn’t belong to a Southern belle, but in his mind, Georgia was as lush and sticky-sweet as her name implied.

“I need to relax,” she said, sighing.

Ken could almost feel her breath warming his neck. His answer was a low groan of encouragement.

“Lately I’ve been hoping we could become more…intimate.”

“I never knew,” he replied in a low tone. The truth.

“We’ve both been a little shy, but somehow, it’s easier to talk about my fantasies on the phone like this.”

A hot flush traveled over his skin. “Go on.”

“My breasts,” she said, her voice suddenly tentative again.

Round? High? Firm?

“Sensitive. So sensitive.”

Not as visual, but he could make it work. “Mmm-hmm.”

She was breathing harder now. “My hair is down and tickling my breasts.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Can you picture me lying next to you?”

Could he? “Uh-huh.” She was killing him. Moonlight streamed through a window next to his bed, transforming the tangled sheets into a woman’s figure. Her skin was smooth and golden with faint and minuscule tan lines. Beautiful. Their hands tangled as they stroked and caressed each other.

“Touch me lower,” she murmured.

His breath caught in his chest.

“Lower,” she urged, and he moaned, picturing the dip of her navel and the tangle of dark hair in the vee of her thighs.

“There,” she moaned, gratified. “Yes, there.”

Ken tensed, moved by the emotion in her voice. “I can’t wait much longer.”

She was practically panting now. “Yes…now.”

He imagined himself ready over her waiting body. Their moans would mingle at the union. She would close around him as he sank deeper and deeper in her warmth.

Her voice reverberated in his head, a stream of soft moans, punctuated with throaty inflection to capture a rhythm he matched without hesitation. He could never tire of her voice. “Talk to me,” he begged.

“S-so…good…ohhhhhhhhh…harder…faster…”

Ken obliged, his breathing becoming more ragged with every thrust. “When you’re ready,” he whispered, “take me with you.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Together…now…oh, yes…”

Ken’s eyes rolled back as he joined her powerful release. Their voices culminated in staccato cries, then gentled to quiet moans. Satisfied sighs hummed on the line as they both labored to control their breathing.

“That…was…great,” he managed between great mouthfuls of air. His body spasmed with residual pleasure and he felt utterly drained.

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed with a silky laugh, then cleared her throat. “I…guess I’d better let you get back to sleep.” She’d retreated into shyness. “Good night, Rob. Call me tomorrow.” He heard a faint click, then a dial tone.

Ken floundered to sit up and managed to knock the phone and other clutter off the nightstand. He swung his feet to the floor, his heart still recovering from his unexpectedly naughty phone call. He’d seen, done, and heard a lot of things during his years as a beat cop, but this was a first. Unbeknownst to her, the woman had performed a public service.

Today—no, yesterday—had been one of the lousiest days he could remember. No deaths, thank goodness, but he’d answered an excessive number of domestic violence calls, and the criminals seemed to get younger all the time. He became a cop partly because he wanted to pass a safer world on to his nieces and nephews, and partly because he felt law enforcement was the best possible use of his God-given physical strength and mental discipline. He’d simply underestimated the sheer malice with which people treated one another, especially members of their own family.

Every cop experienced times when he simply didn’t want to get up and go to work, and Ken had been entertaining such thoughts when he lay down. And although his body now tingled with muscle fatigue, his spirit sang with new vitality. Ken decided he needed to get his priorities in order and find a good woman, then maybe he wouldn’t dwell on the misery he encountered every day.

And maybe he wouldn’t be tempted to steal an orgasm meant for another man.

His conscience poked at him, but what could he do now? Nothing, he decided hastily, rising and striding toward the bathroom. Chalk up the misdirected phone call as a once-in-a-lifetime experience and let it be. Tomorrow, Georgia and Rob—whoever they were—would have a big laugh when they realized she’d coaxed a wrong number to climax.

Ken leaned against the sink and ran a hand through his flattened hair, thinking about the sometimes shy voice of his unwitting partner. What if, instead, she felt humiliated and kept her secret? What if she worried about the identity of the person with whom she’d shared such an intimate experience?

Nah.

He splashed his face with handfuls of cool water, then stumbled back to bed, unable to stop a slow grin and a wide yawn as he fell onto his pillow. One thing he did know. His insomnia was cured for tonight.

4

“SO HOW DID IT GO?”

Georgia jumped at the sound of Toni’s voice over her shoulder, then smiled sheepishly at her friend. In fact, despite a slight headache and sitting on gum stuck to the bus seat this morning, she’d been gloating ever since her alarm had sounded. She was officially a naughty girl. Life was good.

Toni snapped her fingers in rapid succession. “Come on, you were humming, for Pete’s sake.”

Georgia glanced at the charts she was working on, then checked her watch. “I’m due a break. Want to get some coffee?”

“Sure.”

After letting the admissions clerk know she’d be away for ten minutes, Georgia wrote “break” beside her name on a dry eraser board. “How are things in the nursery?”

Toni looked heavenward. “Please tell me what possessed me to transfer up to the fourth floor.”

“You love babies, and you have the hots for the new head of obstetrics.”

Her friend frowned. “Oh, yeah.”

“And how’s that little ploy going, by the way?”

“Well, he calls me ‘Terri.’”

“Oh.” Georgia hid her smile and led the way into the staff vending room. Two med students sat at a corner table, one studying, one asleep sitting up.

Toni threw up her hands. “My question is, how did the man get through anatomy if he can’t remember names?”

Georgia poured them both a paper cup of coffee, then handed Toni a packet of sugar. “He’ll come around.”

“I hope so. I was planning to have snared a doctor by now. No offense, Georgia—I’m not as enamored with the nursing profession as you are. I’m here to get a husband. A rich husband with talented hands.”

Georgia laughed. “Liar. You’re a good nurse, Toni. By the way, how was Stacey feeling this morning?”

“Not so good, but she’ll recover.” After glancing at the med students, she leaned forward. “So I’m dying here. Did you call Rob and…you know?”

Feeling a blush climb her neck, Georgia blew into her cup.

“What, what, what?”

“Yes.”

Toni squealed. “I knew you could do it if you just let go. Did he like it?”

She pursed her lips, reliving flashes of last night’s erotic conversation that still sent stabs of desire to her stomach. His responses had been unexpectedly enthusiastic and sensual—a side of him she’d never seen but had hoped for. “I think so.” She lowered her voice and added, “It was fabulous.”

Toni grinned. “You vamp, you.”

Basking in her awakening, Georgia lifted her chin and smiled. She’d misbehaved and she hadn’t been struck by lightning. She hadn’t grown horns. And she hadn’t been tempted to ogle strange men on the bus this morning. She had her unfettered hormones perfectly under control.

“I take back what I said about Rob being a bore. The man’s obviously a sleeper.”

“A sleeper?”

“You know, unassuming. Awakens unexpectedly.” Toni wagged her eyebrows.

“Ah.”

“When will you see him again?”

“I told him to call me today.”

Slurping her coffee, Toni said, “Let’s hope he didn’t get all Republican at the light of day.”

Georgia’s smile fizzled. “What do you mean?”

Toni crinkled her nose and pulled an innocent face. “Nothing.”

“Oh, no, what do you mean?”

A sigh escaped her friend. “The whole buyer’s remorse thing. I just wondered if it was the same with phone sex as it is with real sex. You lose one out of three guys to morning-after malady, you know.”

Doubts crowded her previous good cheer. “You mean you think he enjoyed it last night, but he doesn’t respect me this morning?”

Toni tossed her half-empty cup into the trash can and wiped her hands together in a “that’s that” motion. “Forget I said anything.”

She frowned. “I’ll try.”

“When do you get off?” Then she winked and poked Georgia in the ribs. “Again?”

“Oh, you’re a riot. I clock out at three.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll call. Ta ta.”

Georgia pushed aside her nagging concern and threw herself into the chaos of the afternoon. But every E.R. triage nurse typically experienced at least one day a week during which she questioned her decision to become a nurse in the first place, and today turned out to be hers. Her adolescent dreams of fixing people’s bodies—and, thus, their souls—seemed ludicrous in the wake of stomach flus, food poisonings, puncture wounds and other less palatable ailments. No dramatic lifesaving procedures today. She blamed the heat for the elevated tempers. Every patient tested her patience, bickering about the wait, second-guessing the treatments she offered. As her shift progressed, Georgia’s anxiety level increased. And as her anxiety level increased, her confidence waned. And as her confidence waned, she felt less and less good about her recent foray into the world of the sexually assertive.

What if Toni were right and Rob had decided her forwardness was uncouth? How would she be able to face him? She’d whipped up a little fudge sauce for their plain vanilla relationship, but had it been too rich for his blood? Since his consulting assignments required that he travel, and due to the nature of her job, they rarely spoke during the day. But after she clocked out, she’d make an exception and call him to gauge his reaction.

“What kind of a nurse are you?” a big, unpleasant-smelling man demanded when she refused to give him a physical for his medical insurance.

Georgia put her hands on her hips. “Sir, this is an emergency room, not your family doctor’s office.”

“I don’t have a family doctor. That’s why I came here. I figured it would be faster.”

“Get out,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the door. “You’re taking up room for people who have legitimate emergencies.”

Her statement really wasn’t true, at least not today, she noted with an irritated grunt as the man stalked out. Almost every person who came through the door had made a mockery of E.R. medicine, a mockery of her childhood aspirations. She woke up every morning, eager to aid those in need, eager to make a real difference in someone’s life. But even Nurse Goody-Two-Shoes had her limits. God help the next person who came in to waste her time and the hospital’s resources, because she certainly wouldn’t.

“WHISTLING? Man, you must’ve gotten lucky last night.”

Unwrapping a hamburger on his knee, since every square inch of his desk was occupied, Ken cut his gaze toward his partner. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Klone. I slept well, that’s all. Damn near forgot what it was like.”

The older man grinned and proceeded to talk with his mouth full of club sandwich. “What, no hot number to keep you up all night?”

A wrong hot number. “Man, you ask too many questions.”

“Job hazard,” Klone said, undaunted. “You’ve been complaining about your insomnia for weeks, but I think you’ve just been up late womanizing and partying.”

“Yeah, my life isn’t half as interesting as you lead people to believe.”

“Well, then maybe you’ve been moonlighting.”

“Klone, I haven’t been moonlighting.” Unless he could get paid for working crossword puzzles in the wee hours of the morning.

“Because if you need some extra cash to fund your lifestyle, every business in town is clamoring for cops to direct traffic on their off-hours. If you ask me, the city needs to put up a few more stoplights. Where are you working?”

“Klone, I have not been moonlighting.”

“Well, if you ask me, it’s high time you find a good woman to settle down with.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“That’s why you’re not sleeping, because you’re yearning for a soul mate.”

Ken grimaced and looked around at their colleagues moving about. “Jesus, keep your voice down. Have you been reading Cosmo or something?” He grunted. “I’ve told you before, marriage isn’t for me.” He wanted his mind squarely on his job. His first partner out of the academy had been a good-natured fellow, top of his class, with a successful career ahead of him until he met his “soul mate,” a woman who messed with his mind so badly, he’d committed grievous errors on the job. The last time Ken had seen him, the guy was unemployed, divorced, and a tad on the bitter side.

Ken’s own experiences were somewhat less dramatic, but he’d tired of vapid women who seemed determined to worm their way into his life regardless of his feelings on the matter. Although he was larger than the average man, he was brighter than most women gave him credit for. Relationships in general were a giant hassle. Last night was the first time he’d had sex with a woman without worrying about whether potpourri would suddenly appear in his bathroom.

Klone took another bite. “All I’m saying is that with a stressful job like this, you need a warm body to go home to every night. Someone to remind you that everyone in this world ain’t a criminal. Eighteen years now and Louise and me still do the deed every Friday night during The Tonight Show. Well, except for the two times she was in the hospital after the kids were born.”

Ken was forced to listen while he chewed the overdone burger, then he swallowed. “I can’t tell you how much I didn’t want to hear that. And don’t talk with your mouth full, for Crissake.”

Klone made a perfunctory swipe at his mouth with a wadded-up paper napkin. “I’m just concerned about what you’re doing with your life. You don’t have to get all aggravated.”

Immediately contrite, Ken ground his teeth, then said, “Klone, I like being single.”

His partner shook his head and expelled a grave sigh. “Son, someday you’re gonna learn the hard way that we can’t always have things the way we like them.”

Ken banked the half-eaten burger into a trash can, trying to block out the voice of Georgia the mysterious phone seductress. I’m not wearing panties. That, he liked. “Where does the Fleming burglary case stand?”

Klone shifted in his seat, oblivious to Ken’s strategy to change the subject. He held up a smudged piece of paper with a dollop of mayonnaise on the corner. “I got a tip to check out a pawnshop for some of the missing jewelry.”

Ken took the piece of paper, heedful of the mayonnaise and his navy uniform shirt, then pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll look into it.”

Klone half stood. “You want some company?”

“No, I volunteered to pull truancy duty at the mall this afternoon, and this place is on the way.”

His partner made a face. “Better you pulling truancy than me.”

“My good deed for the week,” Ken agreed wryly. “Catch you later.” On the way out of the station, he stopped by the locker room to brush his teeth. The small square mirror reflected sharp cheekbones—probably due to his lousy appetite of late—and his dark hair seemed more unruly than ever, despite his efforts to keep the length short enough to curtail the curl. Damned humidity.

But for once, his dark eyes weren’t red-rimmed, and his neck didn’t have a crick in it. His persistent insomnia had affected him more than he’d realized, leaving him restless and irritable and susceptible to behavior in which he wouldn’t normally indulge.

Such as pretending to be the deserving boyfriend of a woman who was more passionate than anyone he’d ever dated.

He banged his locker door closed, then exited to the parking garage, whistling tunelessly in an attempt to stop himself from thinking about how he caould find the woman on the phone. After swinging into his squad car, he checked the dash equipment, then started the engine and pulled out onto a side street. No sir, he wasn’t about to consider ways he could use the resources at his disposal to find out who she was.

Like checking the dozen or so strip joints for a dancer named Georgia.

Like performing a computer search on the city directory database for female residents named Georgia.

Like checking his own phone records to see from where the call had originated.

He thumped the steering wheel in frustration, hating himself for allowing the unknown caller to get under his skin. It was no big deal, he told himself as he wheeled into the parking lot of the pawnshop. Because the woman was nobody to him and probably wouldn’t give the incident much thought even after she discovered the blunder. And because the woman was a nymphette who had more interesting things going on in her life than worrying about the schmuck who had filched a freebie. No, he really shouldn’t be concerned that the woman might be disturbed when she realized her mistake.

So, why was he?

With much effort, Ken blocked out the voice of the seductive caller to take care of the tasks at hand. The stop into the pawnshop proved to be fruitful. Based on the written descriptions from the burglarized homeowner, he recovered two rings and a bracelet, along with the bad Polaroid photo of the woman who had pawned the pieces. He locked the bagged articles in the trunk of his car, then slid behind the steering wheel, suddenly looking forward to truancy duty, despite the smart mouths of the hooky-playing teens he would inevitably find walking the corridors of the mall and hanging out in the parking lot. Kids could be puzzling these days, but he had a good motivator—the memory of the cop who had routed his own behind out of an arcade twenty years ago and harassed him back into high school.