An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Power of Love
ISBN 9781419920851
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Power of Love Copyright © 2009 Barbara Elsborg
Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower
Photography and cover art by Les Byerley
Electronic book Publication May 2009
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Power of Love
Barbara Elsborg
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft Corporation
Harrods: Harrods Limited, London
Marks and Spencer: Marks and Spencer plc
Marmite: Marmite Food Extract Co., Limited
ParcelForce: Consignia plc
YouTube: Google Inc.
Playboy: Playboy Enterprises International, Inc.
Chapter One
Poppy lay awake but didn’t open her eyes. She kept her breathing steady hoping it would fool Joe. She might not be able to see him, but she could feel him watching her. A few more peaceful moments remembering the Joe she loved and not this Joe who hated her, and she’d haul her ass out of bed.
“I know you’re awake,” Joe said. “Eighty-eight minutes until you’re due in at work. Better get a move on.”
Poppy had learned it was better to open her eyes straightaway, otherwise he went on and on. Joe stood stark naked, leaning against her chest of drawers. His six-four, strong, muscular body with its loose-limbed grace always made her mouth water. Straight, dark hair flopped over his forehead to tickle his lashes. Joe’s deep blue eyes looked like black diamonds at times, especially when he was emotional, and his mouth—well, when he smiled he lit up her world.
Only now he never smiled.
“Isn’t it time you got up?” he said. “You’re going to be late.”
Maybe if she didn’t talk to him, he’d leave her alone. Poppy allowed herself the hope, but knew it wouldn’t happen and also knew that deep down, she didn’t want him to go. Poppy swung her legs out of bed, stood and stretched her arms above her head for a moment before padding out of the bedroom into the bathroom. While she cleaned her teeth, she turned on the shower to let it warm up and collected the dirty washing that hadn’t made it into the basket.
“You bought that soap with bits in it I don’t like,” Joe said from the door.
Poppy spat into the basin. “Sorry.”
“I need a new toothbrush. Look at the state of mine.”
She picked up his purple toothbrush with its squashed bristles, held it over the waste basket and then returned it to the place next to her blue one. “I’ll buy you another.”
Poppy stepped under the water, turned the dial from April shower to thunderstorm, and Joe slid in behind her. Nice or nasty Joe? She ignored the scratchy oatmeal soap and squeezed a dollop of blue gel onto her hand from the bottle hanging over the rail. Rubbing her palms together to work up lather, she soaped her shoulders before sliding her hands to her breasts. Joe’s hands moved over hers. Poppy sighed and closed her eyes as his fingers trailed down her ribs and her thighs.
She let him begin his magic touch at her toes, taking one at a time, soaping, rubbing, rinsing. Joe’s strong hands slid up her calves and Poppy felt a frisson of anticipation between her legs. He worked a few inches at a time, one moment a penetrating massage with his thumbs, the next a fingertip caress that had her jumping. By the time Joe reached her backside, Poppy had to lean against the tiles to keep upright. His hands cradled her hips and he pressed his mouth between her legs, sweeping his tongue over her folds before he flicked the hard nub of her clit. A single stroke and a gush of cream flooded her pussy. Poppy gasped and slid her fingers down to join his mouth. She missed this Joe, missed the way he could turn her on like a light.
Poppy arched back against the tiles. She came quickly, the orgasm wringing a keening cry from her lungs. As the ecstasy faded and the tremors subsided, Poppy wilted, her head hanging low in sadness, her knees shaking. She needed Joe to hold her and knew he wouldn’t. Almost as though he couldn’t bear to touch her anymore, he walked away. Poppy cried then, her grief disguised by the deluge of water. The shower was the only place she allowed tears to fall.
By the time Poppy had dressed in her blue skirt and cotton-candy-pink blouse, Joe was dressed too and sat in the kitchen waiting for breakfast. He wore her favorite khaki chinos and a white linen shirt, his long legs sticking out across the tiled floor. For once, Poppy managed not to trip on them.
“I wish you hadn’t cut your hair. I liked it long,” he said.
Poppy ran her fingers through her short, wet hair. “Sorry.” Sometimes she felt it was the only word she ever said. Yet she could never say it often enough.
Joe leaned back in his chair. “I don’t like that skirt either. It’s too short.”
Poppy looked down. The flared, pale blue linen reached her knees. She glanced at Joe and he winked. Her heart swelled at the unexpected show of affection. She smiled, flicked on the kettle, took two slices of bread from the packet and stuck them in the toaster.
“Marmite or marmalade?” she said, daring to hope this might be a normal breakfast.
“I’m amazed you can eat after what happened.”
A butcher’s cleaver landed on Poppy’s heart and began to chop. Deep, even slices, over and over. She took a carton from the fridge and poured orange juice. As she lifted the glass to her mouth, the toast popped up and she jumped, splashing her hand.
Joe sighed. “You have to be the clumsiest person ever.”
A tear formed in the corner of her eye and she turned to blink it away before he saw. Poppy never let Joe see her cry.
“What are you up to today?” he asked. “Fucking up any more operations people have spent months working on?”
Poppy flinched. “It was an accident.”
Joe sneered. “Still clinging to that? You know damn well it was your fault. If you hadn’t gone barreling in, everything would have been fine.”
Poppy chewed a corner of her overdone toast. It was her fault. It was an accident, but it was her fault. How had she been supposed to know an undercover operation was ongoing in that particular warehouse? Nobody knew. That was the whole bloody point. It was just bad timing.
“I’m really sorry,” she whispered.
“If you’re that sorry, find a way to put things right,” Joe said and walked out of the room.
Poppy dropped the toast back on her plate. There was
no way to make things right. Her life was a wreck.
Joe waited by the front door, tapping his watch, reminding her she had to hurry.
“DLR,” Joe said. “You have ten minutes. Run.”
The Docklands Light Railway was always packed this time in the morning, but the quickest way to get to work. Poppy hurried down Trafalgar Road with Joe at her side. A young woman walking a panting dog ignored her as she rushed past. Joe had always turned heads. Who wouldn’t want to take another look at his come-to-bed eyes and his long, muscular body? His craggy face always made her heart leap and her stomach clench with desire. As Poppy reached to tuck in his linen shirt, she felt a surge of love.
“Ever thought of killing yourself?” Joe asked.
She tripped, went over on her ankle and yelped. “No.” Poppy had to wait for a moment before she carried on walking.
“Why not?” he asked.
Killing herself would be too easy. This way she suffered more, living with the knowledge that she’d lost the love of the man who meant the world to her.
“Ever considered telling the truth?” Joe asked.
Poppy’s heart rate climbed like a rocket. Please go away. She’d told the truth. She didn’t understand what he meant.
“It might make you feel better.”
She didn’t miss the sarcasm. Poppy sighed. She had to think of something else. Buying dinner from Marks and Spencer. Eating when she didn’t want to. She pressed her Oyster card on the reader at Cutty Sark Station, and walked through to the platform.
“Well?” Joe asked.
Poppy tightened her mouth. Mental pleading for him to leave her alone had never worked. “I have told the truth,” she muttered.
“No, you told them what you think is the truth, but it isn’t. It all went pear shaped because you cocked up. It was bad enough you came knocking on the door when something was going down, but you could have stayed out of it. You’re incapable of doing what you’re told. If you’d stayed where you were, where you were supposed to stay, where I’d told you to stay—handcuffed to that pipe, everything would have worked out fine.”
“How could you know that?” she whispered.
“You were wrong, Poppy. You didn’t think things through.”
“You have to leave me alone,” she blurted and immediately wanted the words back. The woman sitting opposite shot her a “why did I sit near a crazy person?” look over the top of her Metro newspaper. Poppy turned away. All around her, commuters had mobile phones clamped to their heads, or talked into midair, hands-free sets in their ears. Loud voices told invisible people they were late, going to be late, wouldn’t be late. No one spoke to the person next to them. Poppy didn’t want to speak to the person sitting next to her. It only made matters worse.
Joe was quiet until the train pulled in at Mudchute. The name had always made them laugh. Poppy hoped Joe would go through his—where are the naked women on the muddy slide?—speech. He didn’t.
“I thought you loved me,” he said in a whisper.
Poppy fought not to sob out loud. She kept her voice low. “I do love you, but I can’t take this anymore.”
“You? What the fuck do you matter? I’m the one who suffered, not you. You sit there feeling sorry for yourself, what about me? This is about me, not you. It’s like you don’t want to accept what happened.”
Poppy’s fingers twisted together, creasing her skirt, anxiety consuming her like a forest fire, driving her toward complete combustion. “Please, stop it,” she begged.
The woman opposite stood up and moved further down the carriage.
Joe remained silent for the rest of the journey but he watched her, never took his gaze away from her. Poppy got off at Heron Quays and changed for the train to Stratford, changed again for Hackney Central. She ran the last hundred yards. Even before she’d grabbed her uniform from the locker and changed, Poppy was late.
She burst through the doors of the squad room and slammed to a halt.
“Afternoon, PC Field.”
Poppy flinched when she heard the voice of her boss, Inspector Jeff Garside. He stood next to Poppy’s workstation talking to her partner, Graham, who gazed at Jeff adoringly, like a dog waiting for a bone. Balding Graham, who put on weight so steadily, the squad were taking bets on when the baby would pop out, had ass-licking down to a fine art. Graham could do no wrong while Poppy seemed unable to do anything right. She gave up hope of pretending she’d been in for ages and tried to think of a realistic excuse for being late. Poppy put her hat on the desk and smoothed down her uniform—black trousers and white blouse with black epaulettes.
“Sorry I’m late, sir.”
“And what was it this time, Poppy?” Jeff asked. “Another dinosaur fall off a lorry? You had to take a roundabout route to shake off someone who was following you? Find another shark’s head?”
Poppy squirmed. The dinosaur had been a massive metal sculpture on its way to a museum, and had landed right in front of her bus. The person she’d thought had been following her had really spooked her, only he turned out to be from Lithuania, didn’t speak English and wanted to know the way to Buckingham Palace. The shark’s head—well, with the threat of terrorist attacks hanging over the city, they were supposed to check all suspicious parcels and when Poppy had seen the leaking, black plastic bag, she’d felt obliged to open it. What a shark’s head had been doing outside a chemist’s shop remained a mystery to this day and was still the subject of much merriment among the squad. So taking everything into consideration, Poppy thought the excuses were entirely reasonable.
“I—”
Jeff didn’t wait for her to speak. “I want you to see Doctor Martell again this afternoon. Two thirty. Scotland Yard. No arguments.”
Poppy’s heart plummeted to her knees. “Yes, sir.”
Jeff started to leave and then turned back. “And no more incidents, Poppy. I’m fed up with the paperwork.”
Graham waited until their boss was out of earshot before he started. “Take you longer than usual to get the nipple clamps off this morning?” He roared with laughter.
Poppy shuddered. Graham was lucky she hadn’t made an official complaint of sexual harassment. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she knew it would cause her as much grief as him, Poppy would have reported him. She guessed the other female police constables felt the same way. Graham operated under the mistaken conviction that everyone thought he was funny. The fact that no one wanted to be his partner had passed over his radar. Poppy was just grateful he still wanted to work with her.
Graham handed her a stab vest and grinned. “Better put it on now. You might trip up on the way out.”
Poppy parked the blue-and-yellow-checked car a little way down the road from Wally Haseem’s terraced house in Hackney. Graham had spent the entire journey going through the questions they needed to ask and made Poppy repeat them back to him. He tried to pretend he was helping her while the truth was he had a terrible memory and needed to make sure there was nothing he’d forgotten.
She tried to be a good partner because Graham was vindictive enough to mess up her promotion chances. Poppy only had to get through another six months as a uniformed constable and she could apply to be a detective. Although after the disastrous warehouse incident six months ago, Poppy knew her chances of promotion were slim. The fact that Jeff had ordered her back to see the shrink said everything. He didn’t think she was doing her job properly.
“Number twelve,” Graham said as they walked down the road.
Poppy pulled at the collar of her black protective vest. Its shape left her neck, arms and lower stomach vulnerable, as well as her face and legs. She didn’t like wearing a stab vest when they were on a routine enquiry. She felt it was making a comment about the person she was talking to, as if she expected him to attack her.
Graham grinned. “Don’t even think about taking it off. You know what the boss said.”
“We’re only asking this guy about a burned out car.”
“But he might get cross and shoot you.”
Idiot Graham laughed loudly. At least someone found him funny.
Graham radioed in their position as they walked up the path toward the double-fronted terraced house. Joe stood by the door. Poppy ignored him and rang the bell. The immediate response was a woman’s scream coming from somewhere inside. Graham and Poppy exchanged worried glances and she banged on the door.
“Police. Open up,” she shouted.
The sounds of a scuffle were quite clear and within that, the noise of a woman crying and a man shouting.
Graham radioed in, while Poppy kept ringing the bell. The screams grew louder.
“You take the left,” Graham ordered and with one hard thrust from his steel-toe-capped boot, he kicked open the door.
“Don’t fuck this one up,” Joe said at her shoulder.
There was no one in the room on the left, but when Poppy turned she saw Graham standing motionless at her back looking into the room opposite.
“Put the knife down, mate,” Graham said, his voice calm and measured which told Poppy he was feeling anything but.
She moved to his side in a slow, nonthreatening manner. Joe strolled straight into the room. A wide-eyed young Asian man held a shiny-bladed knife at the neck of a terrified, pregnant woman.
“Keep back,” he screamed.
“Wally?” Graham asked.
The man grunted. Poppy thought that was a yes.
“Is this your wife?” she asked.
“She’s a fucking whore,” Wally shouted.
Poppy flinched as the knife touched the woman’s neck. A red bead blossomed and slid over the blade. Blood already trickled from her nose and she sobbed in noisy hiccups.
“Wally, let her go before this gets any worse,” Poppy said.
“What the fuck are you two doing here? Who called you? Did she call you?” The man’s attention flashed between Graham and Poppy.
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