by Marie Jermy
Well, there was one man…
She’d known Ross all her life. While they hadn’t lived in the same state during the first nineteen years of her twenty-six-year existence on planet earth, he in Montana, she in New York, they’d spent every school holiday together. Memories of balmy summers and icy Christmases spent with her younger brother, Daniel, Ross, his brother, Matt, and his twin sisters, Ramona and Samantha, came to mind.
Oh, happy memories. However, as usual, one memory burned brighter than the rest—Ross coming to her aid when she’d tripped over and scraped her knee trying to escape from Mark Raven, Matt’s obnoxious best friend, who’d pulled her pigtails. The tenderness in Ross’s eyes as he’d wiped the blood away with his bandana belied the fact he’d only been twelve years old at the time.
She had to confess that memory had dominated her thoughts recently, particularly the last two weeks. Probably because Ross had given her that same tender look many times. The same with his sexy grin. And with his tactile touch that gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The even warmer feeling in her chest she’d put down to indigestion.
“Jessica?”
Her name registered on a level that her father might be repeating it. She shook her head. “Sorry, Dad. What was that?”
“You may want to remain tight-lipped about that smartphone, but how about telling me how Ross came to save your—” He stopped, almost saying “ass,” but catching the disapproving look in his wife’s eyes, said instead, “buns.”
Jessica placed her glass on the kitchen counter and absently ran a finger around the rim. “Earlier, at a bar, the guy who we’d been investigating shot at us. We returned fire, and he met his maker.”
“Where did your shots hit?”
“The kneecaps. Ross got him in the head.”
“Where was this man’s gun?”
“In his hand, Dad. Why?” Jessica asked, slightly exasperated.
“Because Ross saved your life. You should be thanking him, not cursing him.”
Jessica huffed. “Thanking him! Ross is a moron. He wasted two weeks’ work—”
“Ross is no moron!” her father snapped, his fuse-box temper igniting the gold flecks within his blue eyes. “He saved your life. That man had a gun in his hand, and as long as he was breathing air, he would’ve taken you out without a moment’s thought. How many times have I told you, if you’re gonna shoot someone, then always aim to take them out before they take you out. You don’t get second chances. And Ross knows that. He’s not called Ace for nothing.”
Jessica bit her bottom lip, her own fuse-box temper abating. Her father was right. Dubbed as the “Ace” by everybody who knew him, Ross was one hell of a detective. Dedicated. Meticulous. Tough, yet compassionate, even to those he arrested. And certainly no moron.
But then, she’d always known that.
She definitely owed Ross an apology. Expressing gratitude for saving her life, or as he’d worded it—saving her mighty fine ass—was also in order. She’d asked for his help in the first place. He’d told her he was busy, up to his eyes in his own cases, yet he’d found the time to help her. Because he was her friend. Roles reversed, she’d do the same without hesitation. Because she was his friend.
“Why don’t you call Ross and invite him to join us? Dinner won’t be ready for another half hour.”
Jessica grimaced at her mother’s suggestion. Saying sorry to Ross was one thing, doing it in front of an audience, even if it was her parents, was quite another. Ross was very fond of her parents, and they him, and she felt certain that at some point either before, during, or after dinner, something would crop up in their usual lighthearted discussions of life, love, and money that revolved around matters that, one, she’d rather not talk about, and two, Ross was better off not knowing about. The past should always stay buried.
“He doesn’t like Spanish food.” Jessica winced. Since she had a vague recollection Ross’s last birthday party, organized by his fellow detectives and to which she’d been invited, had been at a Spanish restaurant, that had to have been the lamest excuse, ever. “Besides, he’s probably busy packing. He’s going home tomorrow for a few days. No, I’ll go after dinner. Take him a bottle of his favorite poison.”
“Cyanide?” her father asked jokingly.
“Jack Daniel’s.”
He grimaced. “Same thing. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Daniel, have you?” he asked, changing the subject. “He left some garbled message on our answering machine yesterday. The only words I caught were earthquake, buildings, and collapse. You know it freaks me out to hear those words in the same sentence. It’s bad enough that he lives in Simi Valley. He should move back home where it’s quake-free.”
This time, Jessica’s smile was easy and filled with warm humor. Daniel was a geologist but had an interest in seismology, something their father had tried to shake from him ever since they were children and had experienced an earthquake while visiting friends in Los Angeles. Like her father, she hadn’t been impressed, scared witless actually, but Daniel had thought it a blast. “Dad, pop a pill. Danny’s fine. He called me yesterday, too. He just got caught up in a minor quake in Manila, where he was spending time with Darcy and some other geo-friends. I think he said it was a six-pointer—”
“A six-pointer is not minor!”
“Chill pill,” she reminded her father. “He’s gonna stay for a while, helping SAR and the aid effort, then he’s going to Yellowstone for some study on Old Faithful.”
“Well, that’s a relief. At least he’ll be safe in Yellowstone.”
Jessica winked slyly at her mother. “Actually, I’ve read somewhere that Yellowstone is the location of a super volcano. If that erupts, it’ll make Pompeii and Mount Vesuvius look like a party popper with no pop. Also, Danny told me there’s a very real possibility of New York being hit by a massive quake in the future.” The horrified expression on her father’s face was priceless.
“That’s it! We’ve moving to England!” Ray announced, turning to Scarlett. “You’ve always said you wanted to live in London again someday.”
“Oh, Danny said London, too.” Jessica added with another wink.
“Just peachy,” Ray muttered. He then threw his hands up in the air in mock dejection. “Where did I go wrong with our kids? Maybe I should’ve taken my old friend Ross’s advice and put whiskey in their formula when they were babies, like he did with his. Probably why the Anderson men like their whiskey…” He clicked his fingers as a thought occurred to him. “Oh, no, Ace was breastfed. Oh, well, explains the fascination he has with tits. Bazookas or cupcakes, Ross will suck on anything put in his direction.”
“Ray Ferris! Go wash your mouth out!”
Jessica broke into laughter when her mother dragged her father from the kitchen, no doubt to go to the bathroom for the proverbial bar of soap. With a fifteen-year age gap—her mother being the younger—and with personalities and manners like oil and water, her parents were the complete opposite of one another. Yet, they’d notched up twenty-six years of marriage. Must be true love, she surmised, wondering if she’d be as lucky.
She had to find a man first. Which led her back to Ross.
Actually, red-hot sex on legs didn’t even begin to describe how handsome Ross was. She’d always thought his thick, blue-black, collar-length hair was a throwback to the Stone Age, yet it suited him. There was a slight kink to the bridge of his otherwise straight nose from when he’d broken it some years ago. Though he’d never said how he came to break it and she’d never asked, she’d gotten the impression he’d either been doing something highly embarrassing or highly illegal at the time. His jawline was strong and square, and whenever he sported a five o’clock shadow, it gave him a dangerous edge. An edge that would instantly soften with the slight upward curl of his mouth and a glimpse of white, even teeth.
And what a body. Broad shouldered, an even broader chest, and a tantalizing triangle of crisp, black hair on display from the open-necked
shirts he wore whilst off duty. She’d never seen Ross bare chested—well, not as a fully grown man anyway—so she could only imagine if his chest hair tapered down to his stomach and beyond. He favored jeans, and they always sat snug on his ass and down his long and powerful legs. He smelled good, too. A heady concoction of man spiked with apple, sandalwood, and musk.
Jessica sighed as she drained her glass. There was no denying it. She was attracted to Ross. Even had the sneaky suspicion the feeling was mutual. All those tender looks, sexy smiles, and barely there caresses had to be more than just friendly, platonic gestures. However, since one of her handfuls of relationships had been with a fellow reporter, and because it had been a disaster, she’d come to conclude that mixing business with pleasure wasn’t always going to be a good thing. Hence, the reason why she’d never asked Ross to share her bed.
But now, because of that kiss, she’d decided the boundaries of their friendship had shifted. Surely it was strong enough to withstand some action? Between-the-sheets action, that is. As a good friend, Ross was the best, but as a lover, he would be better than the best. So if he expected her to get down on her knees in front of him when she apologized, she’d be crazy not to take the opportunity to see if he did have a cock as big as his ego.
* * * *
Leaning up against a wall—the remains of a school—he pulled the baseball cap down to shield his face and watched the group of dusty and tired, yet determined, rescue workers as they dug, some with shovels, others with bare hands, at the layers of dirt, bricks, and other debris in order to get to the children trapped beneath. If it weren’t for the tall, blond-haired, tanned, and shirtless man in the middle of those workers, he would have gone over himself to help.
A cheer went up as the tanned man reached down and plucked a small, dark-haired, bloodied, and tear-stained girl from the hole they’d excavated. Another head popped up, this time a boy, and he, too, was picked up and carried in the man’s muscular arms to a nearby medical unit.
Ten children had been buried. Ten were pulled out, all alive, and considering what they’d just experienced, all seemed to have borne up reasonably well. Probably due to the jokes the tanned man and his coworker, a rather beautiful black woman with a gap between her two front teeth, told the children as they were being examined.
His cell phone vibrated in his shorts pocket. New York was calling. “What’s up?”
“Good news and bad. Harknett’s dead. Detective Anderson blew a hole in his head.”
His lips arched slightly. “What part of that was the bad news?”
“I’m coming to that. Harknett had unfinished business.”
The half smile vanished. “Damn! On a scale of one to ten, what are the chances?”
“With Harknett? A guaranteed ten.”
“Double damn! Jessica?”
“Yeah, she’s okay. But I think she took Harknett’s phone. It’s not on his body. You do know he’s got every member of the Federation listed on it? Yours included.”
“Triple damn! And who said Jessica wasn’t gonna be a problem? Oh, yeah. Me.” He swatted at an annoying fly buzzing in front of his face. “Where are you now?”
“Still at the crime scene. But once I’ve finished, do you want me to watch over Jessica?”
“No, don’t wait. Do it now. And try and get that phone from her. If you can’t, then warn her. But be subtle.”
“Will do.” There was a pause, then he said, “I’m worried about Harknett. I don’t think he compiled that list for the purpose of sending out Christmas cards. He’s up to something, and it’s nothing to do with narcotics.”
“What does Charlie say on the subject?” he asked, barely able to contain his contempt.
“Don’t know. I can’t get hold of him. His phone’s constantly engaged.”
“Then after you’ve made sure Jessica’s safe, go and pay him a visit. I’ve got a feeling that pompous prick is about to do something real dumb.” That annoying fly was back. Lightning reflexes that hadn’t diminished with time enabled him to catch it, before squishing the bug between his thumb and forefinger. “Oh, and one more thing. I’d like to say I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Anderson, but you know I can’t. He’ll be an asset. Get him to join us.”
“What? You can’t be serious—”
He disconnected the call and once again turned his attention to the tall, blond-haired, tanned, and shirtless man. “About as serious as a bullet to the back.”
Chapter 2
With a weary sigh, Ross lumped down on the sofa, crossed his hands behind his head and rested his feet on the arm. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget about what had happened in the bar earlier that evening. Particularly the kissing Jessica Ferris part, a kiss that had only occurred because they’d stuck out like a solitary penguin on an iceberg thanks to all the other couples having their tongues shoved down each other’s throats.
For as long as he could remember, he had wanted to kiss Jessica, but even he couldn’t have envisaged how responsive she would be. Hell, no, she had been more than responsive. She had practically melted into him. He swore he could still feel the imprint of her hard nipples on his chest and her soft, eager tongue tangled around his.
Possessed with waist-length, glossy, dark-brown hair, deep, cobalt eyes with amber flecks, a pert nose, a wide, generous mouth, and a body that could give a man a permanent hard-on, Jessica was a very beautiful woman. She was also, with the exception of his mother, the most hot-tempered woman he knew.
And tonight, probably because he’d been the only one within firing range, she’d directed her temper at him. If he didn’t know the warm, funny, passionate, and vulnerable Jessica beneath the tough exterior she so often displayed, he would have been more pissed off than he had been.
He’d been in love with her for as long as he could remember, too.
Since joining the NYPD some seven years previously, he’d had a couple of serious relationships, but Jessica had always been the only woman for him. He even acknowledged he had been arrogant and selfish for honing his bedroom skills on the women he’d dated in the hope of spending one night pleasuring Jessica until she couldn’t deny he was the man for her. However, she had never once shown any indication she was interested in him.
Until now.
Ross again sighed and closed his eyes. Visions of a naked and very responsive Jessica made him open them again. He looked down and groaned. Hell, he hadn’t even seen her naked, yet due to his overactive imagination he had a hard-on.
“Great. What will it be tonight, pal? Cold shower or hand job?”
A knock on the front door was his answer. Getting to his feet and readjusting his jeans so it didn’t look as though he were flying the Stars and Stripes, he went to the door and looked through the peephole. His cock immediately sprang back to its original position. Standing on his doorstep was Jessica. He was just toying with the idea of completely ignoring her when she again knocked.
“Ross, I know you’re in. Your lights are on.”
The waving of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in front of the peephole made him open the door. Not enough for her to see his flagpole-sized hard-on, though.
“Peace offering? Oh, c’mon, Ross, I’m trying to apologize here,” she said when the door remained a crack-width’s open. A frown then wrinkled her neatly plucked brows. “Oh, have you got company?”
“No, of course not. Come in.” He practically merged with the door as he opened it wider and she waltzed past him.
“You got any Coke?”
“Of course.”
“Ice?”
“Ditto.” Sadly enough, not enough for me to fill a bucket and stick my cock in.
Ross paced back into the living room and was sitting on the sofa, a scatter cushion resting on his lap, when Jessica emerged from the kitchen and handed him a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. He watched her sit in the armchair opposite, folding her denim-clad legs—jeans that must have been sprayed on they were that tight—beneath her.
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“I’m truly sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to shove you like I did. You’re definitely not a moron. And thank you for saving my mighty fine ass.”
“My pleasure, Jess.” He shifted slightly, easing the cock/zipper battle, and switched his attention from the lacy bra showing through her flimsy, white shirt to the shelves of CDs dominating one wall.
“Do you know, apart from your mother, you’re the only person who calls me Jess?”
“Am I?”
“You’re still pissed with me, aren’t you?”
“Whatever makes you say that?”
“Because you find your CD collection more interesting than me.”
Ross turned back to Jessica and looked her straight in the eye. “Don’t be silly. Given the choice of my vast collection of ‘80s and ‘90s music or your beautiful face, your face wins hands down.” He hurriedly took a large swallow of whiskey to stop himself from saying that her beautiful body won hands down, as well. He didn’t want to push his luck. There was always the chance he’d imagined Jessica’s response to his kiss.
He hadn’t waited this long to fuck it up now.
A soft sigh drew Ross back from his thoughts to Jessica. She was staring at him, specifically the cushion in his lap. A flush then tinged her cheeks pink. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was turned on. As turned on as him, particularly if the way his cock was lifting the cushion upward was anything to go by.
Jessica again sighed softly. “What’s up?” Ross inwardly groaned at his choice of words. His cock was up, that’s what. She didn’t answer. Instead she stood and crossed the room to sit beside him. Her breast brushed his arm, and he couldn’t help but stare at the two pointy peaks pushing the flimsy material of her shirt outward.
Many nights, he’d dreamed about what her breasts looked like. The erotic images he’d conjured had made him hard and desperate to see them in the flesh. He wanted to hold them, put his mouth on them and make her moan in delight. The glass he was holding was then lifted from his hand.