Her laugh was soft, and when he glanced at her, he swore her smile was genuine. “Well done. I’m going to check. I hope you don’t get motion sick.”
She picked up the camera, and the interior of the bedroom panned along Marcus’s screen. In that two-second flash, he knew more about her than any stranger should, and his mind took a one-eighty.
The shelves were filled with books. Textbooks, not novels. Carved wooden letters, a T and an S, had been used as bookends. A picture of four people at the beach had been on her nightstand. Car keys had been sitting on a chair with a backpack.
Granted, he was trained to pick up nuances, but so were predators. And they had a lot more time on their hands than Marcus.
“I don’t see a clip.” Her voice came over the speakers.
“Look in the box.”
“But I don’t even see a place to put— Oh.”
The camera shifted again, and Marcus eyed a group photo in the distance hanging on her wall. All women in some sort of sports setup. The uniforms were blue and…white? Gold? He couldn’t tell if it was high school or college, but it wouldn’t take long for him to narrow down every school with those colors if he’d wanted. The same way other men could uncover the information—men not nearly as scrupulous as Marcus.
Then again, he was in a paid chat room on a sexcam site. Just how scrupulous was he?
Tandi’s face refilled his screen, the cutest little sheepish grin on her mouth. “I feel…
really
stupid.” She rustled in the packaging, pulled out a tiny black clip, and fitted it to the back. “Ta-da.”
She set the camera on something higher and sat on the edge of a bed. With her legs crossed, she propped herself up into a lazy slouch, her shirt falling open across her breasts and belly.
“Christ,” Marcus murmured, his mind reluctantly pulling from his concern right back to sex.
She pointed a little remote toward Marcus, the camera zoomed in, then out, and changed angles. “Guess I should learn how to read directions.”
“Tandi, we should—?”
“Get this party started,” she finished for him. “Right?”
“Uh, Tandi—“
She pushed to her feet, slanted one hip, and shrugged, nudging her shirt over her shoulders and down her arms. And, Christ, she was all tanned skin, fit, toned body, dark hair, and cut-off jeans. A goddamned walking fantasy, one who would have made him choke on his tongue had he met her on the street—kinda like he was doing now. And the lusty beat and lyrics of “Bad Girlfriend” came from somewhere in her room.
“Do you have any special requests, Marcus?” Her hips rocked to the beat, and she skimmed her hands up her body, pausing at her breasts to squeeze and plump the mounds beneath the silk. She tipped her head back, shook out her hair, and sighed. “Mmmm. Something special you’d like me to do?”
“Uh…this works.” God, he was a moron. How could he be so in control in the field, so confident in bed once he got a woman there, yet so…lost…in these beginning flirting stages? If women didn’t hit on him at the bars—when he used to get to the bars—he’d never get laid.
Tandi let her blouse slide slowly down her arms and off her hands with a seductive grin. Her mouth was generous, her eyes heavily lashed and beautifully shaped, her nose straight and slim. She skimmed her flat belly with her hands, then again, letting her fingers disappear beneath the low waistband.
“Are you touching yourself, Marcus?” she asked in a throaty whisper.
Her question made him focus on his cock, where it was rock hard and pushing against the laptop. “N-no.”
She popped the button of her jeans, slid down the zipper, and caressed her hands lower. “Why not?”
Good question. His cock was begging for some solid pressure. The constant thrum of “My girlfriend’s gotta have it” and “dirty girl getting down” didn’t help.
“Are you alone?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Slide your hands down there, handsome.” She hooked her thumbs into the hips of her shorts and shimmied them down, millimeter by millimeter to the beat of the music. She was smooth, sexy…and Marcus second-guessed his newbie thoughts. She’d definitely danced before. “Imagine my hand stroking your cock.”
His entire lower body had filled with 90 percent of his blood supply at the sight of her in nothing but a white bra and skimpy panties. Marcus’s mouth dried up. She was simply…gorgeous.
Her shorts hit the floor, and Marcus groaned.
“That’s it,” she said, voice sultry-smooth. “Touch yourself the way I’d touch you, Marcus.”
“I love the way you move.” His voice came out rough.
“I love moving for you.” She made a quick, precise turn and stepped away from the bed with a dancer’s skill. She grinned back over her shoulder, but Marcus couldn’t pull his gaze from the scalloped edge of the tiny panties, her smooth thighs, tight ass, tucked waist, trim shoulders. He finally reached beneath the laptop to ease the pressure in his cock.
“God damn, girl…” he muttered.
“Great Pretender” came on, and she lifted her arms overhead, circling her hips to the beat, slowly turning to face the camera again. With the remote in her hand, she panned the camera farther out, showing herself from the top of her dark head to the tips of her pink toes.
The corner of a bulletin board came into view, tempting his eye, but he couldn’t drag his gaze away from her body.
With her hands on her thighs, she slid them to her knees, bending forward, exposing that sweet cleavage Marcus wanted to bury his face in. There was definitely something to this webcam thing, because he was having a hard time not stroking himself, even though he didn’t really want to.
“Can I kneel between your legs, Marcus?” she asked, her voice soft, husky. “Spread them for me. Imagine me there.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip, followed by her teeth. His fingers tightened around his cock, and as if she were with him, her eyes closed briefly, a look of pleasure on her face. Then she licked her lips again and murmured, “Can I suck you, Marcus?”
His cock jerked beneath his hand, and Marcus gritted his teeth, returned pressure until the need eased, and pulled his hand from between his legs. “Holy fuck…” he breathed. “I wish…”
She smiled, straightened, slid her hands up her body again, stroking her breasts. “Talk to me. You’ve got the sexiest voice.”
She slid one knee onto her bed and let it ease out to the side until she was doing a modified version of the splits. She angled the camera, giving Marcus a full, glorious view of her open thighs—and that bulletin board. His gaze pulled to a piece of paper at the bottom left corner, then the logo at the top of the paper—a silver camera film reel with wings and the words “Studio Diner” and “Servers Schedule.”
His brain held.
Focused.
That diner was ten miles from his house.
Unease burned through his stomach. He sat forward. “Tandi.”
His gaze slid back to her. She was stroking her hands down her beautiful body, face flushed,
lids heavy
.
“Yes, Marcus.”
“Can you…um… I’m sorry. Can you stop so we can talk for a minute?”
She gracefully lifted out of her split and rolled onto her bed. Lying on her stomach, facing the camera, her cleavage deep and lush and, good God… He wanted to lick every glorious inch of her. She bent her knees and crossed her pretty little feet over her back.
With her chin propped on her palm, she smiled sweetly into the camera, but this time he thought she looked more like she wanted to fall into a pillow than get dirty. “I’d love to talk.”
“Hey, honey,” he said, trying to make sure he had her attention. She hadn’t seemed drunk or high earlier, but now…he couldn’t tell. “This is important. Are you awake?”
“Of course I’m awake. I’d never fall asleep on a hottie like you.”
But then she dipped her head and fought a yawn. Relief eased the tight muscles along his neck. Tired was way better than drunk or drugged.
“Okay, look,” he dove in, knowing he was going to totally screw whatever comfort they’d developed. Knowing she’d probably be bent after he said this. But it had to be said. “I know you’re new to this, and if you’re going to keep doing it, there are a few things you need to think about.”
Her hand dropped away from her face, her smile faded into a serious expression, her gaze focused on the camera once again, and Marcus felt as if he were sitting in the room with her. “Look, I’m open to constructive criticism, but please don’t slam me. It’s been a long day.”
“No, no, baby, you’re amazing. It’s not you.” He sipped a breath and pushed forward. “In my job, I’m trained to notice things. I’m trained to read people and situations. And I’ve seen enough in these twenty minutes with you to know way more than I should.”
She pushed into a sitting position and curved her feet under her. Worry pulled her brow into a frown. Her pretty eyes widened a fraction. Christ, she was so damn cute. Why couldn’t he meet someone like this in person?
Because you never get out, dipshit.
And even if you did, you’d fuck it up.
“W-what do you mean?” she asked.
“There’s way too many things in your room that could identify who and where you are. And there are way too many perverts out here, doing what I’m doing, with far less simplistic reasons for doing it.”
She glanced around her room, searched for the problems. “Like what?”
“The books on your shelves tell me you’re a student. Your age tells me you’re in college. Your keys tell me you drive a Honda. Your bookends tell me your real first name starts with a T and your last name starts with an S.”
And, based on the Studio Diner, he suddenly knew where those uniform colors fit into the mix.
Her shoulders stiffened, and her head jerked toward the keys on her nightstand as she swung her feet off the bed. She was breathing hard now, her chest rocking fast. “Holy shit.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He softened his voice to calm her down. “Most people wouldn’t notice these things unless they were looking, trying to get more information on you. And you’re just so gorgeous and open and warm, men will want more than what you’re giving them here. There are a lot of”
—
sick, twisted, demented, evil
—
“…bad people out there.”
Her head turned toward the camera, expression tight. “And what are you?”
“Before I tell you that, I just want you to tell me you’ll clear your room of everything remotely personal when you’re on camera.”
Christ, was she shaking? Her shoulders had curled lower, her hands had fisted, and something in her expression had grown fierce, but she didn’t rush to cover up. “I hear you.”
He hesitated. “I’m a cop.”
Her head cocked, and disbelief narrowed her eyes. “
What?
”
“A cop. That’s why I noticed everything. It’s ingrained. I can’t help it. I wasn’t going to say anything until I saw the diner paper on your bulletin board and put it all together. Which means someone else can put it all together.”
Her head jerked that direction, and she pushed from the bed, as if she intended to go pull it down. But she stayed put, and Marcus guessed pride kept her rooted.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I know this probably freaks you out, and you don’t know who I am, don’t know if I’m telling you the truth, but… I just want you to think about it. And protect yourself.”
With her gaze still roaming her room, she licked her lips and nodded. “Okay.” Her voice was soft. Sincere. She slid to a seat on the bed, one foot on the floor, one knee bent, her leg pulled in front of her. “So, what else do you think you know about me?”
“I think you’re a current or past student at UCSD and part of some type of sports team. I think you picked up this sexcam gig as a way to pick up some fast money.”
The way her head came up, lips parted, told him he’d hit it dead-on. Fuck, sometimes he hated being right.
“H-how could you know…?”
“The picture of the group on your wall. Blue and gold are UCSD colors. And the Studio Diner placed you here.”
“Here?”
“I’m in San Diego too.”
She shook her head. “How did that…?”
“I chose an option to see women in my general area when I came on the site.”
Her eyes rounded. “Holy…” she breathed, “shit…”
He winced. God he felt like such a fucking loser, even though he knew he was doing the right thing. “Have you thought of, I don’t know, doing phone sex instead of cam sex? You’ve got an amazing voice. I don’t know much about it, but it seems phone sex would be more anonymous. You don’t have to get naked—although, your body is incredible, and I have no doubt you’d have a rabid audience…”
A little smile curved her mouth in a wry lopsided grin. “But?”
“But… If you’ve done the work to get into UCSD and stay there, you’ve got to be concerned about your future. Nothing that happens on a computer nowadays is anonymous. Everything can be traced. There’s software out there that can capture stills of a video, even record videos, and those can be used in a hundred different ways, including being redistributed, you know?”
She brought her other leg onto the bed, then lay on her side. “Sure you’re not an evangelist trying to save wayward girls?”