Christmas in the Cop Car (Sweet Home Alabama Book 4)

by Laura Trentham

  Was all that mattered the man he’d become—was trying to become? For someone like him, one step off the straight and narrow could prove disastrous.

  After finishing up with Sawyer in relative silence, Jeremy headed to the breakroom. Balancing on a stepstool, Kayla had a string of colored lights in one hand and a staple gun in the other. One foot popped out of a heel as she reached high. He had the urge to run his hands up her sexy legs and under her skirt. Blowing out a breath, he shoved his fists into his pockets. Kayla was the hairpin curve in his straight-and-narrow path.

  She glanced over her shoulder, the hook of a mini candy cane at the corner of her mouth. “Just the man I need.” Her words jolted him until she added, “I can’t reach. You mind giving me a hand?”

  “You’re hanging Christmas lights.”

  She stepped to the floor and turned with a laugh, her hair swinging around her shoulders. “You make it sound on par with torturing puppies.”

  “Cade know you’re doing this?”

  “Yep.” She set the candy cane aside, jiggled the string of lights, and continued in a sing-song voice. “I’m bringing a tree in tomorrow.”

  “Are you serious?”

  The sound of her laughter knit together a place inside of him he’d thought permanently destroyed.

  “A Charlie Brown tree. Nothing fancy. I could bring one by your place too. You need some crazy lights in your life.” She jiggled the lights again and this time he shuffled closer and took hold if only to enjoy her minty scent for a moment.

  “Thought you had class.”

  “Finals started this week. Two more and I’ll have my degree.”

  “That’s amazing,” he whispered.

  Both of them were still holding onto the string of lights, their hands side-by-side. He brushed his forefinger over the back of her hand. Instead of dropping the lights and turning away, she met his eyes, a questioning smile on her face.

  “I’m sorry about the other afternoon. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

  “Grabbed me?” The question in her eyes turned to confusion which in turn confused him.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you or whatever. I know what happened with Dylan, and I’m not that kind of guy. I would never hurt you.”

  She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze skating away, but still her hand didn’t move. “I know that. God, of course, I know that. That’s not why I bolted.”

  “Why did you then?”

  The break-room door squeaked open and Cade strolled in. “Sorry, I got held up, but seems like you commandeered excellent help. Finish hanging them, Jeremy, and let’s see how they look.”

  Jeremy shot Cade a look. The man had turned positively jolly after finding out he was going to be a dad. Jeremy finished framing the break-room windows and plugged them into the nearest outlet.

  Cade flipped the overhead fluorescent lights off emphasizing the twinkling of the multi-colored Christmas lights. Kayla’s smile was big and satisfied. As if sensing him, she turned her head and their eyes met. He couldn’t find a fake smile. If Cade hadn’t been standing a few feet away, Jeremy might have repeated his mistake in her car.

  The bright fluorescent lights flipping back on broke the spell. Cade words came over his shoulder on his way out the door. “Nice job. Now back to work.”

  Jeremy didn’t trust himself to speak, so he followed Cade out and buried himself in the task of turning Cade’s sketch to reality and making considerable headway. The day passed without another Kayla sighting. He showered, changed, and stopped in the break room for a drink before heading out. He sipped his Coke and stared at the lights, the image of Kayla’s legs on the stepstool etched in his mind.

  His phone dinged with an incoming text.

  What’s happening down in gator country?

  Jeremy smiled. It was Logan Wilde, his strongest connection with Falcon.

  Surviving. How’s the restaurant business?

  Jessie keeps things running smooth. Football team made it to state playoffs but got beat by fucking Huntsville again.

  Jeremy smiled. Football came a close second to family. How’s the baby?

  Not a baby anymore. Check it.

  A pause before a picture flashed up. Jeremy tapped to make it big. Jesus, Logan and Jessie’s baby girl, Ada, was a toddler. Three years old maybe, reddish hair like her mama’s and in pigtails. She was grinning and holding her hands out to whoever was taking the picture.

  She’s got you wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she, old man?

  He expected a smart-aleck comment back. Instead he got a pause so long he wondered whether Logan had gotten called away.

  Got news.

  Jeremy’s stomach bottomed out even though Logan hadn’t specified whether the news was good or bad. In Jeremy’s experience it was always bad. Lay it on me.

  Henry passed.

  Jeremy stared at the two words. Henry Wilson had taken a chance on Jeremy and given him his first legitimate job. He’d learned what it meant to deal with people fairly and with honor from Henry.

  When?

  A week ago. Lungs finally gave out.

  Jeremy muttered a curse. Why didn’t you call? Would have come back.

  He didn’t want you to. Said you’d made a new start. Another pause Jeremy didn’t know how to fill. He left you something in his will. Not sure what.

  WHY? Jeremy hoped the caps got his confusion and shock across.

  You were like a son. He was proud of you.

  Jeremy turned away from the break-room door and faced the corner. If anyone came in right now, they would see the tears in his eyes and ask questions. His trembling fingers made texting back impossible.

  Maybe Logan sensed Jeremy needed time to process the news. Henry’s lawyer Katherine Renshaw will be in touch with details. Call anytime.

  The break-room door squeaked, the tap of heels announcing Kayla. He didn’t turn and her steps slowed. She touched his arm and goosebumps rippled like a stone cast in a pond. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you want to come over to my place?” Recklessness welled up from a dark place inside of him. It wasn’t a new feeling, but for the first time in a long time, he gave in to it. He didn’t want to be alone.

  Kayla had no idea what had happened to spark such a change. Their encounter over the coffee pot that morning had been polite yet impersonal. The hanging of the lights had seemed to soften him, but then he’d walked out without a word. The afternoon had been filled with him ignoring her and her trying not to stare at him. He’d been like a faucet going back and forth between hot and cold.

  Now he was hot. Extremely, dangerously hot—in more ways than one.

  If she were smart, she would say “no.” Instead, she nodded dumbly. He’d already showered and changed back into his street clothes. He grabbed his motorcycle gear with one hand and her wrist with the other, tugging her along beside him. She tried to summon outrage at his handling, but none came.

  And, she didn’t even care. She trusted him. It was only when she was alone in her car, following his broad back on the motorcycle, that she questioned the thought process that led her to this point. Or lack of thought process. Not that she was scared of Jeremy in the same way she’d been scared of Dylan, yet her hands trembled on the steering wheel and her heart was tossing itself against her ribs.

  Jeremy made her feel out of control. Part of her relished the feeling, just like she had when she’d been younger, which was frankly terrifying.

  A connection she wasn’t strong enough to deny—or break—kept her driving. They pulled to a stop outside his house. He arced his leg over the motorcycle with his usual feline grace and stalked her. At least that’s what it felt like. Wrenching her car door open, he exuded impatience. When all she could do was stare up at him, he reached in, his arm brushing against her breast, and unclipped her seatbelt.

  The moment was primal. She half-expected him to haul her out and throw her over his shoulder. Instead, he held out a hand and waited. She
wished she could blame her surrender on alcohol or pot or stupidity, but she slipped her hand into his with wide-open eyes and heart.

  She didn’t speak. Didn’t have to speak. As soon as they crossed the threshold and he’d slammed the door shut with his black boot, he pressed her up against the wall and kissed her.

  No, kiss was too vague a description. A kiss could be anything from a peck on the cheek to Frenching. His mouth possessed hers, stole rational thought, and unleashed a reckless passion that she’d thought was destroyed.

  One of his hands cupped her jaw, the other roamed over her hip to grab her backside and tilt her pelvis into his. He was hard against her and she squirmed, wanting to be closer, wanting more, wanting all of him.

  She grabbed leather and pushed. He shrugged his shoulders. His jacket fell to the floor. She tugged at the soft cotton of his T-shirt and slipped her hands underneath. Skin over muscle. Strong, yet she could feel the ripple that passed through him at her touch, could hear his groan.

  She turned her head to the side. “I’m not a virgin, Jeremy. Not by a long shot.”

  His lips stayed in contact with her skin, coasting over her jaw to the sensitive shell of her ear. “Me neither,” he whispered.

  “And that’s okay with you?”

  He pulled his torso back but kept his hips pressed into her. “We both had lives before this. What’s worrying you?”

  She was worried about the stares and whispers that had followed her after she and Dylan had broken up. The rumors—some true, some not—about what she’d done with him. She was worried about the few dates she’d accepted where the men expected things from her because of the reputation she’d earned.

  The last couple of years, it had been easier to slap on a smile and pretend none of it bothered her. Actually, she’d done her best to wipe her past out of her memories. But being around Jeremy made her aware of the bulging closet of everything she was trying to hide.

  “I wasn’t always a good girl,” she said with a tentativeness she hated. How many times had Monroe Fournette told her to own her past experiences instead of being ashamed by them?

  He propped one forearm alongside her head and forced her face around with a gentle, yet implacable finger at her chin. “You’ve always been a good girl, Kayla, you’ve just made a few bad decisions. And, by the way, if we’re competing for most fucked-up past, then I’m sorry, but you’ll lose every time, babe.”

  Nothing in his eyes spoke of judgment. An understanding she’d never sensed—not from Monroe or her mother—softened his blue eyes. Maybe she didn’t have to pretend or give up her power with this man.

  She responded by tugging on the waistband of his jeans, managing to undo the button and get the zipper halfway down. Enough to slip her hand over his underwear.

  The sound that came from his chest was half groan, half growl. He swept her up and carried her into his bedroom. She only had time to register a navy-blue bedspread and dark-brown furniture before her back hit the mattress and she could only focus on him.

  They tussled with their clothing, losing a piece at a time before all that was left was her bra and panties and his boxer-briefs. He stroked himself over the cotton. A wave of shyness or maybe closer to intimidation came over her. He looked… challenging.

  “Something wrong?” he asked with more than a hint of humor.

  “It’s been a while.” She bit the inside of her cheek, wondering what he’d make of her confession.

  Propped up against the pillows, he pulled her into a straddle on top of him and unclasped her bra.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered before flicking her already peaked nipples with his tongue, back and forth.

  Men had called her sexy and hot and fuckable. Not one of them had ever called her beautiful. She linked her hands around his nape and held him to her, allowing him to give her pleasure until her hips began to undulate on his erection.

  They shifted to shed the rest of their clothes but ended up in the same position. This time when she moved over him, the friction was incredible. He fumbled in the drawer of the nightstand. Once he was sheathed with a condom, he grabbed her hips and lifted her. Wrapping her hand around him, she positioned him at her entrance and sank down.

  His half-lidded eyes remained locked on hers. The blue was intense, magnetic, and she couldn’t look away or close her eyes even as her last defense against him crumbled.

  “Ride me, babe.” His words rumbled and shifted the potency of the moment from emotional to physical.

  With her guard demolished, she let her wild child out to play. Could she drive him crazy? She wanted to torment him until he couldn’t take another second. The rhythm she set was slow, and she rolled her hips on each downward stroke. He pressed back into the pillows, his hands on her thighs, and blew out a deep breath as if his self-control was already fracturing.

  His chest was taut, the curve of muscle in stark relief under a dusting of blond hair. She ran her hands across his broad shoulders and down his arms, over the sexy, dangerous snake tattoo. His fingers tightened on her thighs, and she responded by quickening the pace of her ride.

  What would he do if she touched herself? Would he be disgusted? She feathered her hand over her stomach, unsure and tentative.

  “Do it. I want to watch you.” The gravel in his voice was undeniable.

  She rubbed where they were joined while she braced herself on his chest with her other hand. He cupped her breast and squeezed, pinching the nipple at the same time. Her vision blurred as her orgasm swept her away. Her throaty cries filled the room.

  He muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God,” before he flipped them over, pressing her back against the bed, her inner muscles still contracting around him.

  He pushed her legs up and took long, hard strokes into her. It wasn’t gentle or loving and she didn’t care. In fact, she scratched her nails down his back and urged him on with words she’d only read about in her favorite books.

  He thrust deep and groaned, his body shuddering, his head thrown back, his neck taut. “Fuck, yes,” he muttered before collapsing on top of her, his body jerking inside of her.

  As she descended from the sexual high, her panic escalated. The way she’d acted, the things she’d said. Shame welled up from an old wound that had never been cauterized.

  He shifted to her side, but didn’t let her go, nuzzling her neck. “It’s been a while, but damn, I don’t remember it ever being that good.”

  His words were like a wash of pure light and all thoughts of a quick escape vanished. “Everything’s okay, then?”

  A self-consciousness tinged his laugh. He propped himself up on an elbow, and brushed her hair out of her face. “I’m more than okay. How do you feel?”

  Raw. Emotional. Extremely satisfied. She searched for something more innocuous. The familiar echoes of shame and guilt and regret that rippled through her didn’t come close to muffling the incredible rush of endorphins. “I feel… great, actually.”

  She smiled and only then did she notice the worry that faded with his answering smile. Was his footing in whatever they were doing as unsteady and precarious as hers?

  It was early yet. The winter sunset gave everything an orangey glow. What now? Was this a one-time thing? Did she leave? Stay? While he sat up to dispose of the condom, she pulled a corner of the comforter over her. “I guess I should…”

  “Stay for dinner?” Jeremy risked a glance in her direction. If anything, she looked relieved… and happy? He sure as hell hoped this wouldn’t be a one-time thing.

  “I am hungry. We could try pizza again. Promise I won’t run off this time.” The way she pulled the comforter tighter to her chest emphasized the shyness in her voice. “Unless you want me to leave?”

  “I want you to stay,” he said firmly and was rewarded by a flash of her sweet smile.

  Even after the way she’d ridden him and the dirty things she’d whispered in his ear, he recognized her lurking insecurities. Battled similar demons e
very day. She wasn’t as broken as he felt, only wounded. Wounds could heal. He wasn’t sure he could ever be fixed.

  With her back to him, she pulled on her skirt and wrestled with her bra. If he was more of a gentleman, he would turn away. But he didn’t. Once her shirt was on, she looked around on the floor. Her underwear was nowhere to be seen. He’d wanted to incinerate the simple pink cotton because they had stood in his way. Instead, he’d flung them away. The thought of her bare under her skirt made his dick twitch.

  He zipped his jeans, but before he retrieved his T-shirt, he grabbed her around the waist and brought their bodies close. She lay her palms over his pecs and caressed her way to his shoulders the same time he explored her hips and ass. The natural after-sex awkwardness faded.

  “Usually things happen in the other order… dinner, movie, sex. I guess we’ve twisted things around, huh?” He brushed his lips over hers, but not as a sexual advance. He wanted to coax another smile.

  “Or maybe we’re twisted.” Sarcasm gave her smile a bite. He added that to the growing list of things he liked about her.

  They shared pizza on the couch, the laugh track of a sitcom rerun as background noise.

  “Where do you live? On this side of the river or closer to campus?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t laugh, but I still live with my mom a few streets over. It’s been the two of us since I can remember. My dad took off as soon as he found out she was knocked up. I refer to him as the sperm donor.”

  “Sorry about that. Pretty much the same story for me. My dad was from a good family in Falcon and got my mom pregnant. Never acknowledged me. But, whatever.”

  “I should move out, but after everything that happened… Well, you know, it was better if I stayed at home. And, she’s really great.” She picked at a loose thread in the couch. “Can I ask what happened to your mom?”

  The picture on the mantle only reminded him of his failures. “She’s been in jail since I was seventeen. At least, I assume she’s still there.”

  She slipped her hand in his, both of them looking toward the picture. “You were so young. What did you do after she was arrested?”