by Rhyll Biest
The cunning rat had even weaselled a few words about her parents from her. Nobody had ever managed that before. Because why the hell would she ever want to talk about her parents’ marriage, that fucked-up mix of love and fear blended into an unpalatable, meaty cocktail? The terrible logic written all over her father’s actions was simple to read. If Kat’s mother had left her family and Russia, that meant she could also leave him, and since he couldn’t tolerate that, it had to be prevented by any means. And a police officer had a fuck ton of means at his disposal.
So what if that just happened to violate every human right her and her mother had? Enjoy the domestic violence mojito, kid.
Luka rolled over, wrapped a warm arm around her.
The darkness magnified the rustle of the sheets and his breathing.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked, voice muffled by his arm.
Like she was going to answer that. ‘How come you never told me up front that Stacey was married to Mark? And how come no one ever talks about her being a widow, or that her husband was murdered and they haven’t caught who did it?’ It bugged her that no one had clued her in, she’d had to work it out for herself.
His arm stiffened around her. ‘Stacey doesn’t want anyone talking about her or feeling sorry for her.’
She thought about that. ‘And why do you feel so guilty about Mark Fairly?’
A pause during which the air grew heavy before he let out a sigh. ‘I always wonder if I did enough to protect him. Plus, we argued. He was cheating on Stacey and I caught him at it. A couple of days later he was dead.’
Her chest tightened, he must feel rotten about that. She found Luka’s hand and squeezed it. A small part of her, however, couldn’t help but feel slightly less sorry for Mark Fairly now that she knew he’d cheated on his wife. ‘Does Stacey know?’
‘No, and you can’t tell her. There’s no point now.’
Galenka raised a brow, sniffed. He keeps secrets.
Doubt jimmied the window open and climbed into bed next to her, pressed its scaly little body tight against hers.
‘Do you think it’s right to make that decision for her? Whether or not she gets to know the truth?’
He struggled to sit up. ‘The truth isn’t going to make her happy. Better she remember Mark as the man she loved rather than a jerk who cheated on her.’
Irritation tickled her. His reason sounded suspiciously like justification. She rolled over to face him though he was just a shape in the dark. ‘Hmm, I guess you were his friend first.’
‘Hey, low blow, that never came into it.’
Okay, they’d already established that she had a nasty, suspicious mind. ‘So what did?’
He sighed. ‘I just don’t know how to tell her. How do you tell a friend that the guy she loved, who she worshipped, was cheating on her?’
Yeah, that was a tough one. ‘Have you ever thought of leaving town?’ She was only half joking.
He lay back down beside her, his heat engulfing her once more. ‘I can’t. I grew up in this place and I’ll probably die in it. Plus, it’s not where you live, but what you do there that matters. And like you—’ he squeezed her shoulder, ‘—I like to make life slightly less shitty for whoever I can. Stacey included.’
He had good intentions but she saw the potential for disaster. ‘Well, you better hope that someone else who knows—and there has to be at least one other person in town who does know—doesn’t decide to tell her.’
‘I’m aware that’s a possibility.’
A slightly cranky tone. He was trying to do the right thing, kind of fucking it up, and he knew it. In a way, that made him so much more human. And she loved that he’d told her the truth. It made her want to share big things too. ‘My parents killed one another.’
Pressure swelled in her ears, eyes and chest. Rather than relief, she felt exposed, dangling above the terrifying void created by her disclosure.
He stiffened next to her. ‘What?’
She hesitated, the old ache of doubt snapping at her ear canals, her throat. Perhaps the details would give him worse nightmares.
He found her hand and took it. ‘Hey, it’s up to you. If you don’t want to talk about it then don’t.’ His tone remained casual but his body vibrated with tension.
It’s up to you. Reverse psychology or real understanding? Could be either. That was the problem with getting close to someone, it left you as vulnerable as a dog wrapped in duct tape and abandoned in a car lot.
But she trusted him despite all of that. ‘They killed one another. She shot him and he stabbed her.’
‘Jesus.’ The hand around hers tightened, like her chest.
‘I know.’ It wasn’t a pretty story.
‘Didn’t you say he was a police officer?’
She nodded before realising he couldn’t see it in the dark. ‘Yeah.’
‘Is that why you once told me you don’t date cops?’
‘Bingo.’ And yet look at her now, in bed with one. Good job on that.
‘Kat, you must know that I would never in a million years raise a hand against you.’
She swallowed, throat tight. ‘I’m more afraid that I might hurt you.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘That’s crazy.’
No, what’s crazy is how much you don’t know about me. And how quickly I’m falling for you.
‘You think that’s crazy? Try this on for size. Ever wondered why I never bothered learning de-escalation or self-defence before, all that hand-to-hand type stuff you’ve taught me?’
‘Because you weren’t interested?’
‘Nope, because knowing how to build a flame thrower from household items kind of makes learning a rear naked choke redundant.’
‘That’s not true, what if— Wait. You know how to make a flame thrower?’
‘My mother taught me.’
‘Jesus.’
‘You don’t know the half of it.’ Her eyes stung.
‘You are not your upbringing. You can do this.’ He raised her hand and kissed it. ‘You just need to make a decision to override that part of you telling you that you can’t. Take a leap of faith and I promise to catch you.’
Should she take the word of a concussed insomniac?
She’d probably made worse decisions in her time. The thought burst like a bubble as a hand slipped between her legs.
‘I can help you get back to sleep, if you like.’
And who was she to argue? The doctor hadn’t said anything about her not having sex.
Luka lowered the newspaper, drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. ‘How long now?’
It was silly, the countdown to medically-sanctioned sexy times, but Kat paused her game of tug-o-war with Stumpy over Peter The Bleater Grunting Sheep and checked her watch anyway. ‘Two hours.’
He puffed out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know if I can wait that long.’
‘We have to.’ It was so much fun messing with his head. ‘If you need to keep busy why don’t you do something manly? I’ll watch.’
‘Like what?’
She loved the blank look on his face. It was sweet the way he had no clue how much she enjoyed sexually objectifying him. ‘Go fix something. I’ll leer from the sidelines as you get all sweaty, dirty and greasy.’ She mimed fanning herself with a hand.
He got to his feet and she basked in the glory of his six-feet-plus stature. But so frowny. If only he wouldn’t, it pulled the stitches on his forehead so tight that she worried they’d pop open and she’d have to restitch him. Her mother had taught her how, using a wound on her father’s head Kat had been ninety-nine percent certain her mother had created—it was the way she’d smiled while suturing it.
Luka stared at her.
‘What’s wrong?’ Her heart skipped a beat and then another for good measure. He wasn’t going to convulse again, was he?
‘I’m fine.’ He rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘Just trying to think of something that needs fixing.’
�
��What about the bathroom tap?’ Hell, that ridiculously big hand on her shoulder was doing all kinds of crazy to her pulse.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Something the matter?’
‘No.’ She suppressed a squirm. The room had grown hot. ‘But I don’t think the garden tap is working properly, either.’
‘Really?’ He looked down at his cloud-grey t-shirt. ‘Do you think I’ll get dirty fixing it?’
Since when had he ever worried about that?
He raised his eyes and the hot, feral intensity of his stare stole all the moisture from her mouth.
Jeepers. ‘Best not to risk it.’
‘Really? So you think—’ his fingers skimmed the hem of his worn t-shirt, ‘—I should take this off?’
‘Just to be safe.’ An interesting thing to say since she’d been playing things the opposite of safe lately.
‘I’m all about safety.’ He shed his t-shirt, twirled it around his head like a stripper and threw it across the room. Stumpy abandoned Peter The Bleater Grunting Sheep to chase after it, the wheels of his mobility cart rattling across the wood floor.
‘Jesus.’ Breathing grew tricky as she stepped closer to trace his insanely powerful torso. ‘How do you find time to stay in this sort of shape?’
‘I’m not interested in discussing fitness regimes right now, Ms Daily.’ His gaze swept over her.
She flushed. There was an aggressive line to his mouth, and the hollows between his muscles—all those shadowy dips and curves—called to her, as if his body were a plea written in muscles, bones and blood.
A plea both her nipples were super keen to answer.
He raised a finger and hooked it inside the neck of her t-shirt, tugged at her bra strap. ‘No hand sanitiser today?’
She shook her head, gave a shiver before stilling his exploration with a restraining hand over his. ‘Wait, I haven’t shown you which garden tap I’m talking about yet.’
He glanced at the kitchen table beside them, rapped his knuckles on it. ‘You have exactly one minute before I bend you over this.’
The pit of her stomach fluttered. Spoken like a true bossy jerk. And yet hot, very hot. Surprisingly so. ‘I have a better idea.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘A better idea than fucking, or a better idea than fucking on the kitchen table?’
The crude words awakened a tremor inside her. ‘Hear me out.’
‘I’m listening.’ His intense gaze rested on her mouth.
She gave him a wicked smile. ‘Do you feel well enough to drive to the station and pick up your uniform?’
***
Oh, jeez, forget about convulsions, he was going to have a goddamn stroke because he knew where this was going. He knew, but he wanted to hear her say it. With those bold lips of hers. His hands fisted with the effort of keeping them off her. ‘So, what exactly are we talking about here?’
She patted his cheek. ‘Oh, I think you know.’
He grew harder at the oblique confirmation. Such a wily one, Ms Fox. Too clever for entrapment. ‘Don’t you think we should sort out a few details first?’
She cocked her head. ‘Such as?’
‘Like what’s going to ring your bell and what’s going to have you calling a crisis hotline.’
She smiled, and he guessed why. It was the suggestion that she, little Miss Titanium Underwear, would call a crisis hotline.
She walked to the bench, poured a cup of tea and took a slow sip before returning to the table. Her smile widened. ‘How do you know you’re not the one who’ll have to call a crisis hotline?’
And damn it if that smile didn’t get him hard in all the right places. ‘Touché.’
With one finger she drew a shape on his bare chest. A love heart. ‘But if it’s details you want …’
His entire being tightened. ‘Yes?’
‘This may freak you out a little …’
He raised his brows. Come on, come on …
She smiled, tried to cover it with another demure sip of her tea. ‘Though it’s not really that kinky.’
A stillness went through him, a kind of hushed awe at being in the presence of a gorgeous woman about to out her kink.
About to out it to him.
So he could make it happen.
He swallowed and took a long, deep breath to smooth out the jagged pulse of excitement twisting through his belly, his thighs. ‘Come on, Daily, what’s this unspeakable kink that’s going to get my panties all in a bunch? Spit it out.’
A flicker of mischief tugged at her lips, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him. She left him hanging. Sat back down at the table, took another sip of tea.
He took her RSPCA mug from her, firmly but gently rested it on the table he’d threatened to bend her over. ‘Speak.’
She pulled her ponytail tight, eyes lowered demurely. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you arrested me.’ Her gaze flicked up to challenge him. ‘Don’t be gentle. I won’t be with you.’
His every muscle quivered. She’s got me straining at the goddamn leash. ‘Is that an invitation?’
‘You bet your hot Serb arse it is.’ She leaned over and kissed him and he tasted the sharpness of her longing.
Fire exploded in his veins.
***
Kat giggled as she sat in Luka’s muscle car. It was difficult to believe they were actually going to do this. It would probably be so cheesy that they’d both start laughing, but who cared? She could use a laugh.
A shadow fell across her. ‘Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle.’
She savoured a tiny shiver. Mmm, full uniform—operational trousers, firearm, ink blue polo shirt, load-bearing vest, duty belt, cop shades and an impressively stern I’m-not-fucking-around face.
She looked up at him with limpid eyes, as though the top two buttons of the blouse she’d changed into weren’t already wide open and providing a wonderful view of her half-cup bra. ‘Did I do something wrong, officer?’
He removed his shades, took in her rack with a glance as casual as cruelty. ‘Get out.’
The steel voice thickened her blood, as did the expression he wore, dark as his black stitches. When she sat thinking about his request for half a second too long he rapped his radio against the window. ‘Don’t make me ask again.’
He stepped back. And waited.
On legs made somewhat shaky, she slithered out. She rested her backside against the car door, folded her arms and made a huffy sound. ‘Dammit, now I’m going to be late for Buffy’s Botox party.’
Was that a twitch of his lips or had she imagined it?
‘Hands behind your head.’
His tone had her heart leaping its own complex hopscotch. She complied, gave a little gasp when he flipped her around so that her cleavage kissed the cool metal of the chassis.
‘Don’t move.’
She made to turn around and it earned her a heavy hand between the shoulder blades. A mild restraint and yet she couldn’t move. And dammit if her lady garden didn’t just burst into flames.
‘I said, don’t move.’
The words slid through her spine, hollowed her out. If he wanted he could simply slide her skirt up, undo his fly and take her right there in the driveway, fuck her six ways to Sunday while still wearing his gun and utility belt. And there wouldn’t be a thing she could do about it.
Do it, do it.
A hand squeezed her hip before sliding up to her rib cage, flirting with her breast. She spread her legs a little wider. Did that count as moving?
A hand gripped her shoulder hard enough to draw a sharp breath from her. A hot breath seared her ear. ‘I warned you.’
Yes. Yes, you did.
Something hard pressed against her back and she didn’t think it was his gun, his radio or his duty belt. With his body flush against hers, the scent of deodorant and arousal encircled her, along with Luka’s arms planted either side of her against the car.
Deep inside, some sensation twisted, wrung her tighter than a chamois cloth.
> Time to throw a little gasoline on the fire.
She looked over her shoulder. ‘You call that a frisk? Where’s your due diligence, officer?’
He didn’t answer other than to drop a hand to her leg. Slowly, bit by bit, her skirt surrendered to the hand baring her thigh, raising the fabric higher and higher. Until it stopped and it was his turn to draw a sharp breath.
‘Where are your underpants, ma’am?’ He ground the words out, voice raspy in a way that made her belly tighten in anticipation.
‘Oh, I guess it just slipped my mind when I was getting dressed this morning.’
He made a disapproving sound. ‘Driving without underpants? That’s another demerit point, I’m afraid.’
She almost laughed but held it in by biting her lip. ‘What happens when I accrue too many demerits?’ Did she get her licence to wear underpants taken away?
His hand stole to her belly, a spot just below her navel, and her breath hitched.
‘This.’ He kicked her feet wider apart.
Her sassiness evaporated. Had she not been pinned so firmly between his body and the car she might have stumbled. But his hips, his chest and that mystery hard object pressing into her lower back kept her on her feet. Christ, he was so big, his body a furnace of muscle against hers. And his hand, it clearly had intentions the way it was edging south. Would he play things coarse and cruel by shoving his fingers inside her? Or did he intend to tease first?
She wriggled, just to see what he’d do.
‘Don’t make me handcuff you.’
Warmth flooded her face. ‘I think I just came.’
‘No, you didn’t, because when you do, your screams will be so loud they’ll set off half the dogs in the neighbourhood.’
Boastful. However, the sassy reply on her lips evaporated as he jerked her around to face him, tilted her chin up, and roughly tasted her lips.
He chased the first kiss with a deeper, more demanding one. One so greedy and needy that she felt a bump of unease as she careened against the boundary between arousal and alarm, or—rather—was slammed against it by Luka’s kiss.
It felt more like combat than sex and it was fucking amazing. Just to spice things up she slid an arm through his and went for an arm lock.