Crash Into Me

by L. A. Fiore

  “You like it here.” He wasn’t asking.

  “I do. It’s so different from home, but I like the vibe. I could see myself retiring here, a little place on the beach.” Her cheeks turned pink, her gaze drifting to him. “Not that I’m hinting.”

  He could see her here, too. Liked it more than he should, but nothing had changed. A man like him with the number of skeletons in his closet, some were bound to come back and haunt him, which would force Molly to choose between her job and him. How the hell could he put that on her? Bringing her here had been selfish. He fucking knew it, but he was a selfish man, one accustomed to taking what he wanted. He wanted her, but he knew he couldn’t have her. She knew it, too. They were traveling down a dead end, ignoring the signs to turn back, but they wouldn’t be able to ignore those signs forever.

  “I love being a cop,” she whispered. “Love being a voice for those who don’t have one. Love following the breadcrumbs, tracking the bad guys, bringing them to justice. From the first day I held that shield, I was hooked.” Her gaze never left his when she added, “But you make me want to give it up.”

  Fucking hell, how the hell was he supposed to let her go?

  Molly’s eyes were closed, her body swaying to the music. She’d had three rumrunners and was feeling good. Every Monday, there was a block party of sorts. The view was amazing, hundreds of feet above sea level, the cove with the sailboats spread out before them, and the food was phenomenal. Among the offerings were seafood stew, grilled prawns, and Johnnycakes. The music had started not too long ago.

  Her eyes opened and settled on him. “It’s like night and day from Manhattan. I can’t imagine you want to stay in the rat race forever.”

  He looked out at the cove. He’d never wanted to be in the rat race, but when you grew up with nothing, you clawed to get out and then kept clawing to get higher in fear of falling back into hell. Before he knew it, he wasn’t that scrawny kid, but Kade fucking Wakefield. He went from one extreme to the other. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

  His focus shifted back to her. “No, that’s why I come here.”

  She dropped her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand. “You look good here.” Her eyes moved over him dressed in a loose cotton shirt and jeans. “Relaxed. Not that you don’t look good in a suit and…” Her cheeks turned pink. “You know what I mean.”

  “I can’t imagine you want to be a homicide detective forever.”

  “Certainly not after this case. The more answers we get, the more questions we have. It’s sad thinking about Katrina Dent. She was in the spotlight, every move captured, and yet, no one knew anything about her. Not really.” She glanced down, gathering her words. Her gaze lifted. “She reminds me of you.” She reached across the table and ran her finger over his hand. “You have people who know the man behind the image, right?”

  Never in his life had anyone asked him that, though he wasn’t surprised she had because Molly cared, even down to the fucking street vendors that fed her. She cared about people. It was what made her a good cop, a better person. He understood Katrina Dent better than most. A rising star by the nature of what it was put you out of reach. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, being at the top of your game.

  “A few.”

  “If I wasn’t a cop, do you think we would have met?” she asked.

  He hadn’t thought of that, but, no, it wasn’t likely they would have. The pain in his chest that followed that realization was hard to ignore. “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t either.” She leaned back in her chair, held his stare. “So despite the obstacles with me being me and you being you, it’s what brought us here.” She stood, moved around the table, and straddled his lap, pressing down, her hands moving up his chest to link at his neck. His fingers dug into her thighs to hold her to him.

  “I don’t want this to end.” She studied him and saw his hesitation, but not because he didn’t want her, but because he didn’t want his shit touching her. “Okay,” she whispered, but there was a note of sadness in response to his hesitation. She stood, reached for his hand. “Dance with me.”

  He pulled her close, his hands moving into her hair to hold her gaze on him. “I don’t want this to end, either.”

  Her eyes were wet because wanting something and having it were two entirely different things. She nodded. “Maybe one day when I’m not a cop and you’re not Kade Wakefield,” she whispered, before she pressed her cheek to his chest. He never fucking saw her coming, and now, he couldn’t imagine letting her go. But he had to.

  Her head was thrown back, her hands fisting the headboard; her back ached, as he fucked her from behind. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her closer, as he thrust deeper into her. A groan burned up his throat, his focus on where they were connected, her pussy milking his cock with her orgasm, her moans stirring his blood, as he fucked her harder, wanting to draw it out for both of their pleasure. His balls tightened, the fire burned up his spine into his cock. He sank in deep and came on a growl. Her breathing was as rough as his, the smell of their lovemaking filling the room. He’d just fucking come, was still inside of her, and he wanted her again. And it was because he did, that he pulled out. Seeing his cum between her legs, wetting her inner thighs, brought on a wave of possession. His clenched his jaw. She looked over her shoulder, her black hair curtaining half of her face, those blue eyes soft and trusting, and, fuck, it knocked his world off kilter. He climbed from the bed, caught a glimpse of confusion in her eyes, before he walked from the room, right out of the house to the beach, not stopping until he was waist deep in the ocean. What the fuck was he doing? And not just for leaving her in the bed, but being here with her to begin with. It was the reality that his need for her eclipsed everything else, a woman he’d only known for a few weeks. She wasn’t just his weakness; she was becoming his breath.

  She didn’t follow him out. She wouldn’t because she understood him better than anyone ever had. He had thought bringing her here he’d fuck her out of his system. He was so fucking wrong about that.

  He didn’t know how much time passed before he walked back into the house. She was in the kitchen, grilling up some fish they’d bought earlier at the market. Her hair was pulled up into a knot, but she wasn’t wearing his shirt like she usually did. She’d pulled on shorts and a tee. He didn’t like it. And fuck him for being so goddamn contrary.

  After he dressed, they ate in comfortable silence, both lost in thought. After dinner, he had some calls to make. He returned to find her outside in the moonlight, her back to him, as she watched the surf. He joined her, settling next to her on the blanket.

  “I get it,” she whispered. “I didn’t see you coming, either. From the beginning, it seemed like a dream,” she confessed. “Like a fairy tale come true.”

  “I told you. I’m no prince.” His voice was rough.

  “I know you’re not the prince, but you’re not the villain, either. Your past gives you color and character.” She turned those eyes on him when she confessed, “And I’m completely hooked.”

  A growl moved up his throat before he lowered her back on the blanket, slowly removed her clothes and when he sank his cock into her, he did it slowly, controlled, deliberately, savoring her and the moment. He brought her to orgasm, her eyes filled, because she knew he was saying goodbye. He loved her, marking her as his, even knowing he couldn’t keep her. In the morning, she was up before him, her bags already packed.

  Thirteen

  Molly

  I was working day and night. Needed to distract myself from thinking about Kade. Logically, I knew what he was doing, worried that one day I’d find myself smack in the middle of a tug of war between him and my job, but he really did make me want to give it up, to remove the obstacle because I’d never felt what I did when I was with him, and not just how he played my body like a maestro. He saw me, all the parts of me, even the parts I tried t
o hide. He saw them, and he wanted more. It was the same for me. The more I learned about him, the more I wanted to learn. We fit together; it was that simple.

  My body ached for him, and my heart ached more because, even feeling it, too, he’d said goodbye. Not with words, but that last night he’d been different, touching me almost reverently, memorizing and committing every part of me to memory. I knew he was because I had been, too. The fairy tale ended, though, and I was back in real life, but like Alice tumbling down that rabbit hole, the experience changed me, getting a taste of how my life could be.

  Zac and I were meeting Russell Bleaker, the producer who had worked on a few movies with Katrina. I hadn’t gotten a chance to look him up, but I was grateful for the touch of excitement at meeting him because, since returning from Antigua, I’d been hard-pressed to even smile.

  We met him in Chinatown, which surprised me because he was a Hollywood man, so the Plaza seemed more his thing, but the place he picked made a great General’s chicken. Considering how the man ate, he was trim. Had to be pushing seventy, with a thick head of white hair and startling green eyes. He was handsome, and in his day would have stopped traffic. He’d still cause a few fender benders now.

  “This is delicious,” he said, helping himself to more chicken. “You want info on Jason. He was an odd one,” Russell said, pointing his chopstick at me. “I didn’t care for him. The charm was surface deep only. And though I couldn’t prove it, not only was he using, I think he was dealing, too.”

  “Wait, what,” I said.

  “Yeah, arrogant prick. He held Katrina on a very short leash, while behind her back, he was partying and doing drugs on her dime.”

  Zac leaned back in his chair. “Well, shit. And Katrina?”

  “She was a beautiful soul who got eaten up by the power and greed around her. It’s sad to say, but she’s in a better place.”

  “As a producer, you must have worked with Milton Teller,” Zac questioned.

  “No. I knew of him, but I never met him because Jason was so active in Katrina’s career.” Russell put his chopsticks down, leveled us with a hard stare. “Jason Benjamin was a dirt bag. He didn’t just do drugs; he fucked around on her. He was a playboy and got away with it because he could be so damn charming. Katrina worked hard and that fucker enjoyed the fruits of her labor. I never understood why she didn’t shake him off. There were men in the wings just waiting for a chance. It was like she felt beholden to him, and maybe he helped make her who she was, but that shit only has so long a shelf life.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I hate that she took her life, but I’m not surprised that she did.” He reached for his chopsticks again. “The only silver lining to her tragedy was Jason crawling back to whatever hole he came from.” Then he smiled. “As you can tell, I wasn’t a fan.”

  Later that day, Zac sat on my desk. “Jason was dealing. Was that the plan from the beginning, to get into the circle of the rich and famous?”

  “So how did Jason and Katrina meet?” I asked.

  “And why did her parents do nothing? If Russell saw it, and he only worked with Katrina during filming, how did her parents, who still keep a shrine to her, not know her fiancé was doing shady shit, shit that, if caught, would blowback on Katrina?”

  I shook my head. “Good question. And how does this play into the murders? If at all?”

  Zac blew out a breath. “I have no fucking idea.”

  A week after returning from Antigua and I was exhausted. My attempt to work Kade out of my system wasn’t working because every night, when my head hit the pillow, he was there. He was haunting me. As the days past, the stronger the urge was to track him down and knock some sense into him because what had started between us was worth fighting for. If I wasn’t so fucking tired, I might have actually followed through on the conversation I’d repeated countless times in my head.

  I hadn’t yet seen him since we’d been home, but I knew that wouldn’t last. Part of me didn’t want to see him because who wanted to confront the one they wanted but couldn’t have, but another part of me sought him out in crowds. It was poetic that when I did see him again, I was on the job, moonlighting with the vice division, staking out a popular spot for some of the city’s biggest crime bosses.

  I recognized the car that pulled up to the curb before Levy climbed out. He opened the back door and offered his hand. A long leg appeared, before the model who owned it, stepped onto the curb. I couldn’t effectively put into words how it felt seeing her. I was working myself to death to not think about him, and he was out with one of his fucking models. I wasn’t just hurt; I was pissed. Then he appeared, but instead of the delicious feelings he so easily stirred in me, all I felt was a blinding anger.

  “Isn’t she a Victoria Secret model?” Jimmy asked, the lead detective on the sting operation.

  “Probably,” I muttered, and hated the tears that stung my eyes.

  “Damn, I wouldn’t mind those legs wrapped around me,” he said. “Fucker’s lucky.”

  Never in my life had I been as angry as I was at that moment.

  “Alright, let’s see what’s what,” Jimmy said. One of his team was planted in the restaurant, wired, and we were listening in. This was strictly surveillance, that’s what Cap agreed to, but sometimes things didn’t always go the way you planned. I’d been experiencing that particular truth more than I cared to.

  “He’s not there,” Jimmy hissed.

  “Who?”

  “The one we wanted. He was probably scared off.”

  That was helpful.

  “Ah, shit.” Jimmy hit the steering wheel. “Something’s up.”

  Kade was inside, and I was fucking pissed at him, but I didn’t like that he was so close to a situation where something was up. “What’s happening?” I demanded.

  “Carmine has a temper,” Jimmy offered. We heard the shouts from across the street. “Shit.” Jimmy climbed from the car.

  “Carmine DeLuca?”

  “Yeah. He’s a hothead, and that’s a packed restaurant.”

  “What’s the plan?” I asked, as we moved toward the restaurant.

  “Diffuse. It’s not the first time. Nothing pulls his shit in faster than seeing the NYPD,” he said, then looked at me and stopped. He yanked the band from my hair, unbuttoned a few buttons on my blouse. I slapped his hand away.

  “Carmine has a thing for dark hair and light eyes,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to be on Carmine’s radar.

  We walked into the restaurant. You could feel the tension. Some customers were leaving, some looked like they wanted to leave. I didn’t glance around because I didn’t want to see Kade.

  Jimmy dropped his arm around my shoulders, lowering his mouth to my ear. “He’ll probably recognize you from your fifteen minutes.” I wasn’t a fan of Jimmy’s. He tried to play the good ole boy, but I suspected he didn’t like that I, technically, outranked him. “But there’s nothing he likes more than chicks with authority. Work it,” he ordered, then dropped his arm and slapped my ass.

  I didn’t show my anger and, instead, worked it. I felt a heat burning down my spine. I might not have gained Carmine’s attention, but I had someone’s. I passed their table. Carmine was a hot head, raging about something, but then I heard, “Hey.” I felt him before I saw him, coming right up to me. Being face to face with the legend, his dark hair, blues eyes and muscles in all the right places, I could admit I was fangirling a little. “Aren’t you that cop?” he said, taking a step away and looking me up and down, his focus lingering on my breasts. “Yeah, it’s you.” Then he smiled and, damn, he had a great smile. “Carmine DeLuca,” he said, and offered his hand.

  I took it. He held it tightly. “Molly Donahue.”

  “She’s a cop?” Someone asked.

  “A detective, homicide, right?” he asked.

  It was a little unnervin
g he knew that, and kind of cool that he knew it. “Yes.”

  “What brings a babe like you here?”

  I took back my hand. He grinned. It was a test because I knew he knew who I walked in with, so I answered honestly. “I heard the ruckus. Wondered if my particular brand of law enforcement was needed.”

  Now he smiled. “If you want to go hand to hand with me, Baby, I am all in.”

  His focus shifted to something over my head. His easy smile faded. I knew who was there because that heat turned to a full out burn.

  “We got a problem?” Carmine asked.

  “That’s up to you.” Kade’s voice was too soft.

  Carmine glanced at me, lingered before he asked, “She with you?”

  “Yes.”

  I didn’t hide my anger. Carmine smiled. “Doesn’t look like the lady agrees.”

  Kade didn’t want his world to collide with mine, but that was exactly what he was doing. And he was out with his fucking model.

  I held Carmine’s stare. “Have you cooled off?”

  “I’m hot now for an entirely different reason, Sweetheart.”

  I understood better his popularity. I nodded, and knew I was a little pink in the cheeks because the man was charismatic. I then turned to Kade. His eyes shifted from Carmine to me. God, he was beautiful and pissed. I was pissed, too, but instead of putting a voice to that anger and making a scene, because I knew it would turn into one, I deliberately shifted my focus to his date. When my gaze shifted back to him, I didn’t hide the hurt. His own expression shifted, so slightly, most would have missed it, but I’d studied his face and knew every nuance.

  Then I walked away.