“Maybe she had the baby in Montana.”
“Possible. I’ve got a request in to check the birth records in Butte for the three months following her stay there. It’s likely to be a lot, but maybe something will stand out.”
Timmy jogged up to the truck then. He was carrying a paper bag that presumably held the confiscated stolen goods. He set it on the floor between his feet when he climbed into the vehicle.
“Talk later?” Grant suggested.
She nodded. It was silly that two words caused such giddiness to flow through her veins. “You could collect your rain check.”
“Your kitchen or mine?”
She didn’t have to even think about it. “Yours.” She waited a beat. “It’s in better shape than mine.” They’d also be less likely to be interrupted by sisters or mothers or eccentric grandmothers.
His eyes glinted as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Come prepared. I have a big appetite.”
She felt herself flush. Responding in kind was out of the question. Judging by the look he gave her, he knew it, too.
She waited until he’d crossed to his rusty pickup truck before putting the SUV in gear again.
“Who’s that guy again?”
She glanced at Timmy. “Grant Cooper. He bought the Carmody ranch.” It was nobody’s business but Grant’s that the Carmodys had also been his biological grandparents.
“Oh, right.” Timmy clicked his seat belt into place as she turned out of the parking lot and headed back to the department. “Steve said he’ll come by and sign the complaint when his shift ends.”
“Hey!” Trevor kicked the back of her seat. “I’m supposed to get a phone call or something, aren’t I?”
“Sure, Trev. Soon as you’re through processing.” Which she intended to make as uncomfortable as possible. Maybe if she did the job well enough, Trevor would think twice before pulling his next stunt. “What do you think your mom’s going to say when she has to come down and bail you out of jail?”
“You’re not gonna put me in jail,” he scoffed. “Stuff wasn’t worth nothin’.”
“Stuff worth nothin’ can still get you up to six months, Trevor. Store manager caught you red-handed. We also got the surveillance tape, right, Timmy?”
“Right.” Timmy made a face at her, which Trevor fortunately couldn’t see. Because there was no surveillance tape. Not unless the drugstore had replaced their equipment since their last shoplifting episode, and she doubted it. The owner of the store was too cheap. Despite their recommendations, he maintained that the sight alone of a security camera was enough to deter would-be thieves. “Watched it myself.” Timmy said it so convincingly that Ali was impressed. “Got him dead to rights.”
She braked at the stop light and looked over the seat at Trevor. “Your mom’s a pretty lady. She’ll be really popular when she goes to visit you down at the prison in—”
“Prison!” Trevor’s young face paled.
She faced forward again, leaving him to stew on that for a while.
When they got back to the department, she turned him over to Jerry. The older officer was a dad to two teenage boys about Trevor’s age. He’d do a good job finishing what they’d started, and with any luck Trevor would see the value of returning to the straight and narrow.
Then she sat back down at her desk and flipped open Gowler’s thick file of handwritten reports. But even the unappealing task of typing them up didn’t bother her too much.
Not when she had Grant’s big appetite awaiting her.
* * *
The sight of Ali on his doorstep that evening caused more pleasure than Grant expected.
If the winsome smile she was giving him was anything to go by, he figured the feeling was at least a little mutual. “I come bearing dinner.” She held up a wide, flat pan with a blue-and-white-striped towel folded on top of it.
He started to take it from her but she looked down and nodded toward something. “Why don’t you get that instead?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but scooted past him into the house.
Another box sat on his porch.
More books.
Dammit, Chelsea.
He brought the box inside and shoved it in a closet. He’d lit a fire in the newly inspected fireplace and the box would have made good fuel. But it also would likely garner more curiosity from Ali than he wanted.
“When’d you paint in here?” She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, unfastening her puffy red coat. “Looks great.”
“Last night.” After he’d tired of staring at his ceiling while sleep eluded him. He took her coat from her and tossed it on top of the packing crates he still hadn’t dealt with. “Needs another layer of paint, though. I can still see the shadow of graffiti showing through.”
“If you say so. Personally, I can’t see it, but—” She shrugged. Since he’d run into her that afternoon, she’d changed out of her uniform into jeans and another waffle-weave shirt—black, this time—and taken down her hair. The streaky locks waved around her neck. Her shoulders. Her breasts. “Did you get your cement work done?”
“I got it poured. It’ll be a while before it’s ready for me to tile. Meanwhile, I have a butt-load of painting still to do.” He looked past her to see the blue-and-white-striped towel sitting on the counter. “What’s in the pan?”
“Nothing fancy. Just a casserole. I stuck it in the oven to keep warm. Hope you like chicken, because if you don’t, I’m not sure the pizza place will deliver this far outside of town. I do have these, though.” She lifted a plastic bag full of cookies. “Almond-fudge drops. Best ever.” She set it down on top of the towel.
“Cookies’re always welcome.” He held out his hand. “Hand ’em over.”
“Didn’t your mother tell you that dessert comes after dinner?”
He grinned. “Some situations call for different rules.” He pulled out a cookie. They were small. It took three of them just to make up a proper bite. “Not bad,” he said when he swallowed the delicious little bits. They had a dollop of frosting and little bits of almonds on top. “Who made ’em?”
“I beg your pardon?” She snatched the bag away from him like a punishment. “I did!”
Her indignation made him smile even more. Regardless of what brought her to his door, he knew he’d smiled more since he met her than he had in the last year. At least. “That stuff in the oven’ll keep a while, then?”
“Should.” Her eyes sparkled. “Why? You want to put a paint roller in my hand first?”
He slid his hand meaningfully around her waist and pulled her close, enjoying the way sparkle turned to melted chocolate. He took the cookie bag from her and tossed it onto the counter. “Maybe later.”
Her hands flattened against the front of his sweatshirt. But she didn’t push him away and the corners of her lips rose in a slight smile. “I don’t sleep with strange men,” she warned softly.
“Neither do I.” He lowered his head toward hers. “You smell good. What is it?”
“Soap.” Her voice dropped. Turned husky in a way that would have had all his nerve endings standing at attention if they weren’t already. “You smell good, too.” Her hands moved up his chest and linked behind his neck.
He brushed his lips over her temple, then skimmed down along her cheek. “Soap,” he murmured against her ear. He kissed her shoulder and her heat radiated through the soft, textured shirt.
“Grant—”
He lifted his head and linked his hands behind her back. “Yes?”
She sighed a little, then suddenly melted into him. “Hell with it.” She pulled on his head, lifting her mouth toward his. “Kiss me, already.”
“That was my intention. Good to know we’re on the same page,” he murmured and lightly grazed one corner of her lips with his. Little more than a whisper.
She made a sound and
her fingers slid from his neck into his hair. “I don’t know what page you’re on, but I’m a little further into the book.”
He laughed softly and teased the other corner of her mouth.
She tugged lightly at his hair, making another impatient sound. “Come on now,” she complained. “Don’t make me get rough.”
He spread his fingers against her spine, feeling every little ridge. “Gonna flip me on my back again?”
Her eyes met his. “You on your back does have merit.” Then she dragged his head back to hers, boldly fastening her mouth to his.
He hadn’t intended on getting her into bed. Not exactly.
But at that moment, it was the only thing he could think of. He lifted her straight off the ground and she twined those deceptively long, lithe legs around his hips, lips still fastened to his.
He turned and bumped his way through the doorway. “Sorry,” he mumbled against the smile he could feel on her mouth.
Her answer was to slide one hand down the back of his sweatshirt. Bare palm against his spine, fingertips pressing into his skin. “Not sloppy at all.”
He could barely think for the fire licking at his veins. “What?”
She dragged his mouth to hers again. “Hurry.”
The top of his head felt like it was ready to blow. Instead of heading toward the stairs, he just turned and pressed her up against the wall, managing in the process to send the stack of paint cans and supplies careening.
She gasped, half-laughing, when he yanked up her thermal shirt and thrust his hands beneath, making direct contact with that silky smooth source of heat. She wasn’t wearing a bra and he filled his hands with her slight curves. Her hips cradled his where he pinned her against the wall, rocking against him. Inviting more.
He tore his mouth away, breathing hard. “I wasn’t prepared for this.”
She tugged her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, then started yanking at his sweatshirt. “Definitely not a Boy Scout,” she said breathlessly and pulled his hand back to her breast after he finished the job and pitched his sweatshirt in the general direction of hers. “Fortunately, I was. Am.”
“A Boy Scout?”
“Prepared,” she said throatily, and reached between them, fumbling with his belt. “I’m on the pill and I have a clean bill of health, so unless you—”
She was a whirlwind, decimating his few remaining brain cells that were still functioning. “I’m good,” he responded.
She let out an exhilarated laugh. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” She finally got the belt undone. His fly. Freeing him. She wrapped her hand around him.
Need was roaring inside him but he latched his fingers around her wrists, catching them both and pulling them away. “Wait.”
“I can’t wait.” She pressed her open mouth against his throat. Her hips worked against his and she wriggled her hands free. “I don’t want to wait.” As if to prove it, she reached between them again, somehow managing to unfasten her own jeans. Then she was guiding him to her, shuddering out a greedy sound that was hands-down the most erotic thing he’d ever heard.
Muttering a breathless oath, he caught her hips, sliding his hands beneath her thighs.
“Hurry,” she whispered again. “Hurry, hurry.”
How could he do anything else when she was gloving him so tightly? She was hot and wet and her need for speed was a good thing because he didn’t have a hope in hell of lasting for long. “The couch.”
She groaned, shook her head. “Too far—” She broke off and her fingers raked down his spine as she clung even tighter. He could feel the shudders in the very center of her working their way outward, wave upon wave upon wave. She cried out and he slammed his hand against the wall above her head. His only sane thought was not to crush her, while the rest of him raced headlong straight into the storm.
* * *
“Tsunami,” he muttered when he could finally form words again.
They were sprawled on the couch, which he vaguely remembered stumbling to.
“Hmm?” She rubbed the top of her head against his chin. She was lying across his chest, her hands on his heart, her cheek on her hands.
“Tsu-Ali,” he joked.
She lifted her head a few inches, giving him a look from drowsy eyes. “I think tsu means sea and nami means wave.” She lowered her head again, sighing deeply, which just pressed all her pretty curves more firmly against him. “Or something like that. I saw it on the internet, and goodness knows everything on the internet is always accurate.”
“Ali-nami.”
She laughed softly. “Macho CCT not only knows how to laugh, but he also has a silly sense of humor.”
He kissed the top of her head. He’d laughed more around Ali than he had in years. Rather than admit it, though, he slid his palm slowly down her bare back. “Not very macho with my jeans twisted around my ankles,” he said.
“Don’t hear me complaining.” She stretched again, slipping her thigh between his.
He wasn’t sure he’d felt this randy even when he’d been a teenager. “How’d we manage to get all your clothes off, but not mine?”
“Dunno.” She rubbed her head against his chin again. “Does it matter?” She shimmied a little against him. “Oh. Right there. Scratch right there.”
He obediently scraped his fingertips lightly against her spine.
She practically purred. “Perfect.”
The wood in the fireplace popped and flung a spray of sparks against the black mesh of the screen. “This is pretty perfect.”
She lifted her head again. “I meant the scratching—” She broke off, her eyes softening. “Oh.” She lifted her hand and slowly rubbed her fingertip over his lower lip. “Yes.” Then she hauled in another deep breath and let it out, causing all sorts of interesting sensations along the length of him.
She noticed and, once again, she looked up at him. Her eyebrows rose a little. A smile that was fifty-percent satisfied female and one-hundred-percent sexy flirted around her lips. “Already?”
He slowly dragged his finger along her spine, watching the way her eyes flickered in response. “Evidently, I’m properly inspired.”
“I’ll say.” She slid the rest of the way over him, making a good imitation of a clinging blanket. “That casserole in the oven isn’t gonna keep forever,” she warned. “It’ll dry out if we’re not careful.” She arched just right, and he slid home.
Her lips parted slightly and she exhaled, long and slow.
It occurred to him that he could watch that expression on her face for a life of Sundays and not tire of it. “Darlin’, let it turn to dust. I can wait. I’ve eaten a lot worse. And there’s always the cookies.” Holding her in place, he jackknifed up until they were sitting.
She hissed a little between her teeth, holding on to the back of the couch while he managed to extricate himself from the jeans without extricating himself from her.
And then he flipped her over, onto her back. He slid his fingers through hers and lifted her arms over her head while he pressed even deeper and watched her eyes go wide, then flutter closed while she let out that shaky, husky sigh.
Even though it would be so easy to race back into the wind-tossed sea with her, he made himself go slow. He gently kissed her lips. Kissed the thick, dark lashes against her creamy cheeks. Lashes that lifted after he stopped.
She stared up at him. “This is going to get complicated,” she whispered. “Isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.
He thought about the box of books.
About his sister.
Layla.
“Life’s always complicated,” he murmured.
And then he kissed her again.
This time, there was no rush.
Just a long, slow trip to the inevitable.
Chapter Ten
“Much as
I appreciate the sentiment, this is not going to work.” This time, Ali was the one wearing the red robe with the big white hearts. Though she’d enjoyed the sight of Grant wearing it the other day, it truly did fit her much better.
“What’re you saying?”
She eyed Grant, who was pretty much folded in half in the bathtub. He’d filled it with enough hot water to fog up the cracked mirror above the sink, but not enough to reach above his knees, all bent the way they were. It was hard to pretend she wasn’t melting inside. “I’m saying there ain’t no way you and I are both fitting inside that tub. Not at the same time.” She leaned over and pressed a fast kiss on his lips, then cupped some hot water and tossed it over his head before straightening.
He looked so disappointed that she almost laughed. With water dripping down his thick, dark hair into his face and that pouty expression pulling on his ridiculously perfect lower lip, she had an instant image of him as a little boy.
The longing that struck inside her came out of nowhere. And frankly, it scared the stuffing right out of her.
Being lovers would be complicated enough, considering Layla. The last thing she needed to be doing was imagining little Grants with aqua-colored eyes running around.
So she waved her hand at him. “Come on. I’m the one who has to get her butt into work this morning.”
“Speaking of butts.” His hand snuck up beneath the terry-cloth robe and cupped her rear. “Have I told you just how much I appreciate yours?”
She sidled away from him, slapping at his hand, even though delight was coating the knot of want suddenly throbbing inside her. “I believe you made that apparent around three this morning.” The chicken casserole hadn’t been quite dust when they’d finally gotten to it the night before. But it had been more of a shovel-it-in-for-fuel than fine-dining experience. Then he’d wolfed down her cookies and tugged her up the stairs and into his bedroom.
When he pulled her down onto his bed, she’d discovered that the kisses he bestowed on every other part of her body besides her mouth weren’t sloppy, either. She’d finally fallen exhaustedly asleep only to be awakened by the insistent nudge of his erection against her backside.
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