Addicted to Love

by Addicted to Love (lit)

  “Actually,” he said, “she was shooting for peacemaker. The theory was that if everyone who’d been feuding ended up in a small confined space for several hours, they’d work things out.”

  “Or kill each other.”

  He shrugged. “We considered that possibility. Judge Abigail felt like love would win out.”

  “So you were in on this all along?” She pushed her hair from her forehead and shot him an assessing gaze.

  He just smiled.

  “That’s collusion.”

  “I knew about the others, but I didn’t know she was going to pair us together.”

  “Um,” Rachael said, wriggling away from him. Suddenly his lap felt very empty without her in it. “You can tell your buddy the judge I’m not dropping my anti-romance campaign just because she paired me with a pretty face. Seriously, does she think I’m that easy? Throw romance at Rachael and she’ll cave?”

  He feigned shock. “That’s all I am? A pretty face?”

  Grinning, she raked her gaze over him and said slyly, “Well, there is the hot body.”

  “I’m just a sex object to you.” He shook his head and pretended to pout. He was teasing, but the joke didn’t feel so funny. The idea that she wanted him strictly for sex bothered Brody more than he was willing to let on.

  “All that kissing made me thirsty,” she said. “You want some water?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his gaze tracking her body as she leaned over to open the Igloo cooler.

  Her shirt rode up in the process, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her bare waist. Straightening, she handed him a water bottle and twisted the lid off one of her own.

  “As I was saying,” she continued after taking a long swallow of water. Brody couldn’t help watching. God, she even swallowed sexily. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. I’m ready to learn how to separate sex from love and I want you to teach me how to do it.”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “You. Me. Sex. No strings.”

  Brody was not prepared for the invisible blow that suddenly slammed in the general region of his heart. He’d never felt a pain quite like this one, because he’d always been able to detach from his feelings when the situation called for it.

  But not now, not with Rachael.

  It was as if the regulator valve on his emotions had broken off at the hilt and his feelings were spewing out full throttle.

  “You game for a good time?” She slanted him a sexy glance with those exotic green eyes of hers.

  His gut torqued tight. Say yes, prodded his penis.

  He lowered his eyelids, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back in the boat. He sent her a pensive stare while his mind scrambled around trying to find just the right thing to say. “Keep talking,” he said. “I’m listening.”

  “You’re considering it?”

  “Peaches,” he rasped, “what man wouldn’t consider taking you to bed?”

  Her cheeks pinked at his comment and she looked flustered. “If we’re going to have a fling, there’s got to be ground rules.”

  “Such as?”

  “No compliments.”

  “Come on, no compliments?”

  “Compliments are romantic. I don’t do romance. Never forget that.” Rachael shook a finger at him.

  He made a face, but agreed. “Okay, no compliments.”

  “And no pet names. You can’t call me Peaches.”

  “But I like calling you Peaches,” he protested. “You’re so sweet and juicy and . . . ”

  “Uh-uh.” She held up a hand, shook her head. “That’s a compliment. It’s not going to fly.”

  “You’re tying me up here.”

  Her eyes sparkled impishly. “Now that’s sexual. That’s allowed.”

  “Oh?” He grinned. “Is this your way of hinting that you’re into bondage games?”

  “Don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never given it a whirl, but I gotta tell you when I see the outline of those handcuffs in your back pocket I heat up inside.”

  He was heating up just hearing her talk about it. He’d never given it a whirl, either, but it sounded like fun. Anything with her sounded like fun. Even if they kept their clothes on.

  “Good to know,” he said. “Too bad I’m off duty and my handcuffs are sitting on my bedside table at home.”

  “If you had them, you wouldn’t actually use them on me out here.” Her eyes widened. “Would you?”

  The game they were playing was making him sweat. “I might,” he said, keeping his tone low, suggestive.

  “On the water?” She sounded breathless, her voice high and tight. “In a semipublic place?”

  His grin widened and he held her gaze. He saw the shiver of excitement shimmy over her body, felt a corresponding shiver run down his own. Slowly, he nodded.

  “But . . . ” she said. “You’re sworn to uphold the law.”

  “Law enforcement officers can have a bad boy side, too,” he said.

  “How bad?” she asked, flicking out her little pink tongue to run it along her full bottom lip.

  The look he gave her was all about sex, not a hint of romance in it. “I could show you right now.”

  She leaned closer. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Brody,” she said in a husky voice that turned him inside out.

  Not only could cops be bad boys, but they could also be very, very stupid. What he did next was on par with the antics shown on America’s Dumbest Criminals. He wanted her and not just for sex. He had to have all of her — body, soul, heart, the lot. Because somehow, in some way that he couldn’t fully articulate or even understand, she’d become his deliverance.

  She was in his arms again and he was kissing her as if the world were about to end. His fingers were at the zipper of her pants and her hands were threading through his hair as he pushed her back onto the floor of the boat.

  The minnow bucket was in the way. Blindly, he grabbed the thing and slung it overboard. He didn’t care about anything except having her.

  Oh yeah, he thought as her zipper sprang open to reveal the swatch of scarlet thong panties hiding underneath.

  Helter-skelter, he pressed his lips to her bare skin — her belly, her hand, the inside of her thigh, stripping the pants down over her hips in a frantic free-for-all.

  She helped him, kicking the material free until she was naked from the waist down except for her panties, and the boat was bucking crazily on the waves.

  “I want you,” she said. “Now.”

  Brody rocked back on his heels. He wanted her, too, but not like this. His daydreams had centered on his bedroom, where she had once spent the night. He’d pictured long, leisurely lovemaking sessions, with music on the stereo and a great meal in their bellies.

  But that was a fantasy and this was reality, and he knew the only way he was going to get to her was through sex. Because of her disillusionment with love and romance their relationship would have to go ass backward. He had to make love to her first, charm her later.

  He could do that.

  Right?

  He thought of his leg and his self-confidence vanished. He remembered why he daydreamed of making love to her in his bed. Why his fantasies hadn’t been more creative. In his bed, in his house, he could be in control. Of the lighting, of how he positioned himself, of how he’d camouflage his damaged leg.

  Out here, in the open, in a dinghy, in the harsh light of day, he had no control.

  But looking down at her, seeing the desire for him reflected in her eyes, he decided that control was decidedly overrated and impossible to achieve anyway.

  Go with the flow.

  She made a soft noise of encouragement, egging him on, pleading with her eyes.

  Forget about your damned leg. Think only of pleasing her.

  His trembling fingers tugged at the thin scrap of dark red lace, but his eyes were on hers, deeply searching her face.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  He d
id. Capturing her mouth, spearing his tongue past her parted lips.

  Her breathing grew choppy, urgent, and she fisted her fingers into his chest, balling the material of his shirt in her palms, pulled him down flush against her.

  The boat bobbed violently.

  Rolling on the water, eyes closed as he kissed her, gave Brody the sensation of falling.

  Falling, hell. He’d already fallen and there was nothing he could do about it except find a way to convince Rachael this thing between them was worth taking a chance on.

  God, he needed her in the worst way.

  He braced his upper body, his forearms pressed on either side of her, holding up his own weight as he stared down at her. He could feel her bare legs against the material of his jeans. The hard metal of his bionic prosthesis rested between her knees.

  That realization unnerved him and he moved his leg, repositioning himself. Dragging his mouth from her lips, scooting down, pushing up her shirt as he went, planting kisses down her soft abdomen until he reached those panties barely covering the curl of beautiful blonde hair at the apex of her lush thighs.

  When he slid his calloused fingers under her lacy panties, she hissed in an edgy breath.

  “Spread your legs,” he murmured and she obeyed, sweetly parting her tender flesh for him.

  He slid her panties down her thighs. She shuddered when he trailed his fingers over her silky curves and his breathing went perfectly still. “Ah, you’re so wet . . . ” He almost called her Peaches, but he bit back the word.

  “You’re the cause,” she said in a strangled voice. “It’s all your fault.”

  “I’ll gladly take that blame.”

  “I want you, Brody.”

  He raised his head and met her eyes. “But just for sex.”

  “Yes.”

  That’s what you think.

  He bent his head, kissed her down there, where she was wet and soft and smelled so womanly. His fingers played with her slippery heat. She moaned softly and arched her pelvis against his mouth, showing him her rhythm.

  But somehow, miraculously, he already knew it. It was as if he’d always known her and what she needed — how hard, how soft, when to use a light touch, when to be firm. Her hungry, gasping cries grew noisier as Brody wound her body tighter and tighter until she was begging for release.

  Except he wasn’t letting her off the hook that easily. He kept teasing her, increasing the pressure and pace but each time she was on the verge of coming, he’d back off, let the lull pull her back down. Up and down he went, his mouth learning the landscape of her most intimate terrain.

  Finally, she splayed a palm against the back of his head, holding him in place, making him finish what he had started. Brody made a noise of approval low in his throat and in response, she fisted her fingers in his hair.

  He licked and suckled, cajoled and kissed. And then all at once, she burst apart.

  He felt the tremor roll through her as she exploded for him, over him, because of him.

  Her breathing slowed and she lay limp on the bottom of the boat. He was slow to move his mouth from her and slower still to wipe away her moistness with his palm. The glorious taste of her stayed on his tongue. He felt more whole than he’d felt before he’d gone to Iraq.

  She’d brought him back to himself again. To the man he’d once been.

  A hard man, still horny for her. But his release could wait. They had time. This moment had been all about her. Gently he redressed her as she looked at him through sated, dozy eyes. He pulled up the scarlet panties, worked her legs into her wool pants. He smelled her in his nose, on his skin, all over — the imprint of her indelible.

  Chapter Fifteen

  While Brody and Rachael were blissfully drifting with the current, Giada and Kelvin were out in the big middle of the lake, surrounded by fishermen. Kelvin was still pissed off about being paired with her. He had a sneaking suspicion Brody and Judge Pruitt had rigged the drawing simply to get under his skin.

  If they were trying to rattle his cage, he had to admit their scheme had the desired effect. No one could irritate him faster or more completely than his fishing partner.

  Judge Pruitt and the sheriff, he decided, could just look somewhere else for campaign donations the next time they came up for reelection.

  Kelvin looked over at Giada. She looked so self-assured sitting there on her little folding camp chair in her tight jeans and snug red sweater, with that smug canary-swallowing grin on her feline face — because she did look like a cat with her mysterious watchful eyes and her lithe, controlled movements. And like a cat, it was impossible to knock her off balance. She landed on her feet every time.

  She was facing away from him, knees crossed, swinging one leg as rhythmically as a calico swishing her tail. She held the rod and reel loosely in her hands — casual, relaxed, a woman who had the world by the balls.

  Who was he kidding? She had him by the balls.

  Kelvin wished a big fish would swim along, take the bait, and snatch the pole right out of her hands.

  “We could be friends, you know,” she said, completely out of the blue.

  “Huh?”

  “There’s no reason we have to be enemies.”

  “The fact you’re gunning for my job is reason enough for me.” He didn’t like talking to the back of her head.

  “Don’t pout.”

  “I’m not pouting.”

  “Yes? So why’s your bottom lip protruding?”

  Kelvin sucked his bottom lip up against his teeth. She was looking out over the bow of the boat. He was behind her. How the hell could she tell he’d had his lip poked out?

  Giada pulled back lightly on the pole and turned the reel half a turn, softly murmuring something in Italian. The seductive sound of her native tongue spoken on the crisp late- autumn air sent a spike of hot desire straight through his gut.

  She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward on her camp chair, closely watching the ripples on the water. “That’s it, my sweet, take the bait.”

  “You gotta nibble?”

  “Shhtt.” She held up a hand, silencing him.

  Her abrupt gesture irritated him. Everything about the woman irritated him, while at the very same time she turned him on in a way he’d never been turned on before.

  He hated it. He loved it. Confused by his feelings, he plowed a palm down the length of his face.

  “Gotcha,” she whispered in urgent victory, setting the hook and tugging back on her pole as she dialed in the line on the reel.

  Eyes narrowed, Kelvin watched her haul in what had to be a fifteen-pound catfish. He snorted.

  She tossed him a saucy look over her shoulder. “Jealous?”

  He scowled.

  “You know,” she said, expertly taking the catfish off the hook and slipping it onto a stringer, “you can sit there and be miserable, feeling sorry for yourself all day, or decide to get over your foul mood and make a competition of this.”

  That piqued his interest. Kelvin was nothing if not competitive. “A competition?”

  “Whoever catches the most fish today cooks dinner for the other,” she said, and the lilting sound of her voice raised hairs on his forearms.

  “I have an even better idea.”

  “Yes?” She swung around to meet his gaze.

  “If I catch more fish, you drop out of the election.”

  Giada’s hearty laughter carried across the water. “I don’t give up that easy.”

  “Stubborn woman.”

  “Pig-headed man,” she tossed back.

  He studied her for a long moment. “How about this. If I catch more fish than you, you’ll give me a chance to prove to you that Valentine Land would be good for this town.”

  Giada paused, considering his proposal. “I suppose that wouldn’t hurt. I am open-minded.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And what do I get? ” she asked, eyebrows cocked on her forehead. “If I win.”

  “That, Ms. Vito,” Kelv
in said with the confidence of a man who’d never lost a competition in his life, “ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” Giada said, and held up the stringer with the flopping catfish. “I’ve already got a leg up.”

  ON THE OPPOSITE end of Lake Valentine, at the very apex of the heart, things were shaky for Selina and Michael.

  Selina had told herself she would be the bigger person. That she could get through this day and come out on the other side exorcised from the ghost of her marriage. Face your fears and all that jazz, she told herself.

  But that’s not what happened.

  She sat rigid, arms crossed over her chest, looking in the opposite direction as Michael guided the boat through the water. At this point, she was seriously regretting not kicking up more of a fuss on the dock, even getting into the boat with him. What had she been thinking?

  Honestly, she’d been thinking this was her very last chance to work things out, to save her marriage. It seemed a foolish notion now. Michael hadn’t even looked at her since they’d cast off.

  He found a secluded spot near the shore, cut the engine, and dropped anchor. Without a word, he went about baiting the hooks of both fishing poles.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I can take care of my own pole.”

  Michael raised his head to look at her. His face was cool, expressionless. “I never said you couldn’t.”

  “You’ve always treated me as if I were helpless.”

  “Huh?” Now he looked genuinely confused.

  “You never let me run my own household,” she said. “You hired nannies and housekeepers and gardeners.”

  “Most women would appreciate those things.”

  “I know how to perform manual labor, Michael.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I’m not some hothouse orchid.”

  He shook his head. “Am I thick as a brick or is this some woman thing that I’m not getting?”

  Her cheeks burned as hot as if he’d boxed them. “It’s not a woman thing. It’s a human being, self-worth thing,” she snapped. “And yes, sometimes you’re as thick as marble.”

  “What did I do?” he cried. “Just tell me what I did!”

  “The fact that you don’t know,” she said, “is indictment enough.”