Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding)

by Sydney Somers

  She was about to repeat history, teetering on the edge of falling hopelessly into a kiss that was shaking her to the core. And she couldn’t make herself care.

  His palm slid along her jaw, moving slower than the teasing drag of his teeth across her bottom lip. His other hand roamed up her thigh, kneading and tugging her closer until he finally gave up on that and hauled her into his lap.

  She planted her hands on his chest, marveling at the strength beneath her palms. And the hardness pressing into her hip. Her eyes slid shut, and she arched against him, aching to rub herself along his shaft.

  Jackson pushed her hair back from her face. “I don’t want to stop this time, so if this isn’t what you want…”

  How did he look so sexy and vulnerable at the same time? Was that part of his charm too? Or was her grandfather right about it being far easier to hurt him than she realized?

  “I don’t want to stop,” she whispered. Stopping would mean sacrificing the taste of him on her tongue, the sweep of his fingers up her back. And stopping sure as hell wouldn’t satisfy the hunger licking across every nerve ending in her body.

  He waited, his gaze holding hers.

  “Do you want me to sign a contract agreeing to it?”

  He laughed. “No.”

  She brushed her lips across his, letting her tongue slide into his mouth. “Then you need to get back to the part where you were kissing me.”

  “Whatever you say, Detective.” He caught the back of her head, holding her to him as he ravaged her mouth.

  Her breath stalled in her throat. Jackson pulled at her shirt, gathering the material in his hands and dragging it up her body. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts, and her nipples hardened to aching points.

  He tugged the shirt off, drinking her in. She shivered beneath the wicked scrutiny that seemed to log every inch of her. The intensity of it threatened to turn her into a molten pool at his feet. All with just a look.

  “You have that expression again, like you’re thinking too hard.”

  “I didn’t expect this…” The words surprised her as much as the desire flooding her, filling every cell in her body.

  “Didn’t expect what?”

  “That it would be like this,” she admitted, feeling more than a little drugged on the buzz she felt when she was this close to him. She waited for some slick or sarcastic response, something to keep the mood light and playful.

  “Neither did I.”

  She felt his hands at her back, traveling up her spine. When he reached the ends of her hair, he wrapped them around his fingers, using the sexy grip to lean her back. One strong hand spanned her hip, keeping her firmly in his lap as his lips laid a searing path from the valley between her breasts to her navel.

  Hayley clenched her thighs, the ache deep in her core driving her increasingly mad. She rocked her hips, sliding down the hard length of him. He groaned, catching a handful of her breast, kneading and tugging so damn slowly on her nipple.

  His tongue flicked across the tip, and then he sucked her into his mouth. Greedy pulls, one after another, sent waves of pleasure streaming through her.

  Needing to feel the heat of his skin against hers, she tugged his shirt over his head. He growled at the interruption, recapturing one dark pink tip, rolling it back and forth between his fingers.

  Moaning, she ran her hands across his chest, up over his shoulders. Muscle tensed beneath her palms and she reveled in the feel of him. Warm, Strong. Alive.

  Jackson hauled her up his body until his mouth was even with the boxers that were all but falling off her now. He pressed his mouth between her legs, kissing her right through the fabric.

  Sweet heaven.

  He pulled at her shorts, sliding them down and off one leg, then nudging her thighs apart so she was straddling him, her feet back on the floor. “I need to taste you.”

  Jackson palmed her ass, following the crease down to where she was already wet. If he weren’t already hard for her, the tempting slickness would have done the job. From behind he stroked a finger through her folds, rubbing back and forth. She gripped his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin until he ran his tongue up her lips, dipping inside for a taste that had him grabbing her ass just as hard.

  “Yes!” Hayley’s breathy voice made his balls ache.

  Taking his time, he nuzzled his face against her, then licked a lazy path down to her opening. He circled her clit, laving the swollen flesh in slow, soft strokes with his tongue, then faster. She tilted her hips, moving with his mouth, grinding sweetly into him.

  Shit, she was hot. He looked up at her, loving the sight of her blonde hair trailing down to her breasts, her nipples still shiny and damp from his mouth. She bit her lip, then let her head drop back.

  Sexy as hell.

  Jackson feasted on her, devouring every trail of moisture, returning to slide his tongue over her clit every few seconds. She clamped her legs tight, and he used his shoulders to keep them open, licking at her over and over.

  “Jackson,” she hissed, shaking and pleading, though he wasn’t sure what for. Slower? Faster? Harder?

  And that train of thought was going to set him off like a rocket if she so much as accidentally rubbed the head of his cock. He desperately wanted inside her, but he wasn’t done making her come yet.

  The taste of her filled his head, overloading his senses as his mouth moved against her, coaxing her closer. Cupping one full cheek with a palm, he slid his other hand up the inside of her thigh. Sliding through the moisture, he pushed at her opening.

  Hayley cried out, burying her hands in his hair. He pumped his finger into her, thrusting in and out, matching the carnal rhythm with every sweep of his tongue. Moments later she shattered in his arms, rocking her hips, and he nearly lost his mind to the sound of it.

  Holy fuck.

  Fumbling for the bag on the floor by the closet, he jerked it toward him. He had a condom in his hand in record time, rolling it on seconds before her knees gave out and she sank into his lap.

  She was so wet, she slid onto him so damn fast he could have come on the spot. He gripped her hips, holding her still long enough to drag in more oxygen.

  “Jackson?”

  He groaned, their foreheads touching as he fought for control. What was it about this woman that tested every ounce of his restraint? “I’m good.” So fucking good.

  His heart pounded, heat tunneling through his veins until his whole body burned. She wiggled in place and pleasure spiked through his system.

  Fuck yeah.

  Holding it together, he relaxed his grip on her hips, sinking his cock all the way inside her.

  Her mouth found his, her tongue thrusting between his lips, wild and hungry. She rocked faster, sliding up and down his cock, pumping hard, and damn it, there was no way he was going to last.

  He groaned, quickly losing control under the sweet motion of her riding him. She leaned back and he suddenly fit even deeper. All he could do was clutch her hips and watch himself sink into her over and over. The slick walls clenched around him, and he rocked his own hips, lifting up to bury himself inside her.

  Release roared through him, and he pumped faster, lost in the feral tempo. He held her down on him, the spasms finally fading until only the sound of their heaving breathing filled the room.

  What the hell just happened?

  Hayley collapsed against him, her body shaking. That couldn’t be good.

  “Hayls?”

  She lifted her face, and he realized she was laughing. “Did we just have sex on a beanbag chair?”

  He laughed, noticing the way she was sprawled across him and the few inches of overstuffed vinyl keeping them off the floor. “Guess I can scratch that one off my bucket list.” He looked down at her, smoothing her hair away from the bump that should have made sex the last thing on either of their minds. “You know, I think I like concussed Hayley. She’s dirty.”

  She laughed even harder and slugged him playfully in the arm, then
she settled back into place, her face resting on his shoulder. Exactly where he wanted her.

  “You want to get fired, don’t you?”

  Hayley looked up from her desk at work to where he partner stood, coffee halfway to his mouth as he scowled at her. Phil hadn’t been the first person to give her a double take when she’d showed up for her shift.

  She pointed in the direction of her captain’s office. “He knows I’m here.” He was probably the only one not surprised that she hadn’t wanted to sit home and lick her wounds for a couple days.

  Phil leaned over her desk. “What’s that?”

  She shrugged, holding up the shadowed sketch she’d doodled. The partial image had been going through her mind since she’d woke up, but putting pencil to paper hadn’t helped her figure out what it meant.

  Phil tipped the paper sideways. “Is it a tree?”

  “Not sure. But I think it has something to do with last night.”

  “Something you saw on our suspect’s clothes?”

  “Maybe.” Although all she could clearly remember was the dark pants and black hoodie. The harder she concentrated, the more her head pounded.

  She’d awakened to a full high school band doing a pep rally between her temples this morning, giving her a good reason to slip out of bed without disturbing Jackson.

  God, she’d slept with Jackson Knight.

  Worse than that, she’d spent three quarters of the night wrapped around him, unable to put more than a few inches between them. And when she had rolled away in sleep, he’d pulled her back to him. It was a wonder she’d made it out of bed without him recapturing her.

  “Maybe you gave our boy a scare last night?”

  “What?” Hayley stared up at her partner, wondering how in the hell he’d heard about Jackson.

  “Maybe almost getting caught will make him rethink his plans. Make him move on to another town.”

  “Oh. Right.” Except neither of them wanted that. They wanted to nail the bastard’s ass to the wall.

  “Get some coffee, Stone. You need it.” Phil walked away, leaving her staring at the sketch.

  The dark blob on the page was easier to think about than what had happened between her and Jackson last night. It should have been an isolated incident, except twice more he’d brought her to an explosive release, leaving both of them sweaty and tangled in the sheets she’d gripped every time he made her come.

  “Had a rough night, huh, Stone?” Gauthier flipped through a stack of folders in his hand. “Maybe you should let Knight catch your perps.” He flashed her a teasing grin.

  “Any openings I can apply for?”

  They both turned at the sound of Jackson’s voice. Although he smiled, there was tension around his eyes that warned her he was annoyed about something.

  Suspecting that something was her, she slipped a hand across her stomach, which gave a nervous tug. “Does this look like anything to you?” She thrust the sketch at Gauthier, buying herself as much time as she could before Jackson pounced.

  “Penis,” Gauthier guessed.

  Baffled, she stared at the drawing. “Where do you get that?”

  “Isn’t that like some ink-blot thing where everything is supposed to look like some kind of phallic symbol?”

  “Freud focused on phallic symbols. Rorschach created the ink-blot tests,” Jackson corrected. He perched on the edge of Hayley’s desk.

  Gauthier shrugged. “Still looks like a penis.” Head down, the other cop wandered away.

  “Rorschach and Copernicus,” Hayley mused. “Impressive.”

  “No, what’s impressive is how sneaky you were this morning.” He thankfully lowered his voice. “It won’t happen again.”

  She gave up on feigning interest in the sketch. “That implies it will happen again. Sleeping over, never mind the sex, wasn’t part of our agreement.”

  “It is now.”

  The stubborn tilt of his chin set off alarm bells in her head. She leaned back in her seat, putting some space between them. Too bad the space wasn’t enough to make her forget how good he looked, or how good he smelled. If he’d set out to make her want to get as close to him as she could, he’d certainly succeeded.

  Just like he’d also succeeded in getting under her skin, exactly what she hadn’t wanted to happen. Telling herself it wouldn’t go beyond that was the only way she could meet his eyes.

  “I’m heading over to see your grandfather.”

  Grateful for the change in subject, she forced a smile. “He’ll like that.” The reminder prompted her to let Jackson know Gramps thought they were actually dating. “He doesn’t know that we’re not…” She glanced at Jackson, quickly losing her train of thought. It was his fault for sitting there, looking good enough to eat, that easy confidence nearly as sexy as the seriousness in his eyes.

  “Not…what?”

  She blew out a breath. “He thinks we’re dating.”

  “And?”

  “And you can’t tell him we’re not.” Once Jackson left town, she could find a way to break the news that wouldn’t lead to Gramps sneaking out to track Jackson down.

  “Why would I do that?”

  Was he trying to drive her crazy? “Because we’re not actually dating.” How could he keep Freud, Rorschach and Copernicus straight and not follow what she was saying?

  “So,” he mused a little too loudly. “I was just a one-night stand?”

  She jumped up and slapped her hand over his mouth. “Keep your voice down.” They’d drawn enough attention already.

  Jackson covered her hand with his, planting a feathery kiss on her palm.

  She tugged her hand back. “Could you behave yourself for more than thirty seconds?”

  Jackson caught the waist of her pants and tugged her forward. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with me not behaving myself last night.” The whispered statement made her shiver.

  “Time to go.” She nudged him off her desk, steering him toward the exit. They both knew he had more upper body strength than she possessed in her entire five-foot-eight frame, but he kept moving.

  “Say hi to Gramps for me.”

  “Sure.” He snagged her wrist at the last second, pulling her in. He slanted his mouth across hers, blowing any sense of decency right out of the park by deepening the kiss until she didn’t know where her lips started and his ended. “I’ll see you later.”

  Jackson walked away, and she turned back to her desk, not looking to see if anyone had taken notice.

  “I need some help, please.”

  She paused, glancing at a woman in designer shorts and a halter top that had probably cost more than Hayley’s last check. The oversize beach bag and expensive camera slung over the redhead’s shoulder marked her as a tourist.

  The woman tapped a hand on the desk, ignoring the just-a-minute finger the officer on the phone held up. “I need to talk to someone about a robbery.”

  Hayley crossed to the woman at the desk. “I think I can help. I’m Detective Stone.” She held out a hand.

  The redhead dismissed her with a sound of disgust. “I’m looking for a real cop. Not some rookie puck bunny.”

  Heat flooded Hayley’s cheeks, but she forced aside the unexpected awkwardness of a tourist—an unimpressed one at that—recognizing and labeling her because of Jackson. This was her turf. “I work in the robbery division,” she began.

  “Looks to me like you were working him over. Or maybe it was the other way around.” The redhead smirked. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll wait and talk to a real cop.”

  Real cop? She’d worried that being seen with Jackson would affect her reputation with the people of Promise Harbor. It had taken a lot of hard work and years to overcome a past that some, especially since Jackson had rolled back into town, were still quick to recall.

  But coming from a tourist?

  She wasn’t sure if that made things better or so much worse. It shouldn’t bother her what the woman thought, she knew that, but with ever
ything piling up in her personal life—the comments about her wilder days, the renovations, her puck-bunny association with Jackson—she suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of losing the respect she’d fought so hard to earn.

  If a tourist could walk through the door and make assumptions about how well she did her job based on her relationship with Jackson, so could everyone else in town.

  “And if it’s all the same to you,” Hayley returned, her voice cool, “you can talk to me or you can have a seat and wait a couple hours for my partner to come back.”

  The redhead wasn’t happy, but she followed Hayley to a room where they could talk. Hayley listened attentively, quickly ruling out any connection between the woman’s stolen purse and the other robberies.

  And the whole time she couldn’t let go of one thought—when Jackson left town, would she still be the Hayley people knew they could depend on or would she just be known as Jackson’s latest conquest?

  Jackson walked down the hall in the palliative care unit, past the room with the leather couches, only to backtrack at the sound of cursing, loud and familiar. He found Coach propped on the edge of a center cushion, his gaze trained on a flat-screen television playing a recording of the NHL draft. Matt had mentioned setting it up for his grandfather.

  “Can you believe this kid went in the third round? Gonna be a pain in their ass, I guarantee.” The old man didn’t look at him right away.

  Jackson laughed. “Isn’t that what you said when I got picked up?”

  He shrugged. “I’m wrong once or twice a decade.”

  He joined Coach on the couch and they sat through thirty minutes of the draft, chatting about players and stats and what drugs some of the general managers must have been sniffing to make some of the player trades they had.

  “I need some fresh air, Jack.”

  Jackson grinned at the nickname. Coach was the only one he let get away with calling him that. Jack was his father, and once he’d hit twelve he’d craved an identity outside of Jack Jr.

  Fresh air turned out to be pushing a wheelchair so Coach could bum a cigarette outside. Coach waved him off, guessing Jackson was going to be stupid enough to comment on him smoking. “They’re already killing me so what’s the point of giving them up now?”