by Mazzy King
“I’m kind of working here.” I gesture to the rifle and radio. Now I am kind of being a smart-ass.
Her bright green eyes narrow. Damn, she has beautiful eyes. Even her glasses can’t hide them. Long, thick dark lashes. I don’t think she’s wearing any makeup, but I learned from my sister a long time ago not to have opinions about a woman’s makeup and just to appreciate the beauty I see. Either way, her light tan skin seems to glow, and she’s…
There’s a word for it. Give me a second.
Radiant, that’s it. She’s goddamn radiant.
“I’m aware of that,” she snips. “I meant like, water. Tea. Coffee.”
“Water’s always good.” I peek through my scope. I can’t see the hostage-taker at all through the windows, though the curtains appear to be open. “What kind of tea? Like hot, iced…”
“Do you have a preference?”
“I like hot tea.” I need some updates from my sergeant. I don’t like being so out of the loop like this. I grab my radio. “If you have any. If not, water’s just fine. Thank you.”
Violet looks at me dubiously, then pads off into the small kitchen area. Her place is a spacious open floor plan, the kitchen and living area making one big room. She fills a tea kettle with water and sets it on the stove.
Yeah, I’m a dude who likes tea. So what?
I push a button on my radio. “Sarge. Hartley. You copy?”
“Copy. What do you want, Hartley?”
“Sit-rep. I feel like I’m floating out here.”
My sergeant sighs. “You’re going to need to sit tight for a while, Hartley. The hostage-taker has made some requests for money and vehicles and to talk to his therapist. It’s going to be a while. Just keep an eye out and stay where you are.”
“Roger.” I click off the radio as the tea kettle starts whistling.
A moment later, Violet carries over a bottle of water and a cup of tea. “It’s just lemon tea, I think. Whatever I had in my cupboard. I’m more of a coffee kind of girl.”
“It’s fine, thank you.” I take a sip, enjoying the hot liquid flowing down my throat.
“So what’d they say?” Violet asks, twisting the top off her own bottle of water.
“Going to be a while.” I flash her a sympathetic look, then tick my chin at her laptop. “Sorry. Looks like you were in the middle of something.”
“My newest book,” she replies, reaching out to shut the laptop lid. “I’m supposed to be pumping it up next Saturday at my book signing.”
I raise my brows. “You’re having a book signing? That’s huge.”
“My first. I’m a little nervous.” She gives me an uncomfortable, one-sided smile before glancing away. “I’m a writer because I’m shy. I’m not a good public speaker. I’m socially awkward, actually.”
I shrug. “You seem cool to me.”
“Thanks, but it’s just us. Put me in a room of people and watch me go. Or rather, not go.”
I blow on my tea. “Well, it’s a book signing, right? All you gotta do is sit down and sign people’s books. Maybe take a couple pictures, shake some hands. That’s it, right?”
She shakes her head. A lock of blonde hair comes loose from her braid and I have the worst urge to brush it away from her face, to feel the silkiness slide over my fingers.
“Yes and no,” she says. “I have to be on. That gets tiring after a while. And—and they want me to do a reading. From my last book.”
Even though I’m not shy or an introvert, I don’t need to ask for clarification as to why that would be hard for her.
“Well, hey,” I say. “You know that old show business trick? Just picture everyone in the room naked, and then you won’t feel so shy. Want to practice on me? You can read. Picture me naked.”
Her blush suffuses her whole face and neck this time, and I wonder how far under that sweater of hers it reaches.
Now I’m the one picturing her naked.
Chapter 4
Violet
I can’t believe the sexiest man I’ve ever seen who happens to be a SWAT officer and sitting inside my living room and who requested fucking hot tea from me and is actually a really sweet guy just told me I should banish my stage fright by picturing him naked.
As if I haven’t been doing that this whole time.
He watches me closely, his gaze gliding down my neck. He doesn’t seem at all embarrassed by what he said. In fact, by the little one-sided grin he’s giving me, I’d say he’s pretty freaking pleased with himself.
And can I ever stop turning red as a beet?
You’d think with the sexy stuff I write, I’d get my blush response under control.
“Well?” he says. “How about it? You gonna read me something from your book? And I mean, I want the hot stuff. That’s what you’ll read at your signing, right?”
The thought of saying words like “pussy,” “cock,” “fucking,” and “sucking” in front of him, let alone a crowd of people, makes me want to crawl under the bed and hide. Now, listen. I’m no prude. I’m not a virgin. I’ve had “the sex” a few times in my life. Has it been mind-blowing? No. That’s partly why I write what I write. I’m writing the fantasy as much for me as for my lovely readers. But I can also be painfully shy…and especially around a guy who makes me feel like I’m fifteen around my high school crush again, well. So to read those things to him?
In the infamous words of Randy Jackson on American Idol, that’s a no from me, dawg.
“Right. Um, I’m hungry,” I say to change the subject.
It could be my overactive imagination, but I swear his eyes go all smoldery. “Me too.”
If he looks at me like that again, I really will go run and hide in my bedroom. “I—I’m gonna order a pizza,” I stammer, getting up from the couch. “What do you like on yours?”
He licks his lips—a coincidence, that’s all—as he lifts his mug of tea. “Whatever you like. I’m not picky.”
I left my cell phone on the kitchen counter, so I go over to it and use the pizza restaurant’s app to order. “Okay. Should be here in an hour.”
“You didn’t call,” Rhys points out.
“I prefer online ordering,” I say. “That way I don’t have to actually speak to another human being.”
He laughs. I don’t see what’s funny.
I fold my arms. “It appears we have quite a bit of time to pass.”
He lifts one eyebrow. “Potentially, we do.”
“Well, there’s only one thing I can think of to pass the time that really lets you get to know someone.” I walk over to the bookshelf and squat down, searching for a particular item.
“Strip poker?”
I can’t say I believe he’s kidding. I retrieve a cardboard box from the bottom shelf, then hold it up triumphantly.
He blanches. “Scrabble? Are you shitting me? You’re a fucking writer. That’s not fair.”
“You scared?” I taunt.
Those beautiful blue eyes of his narrow. “Bring it on.”
By the time the pizza comes, I’ve beat him in four games. To be fair, a couple were pretty close. He lets me get up to answer the door, but stops me from reaching for my purse sitting on an end table. He reaches into the front pocket of his cargo pants and withdraws his wallet.
“It’s fine,” I tell him.
“No way.” He peels off three tens and passes them to me. “I barged into your house. The least I can do is buy you pizza and let you win at Scrabble.”
“Let me win,” I scoff, heading to the door. “Sure. Don’t peek at my tiles!”
I give the pizza delivery guy all the cash, and take the large, hot box back to where our game is sprawled on the floor, grabbing a handful of napkins from the kitchen counter as I pass.
After setting the pizza on the coffee table, I grab him another bottle of water and a can of Riesling for me.
“Canned wine, huh?”
I stick my tongue out at him, and don’t miss the way his gaze darts to it. “You coul
d have started,” I say, noticing he hasn’t even opened the box.
“My mother taught me manners. When dining with a beautiful woman, you wait until she has her food and is settled before you eat.”
“Is that right?” I have a feeling he’s being coy, but it’s sweet nonetheless.
He sketches a cross over his left pec. “Scout’s honor.”
“First of all, you’re not a Scout,” I say. “Second of all, Scout’s honor looks like this.” I hold up three fingers on one hand.
“Sorry. I must be delirious from hunger.”
I shove a slice of pepperoni at him. “Eat. Now let’s get back to the beatdown.”
We eat pizza and I continue to beat him at Scrabble until I lose track of time and it grows pitch dark outside, except for the red-and-blue police cruiser lights still flashing across the street. Rhys’s radio hasn’t crackled since he called down to his “sarge,” even though every few minutes he’s been looking out the window and peeping through his scope.
I take a sip from my second can of wine. I’m totally relaxed and not a bit dizzy, but I’ll stop after two. I’m a lightweight. I glance down at my tiles, then arrange a few on the board.
Rhys blinks, then snorts. “Well. That canned wine’s kicking in, isn’t it?”
I grin over the rim of my glass. “Whatever do you mean, Officer?”
He points to the board. “‘Boob.’”
I shrug impishly. “Also an insult meaning dim-witted or idiotic. You have a dirty mind.”
He tilts his head. He looks so sexy, sprawled out on his side, leaning on one arm. “There’s no denying that. But I’m the only one being honest here.”
“Oh, I’m not being dishonest,” I reply. “I’m just merely letting you know more than one definition for that word exists. Not just these.” Before I’m fully aware I’m doing it, I cup my own breasts.
That smoldering look comes back into Rhys’s gaze again. “All right, then, Ms. Romance Writer. You wanna play? Let’s play.”
He shuffles some tiles around, then quickly arranges them on the board. I look down and nearly spit a gulp of wine out. He’s spelled out “twat.”
I squeal out a noise I think is a giggle. It’s a sound I’ve never made before, which makes me laugh even harder. He joins in, shrugging.
“All the letters I had. Your turn.”
Screw the rules of the game. We’ve just made a new one. I grab a handful of tiles and spread them out to see what I’m working with. I place “balls” on the board.
“Weak,” he accuses me, before tossing down “dick.”
“Not bad,” I acknowledge.
We go back and forth, creating filthier and filthier words. I become aware the atmosphere between us has changed a little. It started out lighthearted and funny, but now the air feels…humid between us.
Every slang for every sexual body part is on the board. Other words like “fuck,” “hump,” and “ride” are represented too.
I set down the letters for “hot” and glance over at him. “Because you are.” Oh, shit, Vi. What did you just say?
Goddamn those canned wines.
His eyes glimmer with new interest, but he stays motionless. “Is that right?” Before I can reply, he lays down “sexy” and meets my gaze directly. “Because you are.”
And he hasn’t had any white wines at all.
I lower my gaze and chew my bottom lip, pretending I need to find a new word. The only letters I have that make sense can make two words, and two words only. “Tit” is one.
“Love” is the other.
My fingers hesitate over the tiles.
Before I can make a decision that will potentially embarrass me, Rhys reaches over and slowly pulls off my glasses.
I stare at him in surprise.
“Just wanted to really see your eyes,” he says softly. “And they’re beautiful.” He gives me a smile that makes weird, pleasant things happen low in my belly, then hands them back. “Wouldn’t want you to be blind.”
I fold them up and set them aside. “Actually, they’re blue-light blockers. I can see. Sometimes I forget I have them on. I stare at a computer screen so long every day, I wear them all the time.”
“They look cute on you,” he tells me. “But I love seeing your eyes without anything over them.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “Thank you.”
He studies me for another beat. As I reach for my tiles, he says, “Hold up. I’m going again.”
Momentarily surprised, I glance up, my bottom lip between my teeth again.
He lays down tiles that spell out “kiss.”
I swallow.
Deliberately, he pushes himself to a kneeling position and leans across the board toward me.
“You shouldn’t have bitten your lip like that,” he whispers, his breath brushing my mouth.
I’d love to blame the white wines again, but it’s one hundred percent me who grabs him by the front of his vest, yanks him close, and devours his mouth.
Chapter 5
Rhys
Who knew a game of Scrabble could turn into…this. Even in my wildest fantasies, I never thought I could get this lucky.
I tug at Violet’s hips, bringing her body close against mine. Maybe it was the wine, but she’s kissing me with an intensity that has me as dizzy as if I’ve been drinking shitty canned wine. Her passion blows me away, but I notice it’s tinged with something like desperation. Need.
It’s exactly how I feel.
She needs me—as much as I need her.
With the tip of my tongue, I coax her lips open. I want to really taste her, feel her, and the sensation of our tongues sliding against each other nearly undoes me. I slip my hands into her hair. She’d let her braid out a while ago, and her golden hair is as silky-soft as I’d suspected it would be. I want to bury my nose in it, but that would involve me pulling my mouth from hers, and right now, that’s just too damn much to ask.
You’re working, Officer, a voice in the back of my head reminds me.
I pull back gently. “Violet, I’m not sure this is a good idea. I’m working, and…you’ve been drinking.”
“I’m so not drunk,” she breathes, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Want to give me a sobriety test?”
I do take a second to study her pupils and how they move. I’m tempted to do it, actually, because I don’t believe that buzzed consent is consent. But she looks totally steady and focused.
But…the job.
“I still…” I gesture over my shoulder toward the window.
She steps away from me and toward the table, then picks up my radio. Before I can protest, she locates the volume knob and twists it all the way up until the sound of crackling and the occasional interruption from dispatch fills the room.
Violet steps back into my arms and I can’t believe how much it feels like she was meant to be in them. “There,” she whispers. Her eyes plead with me.
But duty…
The voice easy to ignore. My radio’s turned up nice and loud. The scene below hasn’t changed at all. I can get to my rifle in the blink of an eye if necessary.
Please, I beg whatever divine power might be listening. Just let me have this one moment. Please. I know it’ll never happen again.
“Rhys,” Violet whispers.
I crack my eyes open. Hers are still closed. She’s totally gone. The sight of her is so beautiful, it’s almost too much to bear.
I pull back gently. “Let me take my vest off.”
I undo the Velcro straps as she watches, touching her full lips with the tips of her fingers. The notion I’ve just tasted those lips has me reeling. I need more.
When I’m free of the heavy vest, I tug her back in. She collapses in my arms.
“Violet,” I murmur between kisses. “I want you. I know we just met.”
“Shh,” she hisses, and the unmistakable note of impatience in her voice makes me smile. She tugs at my belt, but I have an idea and swivel my hips back, out of reach.
I grin at her, and she stares back at me, full of suspicion.
“Read to me,” I say, running my hands down her back and following the curve of her hips. “Please. Read me one of your scenes. Your favorite one.”
She’s already shaking her head.
I tilt her chin up. “I will do every single thing you write. Whatever your hero does to your heroine…I’m going to do it to you. So pick a good one for me.”
I kiss her deeply. Shit, I don’t need a book to tell me what to do to Violet. My hands and mouth have a mind of their own. But I want to show her how wonderful her work is…by making her feel exquisite.
She gazes up at me with wide eyes.
“Please,” I beg in a whisper, lifting her hand to my mouth. I kiss her palm, then suck one of her fingers into my mouth, running my teeth along it gently.
Violet steps away toward the bookshelf where she keeps her Scrabble game, and after a moment’s hesitation, withdraws a paperback with a pretty cover. A couple are in a tight embrace, but the skillful design work and cool typeface make it so far removed from the cheesy romances I used to make fun of my sister for reading when we were kids.
The cover says “Violet Sweet.” Her pen name. I’ll bet she lives up to that name too.
I grin. This is going to be fun. “Come on,” I say, drawing her toward me. “Start reading.”
Her hands tremble slightly as she rifles through the pages, but the gleam in her eyes tells me it’s more from excited anticipation than nervousness—good.
“‘William drew away from Leona and, taking her by the hand, led her into the bedroom,’” she reads in a breathy voice.
I already located the bedroom earlier today. Smiling, I step back from her, lace our fingers together, and lead her toward the room. It’s too dim to read by, so I flick on the bedside lamp.
Violet’s eyes widen even more at the sight. She said she was shy. Maybe the light’s too much for her.
But to my delighted surprise, she boldly meets my eyes, then returns to the book, clearing her throat. “‘Leona’s body quivered with anticipation as William began to slowly undress her, delicately, as if she might explode under his very touch.’”