by Lea Bronsen
Despite her trying to cover it, he saw the flinch. He waited for several silent seconds, trying to beat back a burst of annoyance. He didn’t understand what was up with her. Why she seemed to have changed despite him not answering her.
Wait… The answer hit him like a two-by-four over the head. He still hadn’t told her he agreed to her proposition, had he? “You’d be a hell of a lot more, Joey. You already are.” He gave a soft tug on the strand, then released her and turned back to the window, needing to break the too-intimate moment, to stop teasing himself. Another part of him really wanted to know, though. “It’s all a moot point, anyway.”
Several agonizing minutes passed in silence, the stop and go of the car, the stifling heat the driver had set, and the forewarning of how this night would end. His stomach turned sour. He cracked a window and tilted his head toward the cool rush of air. It washed over his damp skin with a refreshing wave.
“Why not?” She lay her hand above his knee. That small contact shot up his leg like a bullet slamming into its target. His cock swelled, although he fought going fully erect. He grabbed her wrist and yanked it off.
Johanna’s eyes widened. Shit. What the hell was happening to him? That damn dress. That had to be it. Could he go through with this tonight?
To cover the violence of his reaction, he turned her wrist up and pressed a soft kiss below where he held. The sweet smell was stronger there, her pulse a steady beat under vulnerable skin. It’d be so easy to mark her, to stain her skin with the touch of leather…
Her breath hitched. Even if he’d been in a rock concert at Barclay Center, he wouldn’t have missed it.
“Because I don’t want to lose your friendship,” he said. “You mean a lot to me.”
She flinched—again.
“Goddamnit, stop doing that,” he said, annoyance making the words come out sharper than intended.
“Doing what?” she asked and pulled on her wrist.
He tightened his grip. “Flinching or being shocked at something I say or do. That isn’t us and it’s beginning to piss me off.” How much worse would her reaction be later? When she learned the sordid, awful truth of what being with him entailed.
“Well, maybe that’s the problem,” she said through a hiss.
The car pulled to a stop in front of the nondescript club, but he couldn’t get out until they got this clear. “What are you talking about?”
“Maybe I have no idea if we’re friends or not anymore.” Her arm shook beneath his hold, but he still refused to let go. With flushed cheeks, a heaving chest, and fire behind her gaze, her anger licked in the air and pushed against him. She’s beautiful.
“What the hell does that mean? Of course we’re friends.”
A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows and she frowned. “Really? Why is it you barely come over anymore? And when you do it’s just for a quick dinner.”
He reared back, taken off center by her accusation. Where in the hell had this come from? “What?”
“And you never hug me anymore,” Johanna continued. Despite his anger, happiness flooded his system. She hadn’t been shying from his touch. Her ire, though, this complete change in her, took him off guard. The door at her back opened.
“Give us a minute,” he barked to the driver. A second later, they were back in their cocoon of muted city sounds. He tried to get his thoughts in order. Wanted to respond without biting her head off. And he really wished she’d stop trying to pull out of his hold.
“Stop that,” he ordered and tightened his grip around her fragile wrist. She was so damn small, not in the sense of her size. Of that, she was a healthy, curvaceous woman who had a running schedule she stuck to every morning. Compared to him, she had a small stature. At six foot four, two hundred and thirty pounds, and used to working and speaking with his hands, he wasn’t one made for soft touches or gentleness.
“One…I love hanging with you,” he said and yanked her toward him when she tried to pull away. Not a gentle move, as again, he wasn’t that type of man. She tumbled into his arms with a gasp. He wrapped one around her waist, and threaded his fingers into her lush, thick hair, tilting her back to meet his gaze. “And two,” he said, his voice a lethal blade, “I have no clue where the rest of that bullshit is coming from. What’s going on with you?”
She flinched again and his control snapped. He leaned down and bit her sharply on her plump lower lip. She sucked in a breath, but he held her between his teeth and kept his eyes on her widened ones. A low growl rumbled from his chest, and the sound was apt. She made him act like, feel like an animal. A feral one half the damn time.
Within his arms, her body was stiff, as if she’d frozen solid. He hated this fear, this uncertainty she not only stated with her posture, but also in her words. How could they have gone so far off track with their friendship?
Needing to deal with one thing at a time, he focused on Johanna in his arms. Lush breasts pressed against his chest. For a moment, he wanted to growl again, his suit jacket and dress shirt an annoying barrier. But he held in the sound and tightened his grip on her hair. Her accelerated breath skipped out of her mouth and washed across his face in a soft tease. Very much the sound he’d come to associate with a woman just before she went over the sweet ledge of pleasure.
This time, he didn’t fight anything happening between his legs. There was a point he’d make here in less than thirty seconds. Then, hopefully, they’d move on and get back on track.
Closing his lips around her plump lip, he held her gaze. She was a little blurry being so close, but he had a feeling even with his eyes closed, he’d still be aware of every reaction she gave. Their intimacy wouldn’t be lessened. He scrapped his teeth over her lip, then sucked it into his mouth.
She whimpered and rich iron coated his tongue. Peach lip gloss. So, obviously, the smell was a favorite to her, too. He’d have to remember that when he missed her.
Just one more taste… He took what he wanted. He always did—except when it came to Johanna King.
Brushing his lips across hers, once, twice…okay, he’d give it three times, he pulled back and took his arm from her waist.
There was nothing to do but wait for what came next. The inconsistencies in the past few months, along with the teasing touches, had pushed him too far. He needed to be clear on his intentions, and it would all come out anyway, so it was time to get started. For her to think he didn’t want to be around her, that he shied from her touch, wasn’t acceptable. Nor had any of her reactions to him been right tonight.
He took her hand, his thumb pressed to the center of her palm, and guided her to his straining erection. Her touch had an erotic hiss escaping him, but he wrapped her around him firmly, then pressed his hips up so she stroked him once. A shudder tickled down his spine.
“So let’s clear a few things up,” he said, but didn’t release her hair, or her hand around his cock. “The next time you question our friendship, there’s going to be consequences. You may be the big bad ass at night, but between you and I, it’s just Brady McBride and Johanna King, two friends who actually talk to each other rather than you trying to railroad your way over what we have.”
He gave her a few moments to let his words sink in. “Unzip me,” he demanded and pulled her closer.
“Wh-what?”
Her lips were right there, blood pooling in at the plushiest part. A damn tempting sight. To take her, say fuck it to the entire night, would be so easy. But he’d held himself back this long, what was a bit longer? He wanted to draw this out, make the anticipation last for as long as he could. Have some fun with her. She’d end up hating him for being unable to give her anything more than an orgasm. A relationship between a psychopath and an angel of justice was like having the sun shine at night…it’d never happen.
Instead, he had to deal with this strife between them to move them along. He couldn’t have her dancing around his touch all night. Not if he was to do this right. “Unzip me. Take your hand off my cock and unz
ip me.”
She removed her hand, but didn’t do anything else. He let out a heavy, annoyed breath. “You forgot something.”
Wide eyes on his. “Brady, I don’t think—”
“So help me, if you don’t unzip me right now I will not be responsible for my actions.”
Her eyes watered, but whatever kind of tears they were didn’t fall. Johanna had a tendency to cry when she was angry, something that pissed her off more. He thought it was pretty comical. But he couldn’t tell what kind these were.
She reached down with a flickered glance and unzipped him. He was a bastard, would hate once she realized that, too, but there was nothing to do for this. He was at his wit's end. Plus, he was a selfish son of a bitch, and he wanted her touch, it’d be the highlight of his miserable life.
He set his mouth next to her ear, but instead of speaking, he drew in a deep breath. Her hair always smelled the same, a fragrance of some sort that included cleanliness, and a soft, sweet musk that reminded him of tumbled pillows after sex. She never told him what kind of shampoo it was, nor did he ask, but he’d get close at any opportunity to take it into his lungs again. A fragrance that could intoxicate, make him drunk on the smell until he became an alcoholic just for another whiff.
“Touch me,” he whispered in her ear. “Take me in your hand again.”
“Brady, please,” she said with a hint of vulnerability. Her skin barely moved against his mouth, and the slight touch did its trick again—caused his cock to swell further. This was too intimate, his mind screamed. But fuck, he couldn’t turn away.
The vulnerability in her voice was a bit of a slap. Yeah, he wasn’t just a bastard. He was an asshole. “Do it.”
Her hand pushed inside the opening of his pants and brushed against the length of his erection. Damn, he wanted her to free him from the confines of his pants, was tempted so much, he didn’t protest when she did. Cooler air, but still warmer than outside the vehicle, wrapped around his length before her hand encircled him.
“Stroke me,” he rasped out. She did. Damn her, but she did. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he sighed as pleasure lit in a million sparks beneath every inch of his skin. He breathed heavily against her cheek, nuzzled his face against hers, and moaned when she tightened her grip.
It’d be nice to let this play out, to rip off her panties, slide her over him, and sink his cock inside the warmth of her pussy, but that would be cheating. There’d be time for that later. Right now, he had a point to make.
“Does it feel like I’m shying from your touch?” he asked. She paused in the middle of a stroke, but he wrapped his hand around hers, squeezed until he winced, and used both their hands to stroke him, this time tighter and faster.
“Brady, stop, I’m going to hurt you.”
“Answer the question.” He clenched his hand and leaned back against the seat, his hips now pushing into the movement. The pain was there, but minimal. Something she wouldn’t understand. Yet another thing he’d hidden.
“What?” she asked, her wide gaze on their joined hands.
As much as he didn’t want to, he froze, but kept their hands where they were.
Johanna placed her free hand against her mouth, the limb shaking, taunting him. Her reaction called him all kinds of a bastard. Even worse. She’s practically an innocent, you dick.
“Obviously, I have you in my hand, so I know you’re not shying from my touch. There. Are you happy now?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Next time, do not fucking insinuate that I don’t want to touch or hug you. It’s you that’s been shying from me, but you’ve also been throwing out some other vibe, babe, that we’re going to get to the bottom of tonight. You brought this up and put it between us.”
“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” she said through clenched teeth. “You could have very well told me rather than do this little side show.”
“Baby,” he said, amused by her words, and hopeful, because she sounded more like the Johanna he knew, “I am a dick, you have your hand around my dick, and honestly? I think you stroking me is much more fun.”
She snorted, and he grinned.
“So…what now? Do you want me to finish you off”—his cock jumped at that option—“so we can go inside without you sporting a woody?”
He laughed, and she scowled again. “You said woody. As much as it sounds like a great idea, I have a surprise for you tonight and I’d rather keep with what I had in mind.”
He removed his grip around her hand, but she didn’t move. Instead, she looked down, and swiped her thumb over the bulbous head. He swallowed hard. “Why? We both trust each other,” she said with a sly glance up at him, before resuming her study of his dick and her hand.
This was the back and forth he’d been talking about exactly. “Because,” he said and gently removed her hand, then pressed a kiss to her palm. He tucked himself away and willed his body to get under control. “You’re special. And I hope you’ll remember that later tonight. Plus, I won’t risk going there until we sort some shit out.”
“What shit?”
He tilted toward the window and the dark building outside. He planned to show her, rather than tell her.
She frowned, and he rubbed the small wrinkles between her brows. “I don’t agree entirely with everything you said, but I understand. However, I think you’re making too big of a deal out of whatever this shit is. We’re friends, you’re one of the closest friends I have, and seriously, you didn’t have to do all of this.” She waved her hand toward the entrance. Her words made his heart kick. “You forget I know you…probably better than you know yourself.”
If she only did…
“Christ,” he said and scrubbed his face. “Let’s go inside. And yeah, you’re my BFF, too, and all that mushy shit.”
She laughed and opened the door. The driver helped her out while Brady exited his side of the vehicle and rounded the trunk of the car. He kept a watchful eye along the length of the building, hating that he couldn’t see in the dark alleyways. Streetlamps cast a buttery glow on the wet asphalt.
He took her hand. “I have an idea…if you’re willing to open your mind a bit.”
She flashed him a smile, and his heart tumbled into his stomach. Shit, he would miss her.
* * * *
The easy entry into the club surprised Johanna. While this nightclub setting, or whatever it was, hadn’t ever been her scene—she was more of a bar girl—her curiosity pushed her to overlook the somewhat eerie and dank feeling at the door. The low lighting that told her the occupants who entered didn’t want their faces seen. And the lack of a line called questions into legitimacy.
So instead of pointing all that out, she ignored her gut feeling, an instinct that had always done her well, and allowed the beefy looking bouncer dressed in a black suit and white open neck shirt—trying to blend in much?—to run his hands over her waist and at the small of her back in a professional, distant way, without rolling her eyes. “Really now,” she said with a huff of disgust. “What can I hide in this dress? A whole lot of nothing, that’s what.” The guy ignored her outburst. And even if she hadn’t been sucking in her soft gut already, it still wouldn’t have stopped her from trying to suck in some more. Because while she was a professional kick-some-asser, and the bouncer a hired security head, she still felt as if she needed to be the bigger badass here.
Whatever.
Brady took her hand with a smirk, his eyes dancing, and shook his head as if he knew what she’d done. Resisting the need to check and make sure all her girly parts were still tucked in, she lifted her chin, tightened her grip around his, and ignored the flutters in her stomach as well as the calluses on his palm. There hadn’t been much opportunity to ever hold his hand, but seeing as she was proficient in handguns, she recognized the rough patch of skin. Those calluses told her he worked with his hands outside being a cop, too. There were groves in the middle of his fingers that matched the same on her dominant shooting hand. His skin seeme
d rougher, thicker, yet his hold was strong in a sense of she never wanted to let go.
How in the hell had she missed this? But before she finished silently asking that question, she knew. She never held his hand, had never been intimate, always kept this thin barrier up between them as if she somehow suspected things. Dark secrets. Dirty thoughts. Nefarious activities.
And no one wanted to believe someone they loved could be a master of disguise. In everything. A tough lesson she had to learn at such a young age when her father revealed he was more monster than man.
Brady tugged on her hand, pulling her into an open room, effectively pushing the unease to the back of her mind. Wide, cathedral ceilings stretched across a large room. Dark couches, of which she wasn’t sure the color due to the muted lighting, were spaced throughout the room. Tables and benches lined the walls. One wall not covered to her left held the bar, and behind that, a built-in fish tank filled with exotic fishes of every color. A DJ mixed stimulating music across the room in a dark corner. A melody that whispered late-night promises made between two lovers. She had an urge to smooth her hands over the soft silk of her dress, just to feel any sort of sensory touch. Instead, she continued to take in the rest of the room. The only thing left was a dark wood dance floor in the middle.
That was it, a few pieces of furniture, some music, a bevy of drinks, and muted lighting. Yet she’d never been somewhere so sensual, so sexy, so promising that she couldn’t help but epitomize the same feelings.
She didn’t want to acknowledge her mood, but all of this was odd in the sense that she didn’t consider herself anywhere near sexy or sensual. She was too manly, too strong, and too overbearing, all things she needed in order to be good at her job. Plus, she held an additional fifteen pounds since college, weight she’d never been able to kick no matter how many miles she ran, how many crunches she did. She blamed those fifteen pounds on her love for chocolate. If she could get away with it, she’d put the decadent treat on everything.