Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys

by Annabel Joseph

  This would give me enough material for a week.

  “It’s pretty weird,” he said. “But maybe it’s no accident. Well, maybe we’ve collectively had two accidents, but us connecting is not an accident.”

  That was a little too romantic for my comfort. This all could end up as five minutes of drive time radio tomorrow, so I wanted to keep it light. I ignored it in favor of getting more details.

  “Did you get hurt on the job?” My bagel popped out of the toaster and I hopped over to retrieve it.

  “Busted it playing ball at a Police League game.” He laughed. “Detectives against the uniforms.”

  “So, who won?”

  “We did, thanks to my home run and a slide into home plate that included cracking my thumb against said plate.”

  “Ouch.” My toe ached in sympathy. “That must have sucked. And damn, in front of other cops!”

  “Yep.” He let out a laugh. “I’m no lightweight, but it was a big ouch.”

  “Well,” I said, twirling a strand of hair around my index finger, thinking about his thumb and the Herculean body the nurse described. “Sounds like you could use a drink too.”

  So “Herc” wanted to come over with refreshments! I was so intrigued by my mysterious hero that I agreed to the date—if you could call a cop with a broken thumb and a radio personality with a busted toe swapping stories about their injuries in a living room a date.

  I hesitated about giving out my address to a virtual stranger—even if he was a detective and sort of my savior today. I’d had guys lust after me because of my smoky voice and the fantasy of who they thought I was. Sometimes they gushed in ways that made me uncomfortable. However, my curiosity to see who Herc was, and the potentially great story I might get for the show, washed away my concerns.

  “So, we’re on?” He seemed excited.

  “Yes.” I nodded my head into the phone and felt a nervous tickle in my stomach. I was suddenly so jazzed to meet him. “That would be nice.”

  “So where is the scene of the, um, incident?” He laughed. “I may have to arrest that box that attacked you this morning.”

  “Or maybe you can move it out of the way so I don’t do it again.”

  Suddenly, all I could imagine was Herc dressed in a police league baseball uniform. Did he look like a mythical god swinging his hips up at bat? And who took care of him when his thumb was injured? I’m sure he didn’t cry like I did. He probably just stood up, shook his wrist and walked away.

  I might be the one to gush when we met.

  I looked forward to the chance to be in the same room with him. Voice and intonation can reveal a lot about a person, but being able to look someone in the eye and breathe in the same air, that was a whole other enchilada.

  Chapter 4

  Dressing was not exactly a breeze, but I’m petite enough to wiggle into anything. I ended up in comfy, skin-tight, black leggings, a low-cut T-shirt, and a baseball cap in honor of his sports injury. I looked into the mirror to pull my long dark hair through the cap and check that I had no mascara from this morning under my dark eyes. I looked decent for someone who’d had an early morning trauma and hadn’t showered.

  The evening doorman, Bill, buzzed up and I limped to the door.

  Nervous excitement fluttered in my stomach in anticipation of our first glance. Maybe our chats this morning were foreplay and this night would result in an epic radio tale about sex between two people on the injured list.

  And now, for an episode of The Broken and The Beautiful.

  When I opened the door, it was clear that Detective Herc Andrews was truly hot and handsome, as promised by the nurse. His body… crazy hot. Tall and lean with broad shoulders and chest; I was mesmerized by his larger-than-life muscles and the way his arms generously filled out the sleeves of his shirt. She didn’t tell me about those blue eyes though. They were sapphire like the Aegean Sea and sparkled beneath the light. Damn.

  My ovaries exploded. It was lust at first sight.

  He stood in my doorway and smiled, revealing beautiful, straight white teeth.

  “Well, hello there, detective.” I went for friendly and enthusiastic but a part of me immediately wanted to mount him. He’d barely gotten in the door and the energy was already sizzling.

  “And hello to you, Ms. Harper.” His voice was even deeper and sexier in person. It emanated from a pair of beautifully formed lips that fit perfectly with his square jaw.

  He bent down and kissed me on the cheek as if I were a long-time friend. He smelled so good, in a fresh-from-the-shower, I-am-pure-male kind of way. My flesh vibrated from the touch of his lips. My hand went up to my cheek by instinct, to feel the warmth spreading through my face.

  “Yankees, huh?” He grinned wide as he lightly tapped a finger to the rim of my baseball cap. “That’s a good omen. So, how’s the patient?”

  “Ready for some of that pain relief you mentioned earlier,” I said, eyeing the bottle he was carrying. He handed it to me and graciously took it back when he realized I couldn’t manage to walk with crutches and carry wine at the same time. He waited for me to invite him in—a gentleman—and then stood back and motioned for me to go ahead in front of him.

  I love a man who escorts a woman through a room by letting her lead. So polite.

  As I hobbled forward and he followed me down the hallway, deeper into the apartment, an exciting energy filled the space between us. I felt his eyes on my ass. Oh yeah, he is checking me out!

  “Nice crutches,” he commented with a laugh.

  “Height of fashion,” I said, turning back to him. “I asked for blue, in honor of the NYPD, but no luck.”

  It was then I noticed his tight jeans and the way his form-fitting, button-down, royal blue shirt, offset his ocean blue eyes. His broad shoulders and tall frame filled my hallway. And he was easily a foot taller than me.

  He moved with command and confidence. I caught sight of the splint on the thumb of his left hand. Ah, he was telling the truth. It’s not that I thought he was lying, it just seemed like such an odd coincidence that I needed to see it to believe it.

  I made my way over to the big, white chair in the living room and motioned, with one crutch, for him to sit on a couch across from me. At that very same moment he raised his hand—the one with the broken thumb—and boom: my crutch and his splint collided. Forgetting my injury, I tried to walk over to him to make sure I hadn’t broken another digit, and stepped too hard on my injured foot, causing me to topple over—right onto him.

  He caught me by the waist with his right hand and quickly wrapped his arm around me as he fell on the couch, pulling me with him onto his lap. His hand landed under my shirt, my legs were over his thighs and my butt was against his groin.

  “Hello there,” he said, blue eyes looking deeply into mine. His hand, resting on my back, made my skin tingle.

  “Well done, detective.” I saluted him.

  “I’ve had lots of experience tackling perps.” His breath was hot on my cheek. His lips were close enough to kiss me.

  His muscled arms were strong and his flesh warm against mine. I was usually not a big fan of insta-intimacy, but I didn’t want to leave his lap. It felt so good to be in his embrace.

  It was a bit of a broken-digit comedy moment, the way we fell into each other, but we sat there tangled up for a few minutes before correcting the situation. Delicious heat radiated between us. I thought he was going to kiss me, because his lips were in the vicinity of mine. He leaned in, head dipping closer. His lips, so near, were like magnets, drawing me in.

  Then he seemed to recall that I was not supposed to be sitting on his lap.

  “Let me help you up.” His words came out on a hoarse whisper. He placed his hands around my waist and got me to my feet, then to the chair. I’d totally forgotten about my injury until he carefully lifted my foot to rest it on the ottoman in front of my chair.

  Returning to the couch, he sat back down and brought his body to the edge, back erect, and
he surveyed the room. His eyes landed on the floor to ceiling bookshelves that surround the TV console.

  “Read much?” he said with a sexy smirk.

  “Not these days, but I love books.” I shifted in my chair. “The printed word has always been my favorite medium.”

  He smiled and looked into my eyes, saying nothing for a while.

  I wished I was back on the couch with him—or on him. He was definitely my hero today. Maybe I was confusing gratitude with arousal but after those oddly intimate moments on the phone with him, I felt connected.

  We couldn’t just stare at each other for the next two hours. I had to break the ice.

  “So, what’s the deal with your name?” There had to be a better story than the one the nurse told me.

  He shot me a mischievous glance.

  “It’s really not that big a deal.” He laughed and shifted slightly. “My mother was seduced by a virile god and it was fated that I would be a divine hero, so they named me Hercules because Heracles sounded weird.”

  He said it with such a straight face it took me a moment to get that he was telling the mythological version of the story.

  “Very funny.” I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. “And the real story?”

  “My mother teaches mythology and thought it would be cute.” He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “She did not expect it would guarantee me getting goofed on in school.”

  “Awww. That’s a little sad.” I shot him a sympathetic look and then gave his super human body the once over. “I guess you grew into your name.”

  “In my own way, I try to live up to it.”

  He dropped his head for a moment. Humble. When he tilted his head back up I got lost in all the blueness of his eyes. I had to remind myself that this date was going to be radio fodder tomorrow. Do not get attached.

  He snapped into cop mode and looked at my foot, pausing to study it. “So, have you been taking care of your injury?”

  “I guess so.” Not really. “Your friend the nurse told me to ice it.”

  He glanced around as if searching for evidence.

  “I don’t see any ice around here.” He raised his eyebrows. “Did you do it earlier?”

  “I guess I forgot.” Busted. I didn’t bother because I was so tired.

  “The first twenty-four hours after an injury are the most crucial,” he scolded gently. “You have to rest it and get the swelling down. Do I have your permission to open your refrigerator?”

  “Permission? That’s a funny way of saying it. “

  “A refrigerator is a private place, and strangers shouldn’t presume they have the right to enter a private area without permission, don’t you think?”

  His voice traveled across the room like a sensual sound wave. His polite and respectful approach was different than the mansplaining I was used to hearing. I was charmed. And aroused.

  “I grant you full refrigerator rights, detective.” I motioned to the kitchen with my crutch. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.” He looked like he was on a mission. “I just want to get you ice.”

  “Ah.” Sweet. He was acting all protective and concerned of my little injury. “Thank you.” I told him where to find plastic bags.

  My kitchen and living room were open and separated by a counter, so I watched as he cracked into the ice tray and slid cubes into the bag. He brought them over on a paper towel.

  “Where do you keep your pillow cases?” He spoke as if this was normal procedure.

  “Now you’re starting to sound a little kinky.” I laughed, unable to stifle my natural sexual humor. “Are you thinking of putting it over my head as a blindfold? Or ripping it up into slivers to use to tie me up?”

  He looked up from the ice, with a slightly wicked grin.

  “At the moment, neither.” He didn’t seem opposed to the idea. “It takes the edge off of the ice.”

  This man was going to ice me down. At thirty-one, no man had taken care of me this way. My workaholic tendencies, and lack of relationship staying power, made this a new experience. It’s always the dating experts who have trouble with dating.

  I directed him to the closet near the bathroom and he returned with a towel and white pillow case. He inserted the ice bag and rested it atop the towel on the table next to my chair.

  “May I?” He looked at my injured foot.

  “Apparently, you’re a first aid genius, so of course. Just don’t re-injure yourself.”

  He gently lifted my foot so he could sit on the ottoman, in front on me. I bit my lip. The feel of his warm hand sent a shiver through my entire body. When he placed my leg on his lap, it was more intimate than a kiss.

  My heart started pounding when he focused on my foot as if it were a precious object, tilting his head as he studied the way it was wrapped.

  Grasping it with his uninjured hand, he was able to use his other one to unravel my ace bandage. The skin-to-skin contact made my entire leg tingle. And it felt good, getting out of that thing. My foot had swollen quite a bit, and several toes were bruised. The top of my foot looked like a canvas of dark purples and greens.

  “Not too pretty.” I was thankful I’d gotten a pedicure a few days before.

  He brought his eyes to mine.

  “But you are… very pretty.” Then he seemed to catch himself and go back into professional caregiving mode. “Um, this discoloration is to be expected with a break like this.”

  My foot in his hand made me feel closer—maybe too close—yet I welcomed his touch.

  He gently massaged my foot and very softly caressed the bruised area. I didn’t realize how tense everything was until his fingers brushed against my toes. Healing energy seemed to flow from him.

  When he looked up, his eyes burned into mine as if he were on the verge of saying something important. “You need ice.” He paused. “Twenty minutes on and twenty minutes off.”

  Those words sounded different in my ears, as if he’d said something dirty, because his hand on my lower extremity was having an effect in the vicinity of my panties. He must have been aware my heart was racing because my ankle pulse was literally in his hand. Was he getting turned on, too?

  “Yes.” The word came out on a slightly nervous swallow. “Ice.” I’d developed an unusually quick level of rapport. I would have let him ice anything.

  Maybe what I really needed was a cold shower.

  When he stood and gently placed my foot back on the ottoman, I wanted to protest at the loss of his warm hand. He placed my ankle on a rolled-up towel and spread the ice bag so that it covered the top of my toes and the underside.

  “Comfortable?” He backed away slightly.

  “Yes.” I placed my hands in to the Namaste pose we use in yoga. “Thank you.”

  Crossing back to the couch, he sat and took a deep breath. Then he smiled politely. I smiled too, but felt a little nervous, like first date nervous.

  “You’re quite a healer.” I placed my hand on my heart and bowed my head slightly in gratitude. “Was this sacred icing ceremony you just performed originated by your ancestors, the demi-gods?”

  He laughed so loud that I did too.

  “Well, let’s say I have experience with this.” He smiled humbly. “It’s basic first aid. Not a big deal.”

  It felt like a big deal, though, to me. Many of the people I came in contact with these days were self-centered. That’s probably why I called the cops in the middle of the night instead of a friend. In my radio world, people could be inauthentic or just plain cutthroat. Radio egos were legendary.

  “You never hear about cops helping the elderly or icing people’s broken toes anymore.” I fluttered my lashes at him. “You just hear all the bad stuff.”

  “Ain’t that the truth?” He shook his head.

  He pulled his iPhone out of his back pocket, searched online, and then he read me a list of aftercare instructions. “Keep off your feet and elevate as much as possible.” He set the timer on his phone for twenty minut
es. “Also, avoid movements that cause pain.”

  “I’ll try not to dance tonight.” I smiled coyly.

  “So,” he said, lifting the wine bottle and cork screw he’d brought. “Are you on pain meds?”

  “I think the hospital sent an electronic prescription,” I said, as he expertly twisted and cleanly pulled out the cork. “But I’m not planning on picking them up. They’d make me too sleepy.”

  “So, here’s your first dose of non-narcotic medicine,” he said, pouring me a glass of wine.

  He walked over and handed it to me. Our fingers brushed lightly as I took the glass and I discovered a new thing I loved about him—his hands. They were big and looked capable of all manner of things—despite his injury.

  Since he went back to the couch I was able to fully admire his good looks as I sipped my wine. He reminded me of a hot TV cop—strong, great posture, broad shoulders and arms. Looking made me want to touch. What would be waiting under his shirt if he removed it?

  I was picking up attraction vibes but he seemed very focused on appropriate behavior and care of my foot. Maybe he had a fetish? The guy was a NYPD detective. Surely, he must have insane stories to tell.

  Why was he keeping so quiet? Was he the strong silent type or was he thinking dirty thoughts while trying to play polite. Perhaps I was not a great conversationalist because I was withholding my best chitchat for the show tomorrow. Herc never once asked about my work, so I wondered, again, if he knew and just wasn’t saying. Though my head was swimming with questions, it was kind of hot being in close proximity yet not filling every moment with chatter.

  “Is no talking the new aphrodisiac?” I giggled at my own joke. “You seem so relaxed and polite that it’s hard to think of you as someone who carries a gun and investigates criminal activity.”

  “Some things are better left unsaid.” His eyes roamed the length of my body. There was an untapped sexual force lurking below the surface. I wanted to tap it.

  Suddenly, I wanted him more than my next breath. Was it the wine? The caregiving? Desire was hijacking my body.

  “How’s the foot?” he said into the silence. I felt the words between my legs. I couldn’t keep a lid on the lustful feelings running through me.