by Ana Leigh
He was doing bicep curls if she remembered correctly from the single time she'd allowed herself to be tortured in a weight room. The muscles in his upper arms flexed and released, rippling beneath bronzed, smooth skin. Her gaze traveled over the light dusting of hair covering equally defined pectoral muscles and a flat, ridged stomach. The sweatpants rode low on his hips, a drawstring hanging down the front, enticing her gaze to the easily distinguishable bulge despite the looseness of his clothing.
"See anything you like, Your Honor?"
She swallowed and met his eyes. Amusement filled his gaze and she flushed, mortified to be caught ogling him as if she wanted to slip a dollar bill beneath his waistband.
Realizing she stood in an open doorway, Jessica shut the door and leaned back for support. McGuire turned around to replace the free weights in their stand, giving her an excellent view of the backside she liked so much, with the added bonus of naked and rippling shoulder muscles. Her skin began to hum again, and her palms itched to touch that back.
She wished for a moment she hadn't worn her suit jacket. They kept this place far too hot for a workout room. Sweat prickled her brow.
McGuire turned and began to walk toward her with the loose-limbed, confident grace that was so much a part of him. Suddenly the door at her back no longer supported but confined her. He stopped – too close – invading her space as he always did.
She could smell him, and amazingly the scent excited her: heat, and salt – and man. Mesmerized, she watched a drop of sweat slide down his neck, and she imagined how it would feel to catch the droplet on her tongue, put her lips to that chest and learn the ridges and valleys of his body with her mouth.
"Judge?"
"Hmm?"
"If you're going to keep looking at me like that, I'm not going to be responsible for what happens."
She straightened, the ridges of her spine grinding against the door. "Like what? I don't know what you're talking about."
"You don't, huh? Fine, we can play it your way." For some unknown reason he seemed annoyed with her already. He stalked away, grabbing a water bottle from a nearby bench and taking a long drink.
Jessica lost her train of thought as she watched his throat contract and release. Water ran out of his mouth and down his neck, streaking across glistening muscles. Her head began to buzz, and she put her fingers to her eyes, rubbing against the dry, gritty sensation caused by too little sleep and too much McGuire in the night.
"What brings you to my side of the tracks?"
"Uh, I … ah…" Jessica dropped her hand and pushed away from the door. She could not look at him and think straight. Instead she fiddled with her purse, moving items around as if she were in desperate need of finding some hidden treasure within.
"You must have a good reason for coming to a grimy police station weight room. I can't recall seeing you on this side of the street before."
She glanced at him, then quickly away. He was right. She rarely came to a station. Her job was at the courthouse. Though they were on the same side of the law, technically, their jobs and their outlooks couldn't be further from one another. Had she made a mistake in coming here?
"Listen, Judge, I had a lousy night thanks to you. A cold shower didn't do me a damn bit of good, but an hour in here was getting my head straight – until you showed up. I'm not in the mood for an argument, so if that's why you're here, you can just use those great legs of yours to take that sensational little tail of yours out of here."
Jessica was too interested in the fact that he'd been up all night and needed to take a cold shower because of her to get insulted over his chauvinistic assessment of her body. She abandoned her purse to look his way, startled to find him too close once again.
Their eyes met, held. Her lips parted and she whispered, "Why did you kiss me last night, Doug?"
His gaze dropped to her mouth and he inched closer. Excitement flooded her as he aligned his body to hers; his thin sweatpants did little to contain his arousal. Her body responded to the evidence of his interest, pressing into him even as he pressed against her. He reached past and flicked the lock on the door, his knuckles brushing her hip as he withdrew. A shudder rumbled over her. Raising his arms, he placed a hand on either side of her head, and leaned closer, looming over her, but his size did not threaten, it soothed her. No one would ever hurt her if he were around.
"Kissing you seemed like a good idea at the time," he growled. "And you know what?" She shook her head, unable to trust her voice anymore. "It seems like a better idea now."
His mouth took hers. He tasted of the sea – salt and fury. Was he angry at himself, at her or at what they felt despite the futility? Suddenly the why didn't matter, she had to kiss him back – to touch his skin or go mad.
Opening her mouth, she met his intensity with all the pent-up desire and need of a lifetime. She splayed her hands on his chest, fingers tangling in the hair, palms smoothing the taut muscles.
He moaned into her mouth, nipped her lip, then his hands were in her hair, yanking the pins free with a desperation that matched her own. The bun she'd so carefully constructed sprang free, and her hair spilled over his hands, over her shoulders. Grasping great handfuls, he tilted her head and plundered her mouth more deeply. This man would never do anything halfway. When he kissed he did so with all of himself.
Her hands flitted over his belly, and the muscles fluttered like butterfly wings against her fingertips. When she ran a finger inside the waistband of his sweatpants, he took a deep, rasping breath, and before she could delve inside he grabbed her hand and pressed her palm to his arousal.
A pounding on the door at her back vibrated through Jessica, causing her to freeze as if ice water had been dumped over them both. McGuire tore his mouth from hers. "Get lost," he shouted, his voice harsh and loud in the silent room. "I'm busy."
Whoever it was moved away, grumbling. Doug lowered his forehead to hers. "You make me lose my mind, Jess."
He let go of her hand, which still cupped him in her palm, and she jerked her fingers away, the loss of his heat and hardness making her ache despite the knowledge she should not be touching him that way.
What had come over her? She had thought their conduct had been irresponsible last night. How was this for crazy?
He raised his head and looked down at her. She didn't remember touching his hair, but the usually well-combed strands were rumpled, and a wayward lock drifted across his forehead. His mouth was wet from hers, the day's growth of beard and dark circles beneath his eyes giving him a haunted look she knew too well. The same look had stared back at her from the mirror that morning.
"Let me go," she whispered.
He frowned but did as she asked. Her hair swirled about her face as she bent to pick up the pins on the floor. He knelt to help and their hands brushed. They both pulled back as if scalded, and Jessica held her breath until he moved away, trying to ignore the intense flare of need his mere touch sent up her arm.
She stood and turned away, then began to repin her hair. Her trembling hands caused the task to take longer than usual. What if someone had come in and seen them? What if someone saw her now? Hair unbound, makeup kissed off her mouth, her jacket askew and her blouse completely untucked.
"So, what are we going to do about this?" he asked.
She took a deep breath and turned. "This?"
His lips tightened and his blue eyes went icy. "You know what I mean, Jess. You annoy the hell out of me."
"The feeling's mutual."
"I know. Still I don't think I'm going to be able to keep my hands off you. What are we going to do about that?"
Well, there she had it, an answer to the question that had haunted her all night. He wanted her. She wanted him. What could be simpler?
But she could see that any kind of relationship with McGuire wouldn't be simple. How could a man like him be anything but complicated? Once she took this step there would be no going back. This man could not be as easily dismissed as Dennis Wolcott.
He could never be forgotten. And she had a feeling that someone was going to get hurt. That someone would probably be her.
"Jess?" he pressed.
Fear made her stiffen her spine, pick up the things she'd dropped and walk to the door. She'd been naive enough to believe they could have a casual affair, but now she knew better. She could never keep it casual – and McGuire would want nothing more. "We're not going to do anything, McGuire. Not ever again."
She left him behind and went to work.
* * *
The descent of the sun finally signaled the end of a very bad day. Jessica watched the sun go to sleep in the west then turned to stare at her living room. The sight only made her feel lonelier than she'd ever felt in her life.
As she had no court appearance scheduled that day, she'd finally relented to Liz's insistence and gone home early. A nap had taken care of her headache, but the dreams set her more on edge. She could push McGuire out of her mind while she was awake, but when she was asleep he returned to torment her.
So she decided a special "just for Jessica" night was in order. A split of champagne and a romance novel read in a tub full of bubbles. The electric lights were doused, giving way to the swaying flames of every candle in her apartment. After donning her favorite white silk lounging gown and negligee, she feasted on her last box of Godiva chocolates to the soothing sounds of a New Age CD recording of falling water and gentle winds.
She still felt lousy.
She jumped at a sudden pounding on the door. Since her building was secure, unauthorized people could not enter unless cleared and admitted by the doorman. Perhaps her father had gotten her message and come over instead of calling as she'd asked. Jessica hurried over and opened the door.
The sight of Doug McGuire lifted her depression. Why fight fate? With a resigned smile, she threw caution to the wind.
"What kept you?" she asked.
* * *
Chapter 4
«^»
His gaze wandered over her silk-clad body. Approval – and something else – lit his eyes. Jessica went hot all over.
He stepped inside, crowding her. The slam of the door as he kicked it shut behind them barely registered, because her mind went from thought to sensation when his hand snaked around her waist, yanked her against him, and his lips took hers.
The scrape of his teeth along her lip matched the scrape of his belt along her belly, his clothes coarse against skin softened and scented from the bath, sensitive from his recent touch. His hands were hard – rough at her waist – and the calluses on his palms snagged the silk, pulling so the material slid against her hips. She shivered, despite the heat in the room.
Their tongues teased, met, mated. She yanked on his jacket, wanting to touch skin and not clothes. Why did he have on a jacket in the middle of summer anyway?
As she slid her hands down his arms, her wrist scraped his service revolver. He swallowed her gasp with another openmouthed kiss, and she forgot the gun as her body exploded with sensation. Pulling her clinging fingers from his arms, he placed them at her sides with a little shake that cautioned "don't touch." Her fingertips slid on silk – his mouth along the satin of her lips.
They no longer touched anywhere but lip to lip, tongue to tongue, and that only made her wild for more.
Then he pulled away. Moaning, she leaned toward him. "Hush, baby," he muttered, his voice harsh and heavy against the flute and water medley that filled the room. "Hold on."
She opened heavy eyes to find him reaching up to place the gun and badge on top of her bookcase. He hadn't removed his hands to make her crazy, but only to take off his holster.
A man with a very big gun shouldn't excite a thoroughly modern woman like herself. But she was. When he turned to her again, she pressed him back against the door and kissed him as her fingers made short work of tie and shirt – his the flowing negligee.
Candlelight flickered across his chest turning the dark whirls of hair to gold. A sigh shuddered through them both when she began to trace the defined muscles of his chest, her fingers splaying across his skin and tangling in the hair, familiarizing herself with his body in a way she'd only dreamed of before.
He pulled his mouth from hers and buried his face in her loose hair. Drawing a deep breath, he rubbed his cheek along the length. "You smell like flowers," he whispered.
"Uh-huh," she agreed. Her lips walked a path over his shadowed jaw and neck, then traced his collarbone with her tongue. "You taste like a man."
He shuddered. "That's it." He picked her up suddenly and so high that she had no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck. He went still and closed his eyes, sucking in a breath between his teeth when her thighs slid along his belly and her legs hugged his waist. The muscles of his stomach hardened against the delicate, rarely touched flesh of her inner thighs.
Her gaze was drawn to his face. Eyes closed, jaw clenched, he looked softer somehow than she'd ever seen him. Must be the candlelight, she thought. Without meaning to she loosed one hand from behind his neck and cupped the sharp plane of his cheek.
She expected him to jerk away, or at least open those smoldering eyes. Instead he sighed, his face relaxed, and he rubbed his cheek against her palm, as he'd rubbed his face in her hair. Her heart did a funny little jig and she swallowed, hard.
Opening his eyes, he pulled her tighter against his hardened, muscled torso and moved forward. Under an exquisite shiver of anticipation she threw her head back, and his lips closed over the peak of one breast, taking silk and nipple within his fevered mouth. Shifting restlessly against him, she gasped when the hair on his stomach rasped across her throbbing center.
Then she was falling and although the sensation should have been frightening, instead it was the most exciting thing she'd ever experienced. He might be stronger than her, and bigger than her, and more dangerous than he looked, but he would never hurt her – and no one else would, either, while he was around.
Her back hit the couch, and he towered over her, staring down with dark and secretive eyes. Her breasts throbbed as his gaze wandered over them, then continued along her body. What must she look like with her hair tumbled all about her shoulders, laying there in the candlelight with her nightgown bunched at the small of her back, the skirt rucked to her waist, and the bodice wet and clinging against the nipple that his mouth had taken. She did the only thing her instincts allowed – she reached out for him.
His eyes met hers and slowly his fingers went to his belt. For a moment she considered helping him, hurrying him. But the way his gaze seared into hers, she knew he wanted her to watch. So she lowered her seeking hands and bunched them into fists to make them behave.
The belt gaped open, followed by the button at the top of his trousers. Mesmerized, she watched the shadows that danced upon the two fingers that grasped the zipper. Strained by the bulge beneath, the teeth resisted the movement, and slowed the zipper's descent as he pulled it down until his erection was freed.
Her fingers clenched again wanting to reach inside those pants and press an itching palm to the heat and fullness. He would be smooth and hard and perfect. Fingernails dug into her palms.
Looping his thumbs in the waistband he drew his pants down, leaving his boxers in place.
Annoyance rumbled deep in her throat and his lips turned up. Kicking off his shoes and pants, he straightened and she started to rise, determined to rid him of those damned blue shorts, which kept her from seeing what she wanted to see – and touching what she wanted to touch.
"Uh-uh," he warned. "Lay back, Jess."
And because she knew that the longer she waited, the better this would be, she did, even though her body screamed to touch him, taste him, take him now.
He knelt at her side and his hand skimmed her thigh. A finger traced the surface, teasing, promising, then his thumb rubbed her center, and she arched into the sensation. The movement made her breasts strain against the revealing bodice of her nightgown, and all he needed to do was hook a free fin
ger between them and tug. They sprang free, the slide of the silk along the sensitive peaks making her body hum onto a higher plane so that when his mouth touched them, flesh to flesh, for the first time she nearly climaxed right then.
She was on the edge – had been since that kiss in the weight room yesterday – and his control was beginning to annoy her. Reaching between them, she cupped him in her palm, sliding her finger up his length as he'd slid his thumb along hers. When he cursed and jerked away, she smiled. Not so in control after all.
He caught her smile and raised a brow, then with deliberate movements, put his hand on her nightgown where it pooled beneath her breasts. His fingers curled against her stomach and the shriek of rending cloth split the air as he tore it down the front.
"One hundred twenty dollars and ninety-nine cents," she muttered.
"And worth every penny." The flames of the candles seemed dim when compared to the heat that lit his eyes as his gaze wandered over her body.
She had never lain naked and allowed a man to just look at her. She'd never realized how arousing a mere look could be. When he gently shoved the remnants of the torn gown off her shoulders the contrast of his violence, followed by such incredible gentleness, the hardness of those hands and the softness of that mouth made her mind go fuzzy again.
"Touch me," he said against her lips.
At last she removed the staid blue cotton and ran her fingers, then her mouth, all over him. Time lost meaning and, needing more room to explore each other, somehow along the way they left the couch and tumbled across the carpet. They each came nearly to the peak, and then came down, only to come nearer and nearer each time as they touched and kissed, murmured and gasped, tasted and suckled.
For a moment he left her, searching for his trousers, fumbling around a bit with an urgency that endeared him, even though the clinical rasp of the foil packet made her wince. But when he returned, slipping inside her, making her feel and not think, she only wanted to complete what they had begun in the way they had begun it – fast, hard, now.