The Lucky in Love Collection

by Lauren Blakely

  “Thanks. I will.”

  I leave, heading to the gym for a workout, where Hunter texts me that the guy with the heart attack is doing better and the ladder fellow is stable.

  I smile as I reply between sets.

  Derek: And you are not an angel of death today.

  Hunter: There’s always tomorrow, mwah ha ha. And now I must go consume a pizza.

  Derek: I’ll cheer you on in the pizza-eating contest.

  Hunter: Go eat a leaf, bro.

  I close the thread and resume my workout, listening to my audiobook as I lift harder and heavier, the sweat dripping down my chest, my muscles burning. When I’m done, I head to the lot where I keep my bike. Briefly, I think of my sister, and how straightforward she is. If Perri’s irked at me for Lord knows what, the least I can do is be up front.

  I text her to give her a heads-up on when I’ll be home, figuring it’s the least I can do if she’s got an issue with me.

  Derek: Be home around 7:30.

  Perri: 10-4

  I stare at the reply like if I look hard enough, I can decipher it. Decode the hidden meaning.

  But what the fuck? TEN-FOUR?

  Ten fucking four?

  Jesus Christ. What did I do to her?

  Along the way to my bike, I pass A New Chapter, and I duck into the local shop to grab some goodies for the rug rats. In the kids’ section, I find a picture book on safari animals, then an early reader on basketball and baseball for Travis. I grab both and head to fiction to see if there’s a copy of Mr. Mercedes. I left that book behind in the move and keep meaning to reread it.

  I’m hunting through the shelves when a blonde woman strides by, smiles, and asks if I need any help. I tell her the name of the book.

  “We just got a new paperback shipment in. Let me grab it.”

  “Thanks so much,” I say, instead of ten-four. Because, hello? Who the hell says ten-four?

  Except, well, maybe cops and rescue workers, I admit to myself grudgingly.

  I head to the counter to wait for the blonde lady, and a furry calico rubs up against my leg.

  “Hey there, sweet pea,” I say to the kitty, and she proceeds to rub her face against my leg, kicking the purr box into high gear. “Well, meow to you too.” I bend to scratch her chin, and she offers a most appreciative meow. “You’re one pretty lady, aren’t you?”

  The cat rubs harder, purrs louder.

  “It seems Clare wants to adopt you,” the blonde says as she returns to the front with a book in hand.

  “She’s a sweetheart, and I’d take her up on it if I could.”

  The woman laughs. “You should hear what my boyfriend says about her. Gabe is convinced Clare is plotting his doom.”

  I laugh. “Your man has jealousy issues with the cat?”

  “Something like that,” she says, then her eyes linger for a second on my arms. “You’re Derek, aren’t you?”

  “I am. How’d you know?”

  “Shaw mentioned something at dinner the other night. We’re all friends. I’m Arden.”

  “Nice to meet you, Arden. And if you know Shaw, you must know Perri, then.”

  Arden smiles warmly as she scans the book. “I’ve known her since we were six. She’s one of my best friends.”

  “Yeah?” I want to ask a ton of questions, but I’m not sure where I’d start. Except I’m damn curious what the hell makes that woman tick. “Hope she said nice things about me.”

  Arden simply smiles, her eyes roaming over my arms again to the sunbursts and arrows on my skin.

  That makes me think that Perri did indeed say nice things about me. I have a hunch I know exactly what she told her friends.

  And that reminds me that I do know what makes Perri tick—a helluva lot.

  She told me so herself.

  I’m going to have some fun with Miss Ten-Four.

  Oh yes, I am.

  17

  Derek

  Her car is outside, so I know she’s home. But I don’t look for her. That’s not our deal. I head to the back door, unlock it, and peer down the hall. I don’t see her in the kitchen.

  That’s fine, especially since my first order of business is a shower.

  It’s almost always a shower. After the gym, after work, whatever. I need the time to wash away the day and let it go. Too much goes on in my life, too many things I can take home with me. It’s best to find a way to shed them.

  For me, that’s a hot shower.

  After I dry off, I grab a pair of basketball shorts and tug them on, then hunt for a T-shirt. I snag a gray one from my duffel and pull it over my head, then I stop.

  I know this woman’s weakness.

  And I’m going to exploit it.

  Because I fucking can.

  Tossing the shirt to the bed, I make sure the waistband of my shorts rides low, and I go downstairs. When I open the door to the kitchen, I call out playfully, “Honey, I’m home.”

  I swear I can hear her roll her eyes.

  “Hey.” Her voice is emotionless.

  “Can I come into the witch’s den?”

  “Lair. It’s a lair.”

  “May I enter?”

  “At your own risk.”

  I walk into the kitchen first and see my note is still up on the board. What the hell? How could she not like this note? It’s fucking adorable, and I am not an adorable man. Huffing, I grab the chalkboard and carry it to the living room where she’s curled up on the couch in yoga clothes, her hair in a ponytail, her knees up, and her head bent over her laptop. I brandish the chalkboard in front of my chest. Let her wait before she can see the twelve-pack I’m packing. “You working?”

  She doesn’t look up. “Yup. Reports. Trying to work on this jewelry store—” She glances up, narrowing her eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Did you not see my awesome note?”

  She licks her lips. “I saw it this evening when I grabbed an apple.”

  I eye her suspiciously. “You. You, who are addicted to coffee? You’re telling me you weren’t in the kitchen this morning?”

  She shakes her head. “No, Detective McBride. I was not at the scene of the chalkboard crime. I had to leave quickly. I grabbed coffee at the station. I didn’t even go into the kitchen.”

  “But you saw it tonight?”

  “Yes, I saw it a little while ago when I returned home, and I’m also seeing it now, since you’re shoving it in my face.”

  My gaze drifts down to the words I wrote in pastel yellow chalk. “Read it to me.”

  She sighs, as if thoroughly annoyed. “Why do you want me to read it to you?”

  “Because you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder, Miss Ten-Four.”

  “My text reply was warranted. You’d only sent me a heads-up message.”

  I tap the chalkboard. “And this is not a heads-up message. This is fucking flirty. Read it aloud.”

  A smile tugs at her lips, and she seems to fight to rein it in. She draws a breath and reads. “Sorry I didn’t make it back in time to whip up a delicious chicken and broccoli dish for you. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Also, I know what sound giraffes make. Ask me. :)”

  I stab a finger against the board. “I used an emoticon. I hate emoticons.”

  She smirks. “Okay, what sound do giraffes make?”

  “I’m not telling you till you say you’re sorry.”

  She laughs. “For what?”

  “For assuming I was a dick.”

  “I did not assume you were a dick,” she says, challenging me.

  “A little dick?”

  She gives me a sassy look. “Oh, I don’t think it’s little.”

  I laugh. “It’s not little at all. It’s exactly the size you want.”

  “Is it?”

  “Kitten, you know you want to ride me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “That is not what we’re talking about.”

  “We’re talking about how you thought I ditched you.”

  “I didn’t
think that,” she says, defensively. Too defensively.

  “You did. You thought I stood you up and didn’t leave a note, and you gave me the cold shoulder at the hospital, and then the cold text.”

  “I had to take a report on a three-car crash! My colleague who’s up for the same promotion had just walked in ahead of me. We were working.”

  Fine. She makes a fair point. But still, it’s time to pull out all the stops. I drop the chalkboard, and she gasps.

  It worked.

  I walk closer to her, half-naked, giving her the full view of my chest, abs, and V-line. Maybe I’m cocky, maybe I’m overly confident, but I don’t give a shit. I’ve worked my ass off to look good shirtless. Pretty sure Perri likes what she sees a lot, judging from the way those green eyes eat up my chest, stroll over my abs, and linger on my hips, where a flock of silhouetted birds flies up the V-line and around my hip.

  “You . . .” she says, like there’s sand in her throat.

  “Me what?”

  She points at my birds. “Your . . .” It’s like she’s having heatstroke.

  “You okay? Need CPR? I can help.”

  “No,” she says, swallowing roughly.

  “You see something you like, then?”

  She shakes her head, but she doesn’t stop staring at my abs. I put my hands on the arm of the couch and lean in. “Now, admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “You were annoyed that I was home late, because you wanted to see me.”

  She scoffs. “I just wanted your food.”

  Defiant creature. “Nope. I don’t buy it.”

  She lifts her chin. “I like chicken and broccoli.”

  “And you want me to cook for you, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. One less thing I have to do myself.”

  “Then admit you wanted to see me.”

  Her voice softens to an embarrassed whisper. “No. Yes. Derek, it’s stupid, okay?”

  “So you did?”

  She shrugs, her eyes vulnerable, her smile guilty. “Fine. I was having a fun evening with you and your nieces, and I thought dinner would be nice, and then you weren’t here, and I was hungry, and it’s dumb to get annoyed because we’re just housemates, and it’s fine.”

  Her sincerity hooks into me, reminding me that I did break a promise. “I really am sorry I didn’t make it back in time to cook you dinner like I said. I left the note when I came downstairs, but you were already in your room,” I say softly.

  “I went to bed early.”

  “And I had to shower because the baby spit up all over me.”

  “Oh no. Is she okay?”

  I wave a hand. “Babies will do that.”

  “You’re really good with her.”

  “I adore that little chunk of love.”

  Perri smiles. “I can tell.” She takes a deep breath. “Anyway, it was silly. I wanted to have dinner last night, and that was a stupid thing to wish for. Then I rushed out this morning, so I didn’t see your note, and when I saw you at the hospital, I was trying to be all business-like since Elias was there, and plus, I should be business-like. When I came home, I did see your note, and it was sweet, and it made me feel stupid for having been annoyed at all. I was annoyed with myself.”

  “And then you saw my ink.”

  She shoots me a saucy look. “More like you thrust your abs in my face.”

  I give her a dirty grin. “Pretty sure you liked it.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The way your eyes went all glossy and hazy. The way you’re staring shamelessly at me. The way your nipples are poking through your shirt.”

  Her jaw drops, and she looks down at her chest then crosses her arms. “My nipples are not hard.”

  “Must just be an optical illusion,” I say offhand.

  “Exactly. Also, back to more important matters. What sound do giraffes make?”

  I stand up, move around the couch, and sit next to her. “They hum.”

  “Giraffes hum?”

  “They do. And that’s the sound you’re going to make when I kiss you again right now.”

  I grab her hair and devour her delicious lips.

  18

  Derek

  Maybe she doesn’t sound exactly like a giraffe.

  More like a pent-up, turned-on woman who wants what I have to give her. It’s a kiss to drive her wild. A kiss she can take to bed tonight, that she’ll bring under the covers, replaying every touch and taste so she can get herself all the way off in mere minutes.

  That’s how I kiss her.

  Like I want to fuck her. That’s the only way this woman ought to be kissed. Her back is against the couch cushion, and I lean into her and crush her lips, claiming her with my mouth. With my hands. With my body.

  I bring her closer, letting her know that when I kiss her, she’s all mine.

  She moans into my mouth as I grapple with her ponytail, yanking it down, letting the lush strands fall over my fingers.

  As I do, she murmurs, sinking into the kiss, letting me guide her head back to expose that seductive neck. A neck I’ve wanted to touch from the second I met her.

  As I kiss her senseless, she melts under me. I tug harder on her hair, and she moans louder. Her head falls against the pillow, and I let go of her lips, traveling to the V of her shirt.

  She whimpers as I kiss the hollow of her throat.

  “You like that?” I flick my tongue over her skin, and she nods, panting a hot, breathy yes.

  I give her more of what she likes, mapping her neck with my mouth, kissing the column of her throat, making her squirm with every touch of my tongue and brush of my lips. Her hands inch up my chest, her fingers playing over my abs, my pecs, the waistband of my shorts.

  But I know this woman’s needs. I grab her hands, thread my fingers through hers, and pin her wrists at her sides. The sound she makes is one of bliss as I grip her like that, kissing her neck, her ears, her hair, until she bows her body up off the couch.

  “You’re so turned on,” I murmur.

  “It’s your fault.”

  “I’ll take all the blame.”

  Then I grip her hands tighter, and in a flash, I shift positions, sinking to half recline on the couch and pulling her on top so she straddles me, knees on either side of my thighs.

  “We can’t do this.” Her green eyes are wide with hunger and questions. “Remember? No mercy, no sympathy?”

  I let go of her hands and run my fingers up her neck and into her red locks. I tug her hair. “I’m not breaking any rules.”

  She grinds her pelvis against my erection, and a shudder racks my body. She dips deeper, rubbing against my hard shaft, creating a delicious friction even with my shorts and her yoga pants between us. Lust rolls around inside me, flooding every corner. “Feels like you are,” she whispers.

  “Is it a crime to be turned on in the presence of a beautiful woman?” I jerk her against the outline of my cock, moving her hips so she rubs and drives me out of my fucking mind. Pleasure grips me in a white-hot blur of agonizing desire.

  “No crime here,” she pants as she rocks against my erection. Her eyes float closed and her shoulders sink, and she grinds. Dipping, rising, swiveling . . . It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen, and somehow it’s even more erotic as I watch her face, cataloging her expression as it shifts from deepening pleasure to wild need to exquisite torture.

  “Fuck, kitten. You’re going to look so good riding my cock.”

  She nods slowly as if she’s in a haze. Grabbing her wrists, I move them behind her back and grasp them tighter. She breathes harder, letting me know she likes it when I take control.

  “Yeah, just like that, kitten. Keep doing that. Keep rubbing against my dick. Get yourself off.”

  “I don’t think . . .”

  “You don’t think what?”

  Her lips part. Her lids are heavy. “I don’t think there are kisses like this in the contest.”

  “Fuck t
he contest. Fuck me instead.”

  She opens her eyes, and I’ve never seen a woman more on the brink. “We said . . . we wouldn’t . . . do this.”

  “Do it once. I won’t tell you broke the ‘no foreplay’ rule. Ride me till you come hard.”

  She sinks against my hard-on again, grinding herself on me, rubbing harder.

  Then she squeezes her eyes shut and pauses mid-grind. She counts to three aloud and snaps open her eyes.

  She’s a different woman now. Cool, calm, in control. How the hell does she do that? She’s like the clap-on-clap-off device.

  “Can we rewind? Go back to the chicken and broccoli?” she asks, calm as a yogi.

  “Seriously?”

  “This is too dangerous when we’re living under the same roof.”

  I groan, releasing her wrists. My head drops, falling to her chest.

  Oops.

  Bad idea.

  I’m in her tits.

  Wait. Nope. Good idea, great idea, best idea ever. I’ll just curl up and spend the night in the valley between these two perfect globes. Except there’s something I want to know. “How did you go from nearly riding me to kingdom come to wanting broccoli?”

  She pats my head, threading her fingers through my hair. “I’m a hard-working woman, and I’m hungry.”

  I raise my face. “You can work hard on my dick.”

  She laughs. “Where’s that restraint, McBride? Where’s that whole let’s-follow-the-ground-rules attitude?”

  I cup her cheeks hard, loving the way her eyes fill with flames in an instant. “That was your idea, kitten.”

  “You went along with it. We agreed.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Plus, to answer your question, I have excellent restraint.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  She smiles proudly. “I do. It’s impressive, my resistance.”

  “What a cocky babe you are.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  I laugh then groan in frustration. Because my brain and my heart know she’s right. I can’t let the overwhelming lust I feel for this woman carry me away. I’m living with her. I desperately need a place to stay. And fucking would absolutely fuck it up.