by Jeffe Kennedy, Christine d’Abo, Elise Logan, Emily-Ryan Davis, Jodie Griffin
She looked up from the desk much as he had when she’d stood in the same place a mere nine hours ago, smiling at him. Nine hours, and everything had changed. She was single. So was he.
Maybe Christmas really was the season of miracles.
He came around the desk and held out his hand. She looked at it, then looked at him and bit her lip. He waited patiently. Hell, what was another few seconds compared to five years?
She placed her hand in his as she stood and then, when she was on her feet, he tugged gently until she lost her balance. Her hand flew out and she all but fell into him, one hand braced against his chest.
“Oh!”
He grinned at her. “Hi there.”
She laughed. “That was fast.”
He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I had incentive.”
Her face flushed, but she backed away from him, drew in a breath and squared her shoulders. He wished like hell he could see inside her head, because the hamster in there was running at top speed.
“Do you have plans for tonight?” she asked.
She’d beaten him to the punch. “Not really. I had dinner at my sister’s last night for her Christmas Eve thing. Crazy kids, lots of noise. Could go back tonight, but it’s not really what I want after today’s shift.”
“I can understand that. I can’t promise you a Christmas feast, but would you like to come over for dinner?”
He was still holding her hand, and he squeezed it lightly. “I was just going to ask you the same thing. I’d love to, but would you mind if we go to my place first? I need to feed Oscar.”
Her brow lifted. “Oscar?”
“My cat. He showed up in my yard one day. He’s a little...grouchy,” he said, grinning. “My nephew named him, and it fit.”
Fifteen minutes later they were at his house, and Becca pulled into the driveway behind him. He tried to imagine what his place looked like to someone else, but he couldn’t picture it. Scrooge’s house, maybe. No outside lights, no wreath on the door. He wasn’t against them, but he usually didn’t bother. His neighbors, on the other hand...
“Wow,” Becca said as she walked toward him, her eyes round. “That’s a lot of decorations. And lights.”
He nodded. “My guess is you can see them from the space station.”
“Or Mars,” she quipped, grinning.
He laughed. “True enough.” As soon as his feet hit the porch, the yowling started behind the door. “Jeez, cat. A little louder, why don’t you?”
He opened the door and nudged the cat back inside. “Come in,” he said gruffly, swearing under his breath. Damned cat. “Excuse the mess.”
“It can’t be that bad.” She came in behind him, came to a dead stop, her mouth open in a wide O that put all kinds of kinky thoughts into his head. “Or maybe it can. What happened?”
“Oscar. Underwear fetish.” Once again, his cat had managed to get his dresser drawer open and had dragged his boxer-briefs around the living room, and then had added to the décor with a splash of socks. And was that...? “Jesus, cat. My jock, too?”
Bec laughed as she squatted down to scratch Oscar’s ears.
When the beast started purring, he was shocked. The cat barely tolerated anyone, even him. Of course, if she petted him that way, he’d purr too.
She grinned. “I’d help you pick them up, but...”
The idea was tempting, and if they’d already established some boundaries, he’d have her doing the cleanup. Naked. And he’d be following behind her, touching her as she bent at the waist to get them. His jeans got tighter.
Cart before the horse, asshole. The reminder rang through his head. Shit, he didn’t know if she was even interested, since they’d never finished that conversation in the hallway. And even if she did want to see where things could go, he liked kinky sex and that wasn’t every woman’s thing.
“Be right back.” He scooped up his things and put them back in his drawer, careful not to let Becca see into his bedroom. He didn’t want to scare her off, and the wall holding his floggers and canes was probably a bit too much information for right now, especially considering the situation with her ex. Still, they were a part of who he was, and though he wouldn’t hide what he liked from her, he wouldn’t shove it in her face, either.
When he came back, she was sitting on his sofa, his cat trying to crawl into her lap. He stepped into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar. “C’mere, beast. Chow time.” He poured food into a bowl and the cat came running, bumping against his leg in the feline version of thank you. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine.” She stood and prowled around his living room, then stopped dead and turned to him. “I never expected to be in your house. Ever.”
Jesus, she didn’t pull any punches, did she? “And I never expected to have you here, either. But you’re here now.”
She worried her lip and the urge to kiss her nearly knocked him over. He started toward her, intent on one thing. So many fucking years, he’d wanted to soothe that lip she bit by habit, to kiss the tiny hurt away, to take what he’d always felt was his.
And now he could.
Chapter Three
The intense look on Jeremy’s face made Becca’s heart skip a beat. He pulled her toward the sofa, then tugged her down beside him.
“It was so busy we never got the chance to finish our talk,” he said, his voice husky in a way she’d never heard from him before. A sexy voice, one that sent shivers down her spine. “Have you figured it out? Am I the only one who feels this pull?”
She swallowed hard. Truth time. “No, you’re not. I—”
He never let her finish getting the words out. He tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned in, slanting his mouth across hers. It started out gentle, but she moaned in her throat at the taste of him and he took that as permission to go further.
Thank God.
He tasted like peppermint candy canes and kissed like a bad boy. Her lips parted on a sigh and he dipped his tongue inside, stroking hers. She felt the jolt straight to her toes...and points in between. She kept her head long enough to think, I always knew it would be like this, and then she stopped thinking and just let herself feel.
She didn’t know how long it lasted, but when he finally broke the kiss, she was breathing hard and so was he. And his breath and hers weren’t the only things hard. There was an obvious erection behind the zipper of his jeans, and her nipples felt tight and tender. Was he the only one who felt that zing between them? Hell, no.
“Christ.” He swept his thumb across her cheek and cupped her face with his palm. “Who knew?”
She had. She leaned into the touch and he flexed his fingers. As she reached out to touch him too, he snagged her wrist and stopped her. “Jeremy?”
“If I do anything you don’t like, tell me and I’ll stop right away.” His eyes were blazing hot and they’d turned more green than blue.
Well, that answered that. Green means aroused.
He lifted her hand up over her head and skimmed the fingers touching her face along her throat and then down her arm until he’d reached her other wrist.
Her heart pounded as he encircled that one too, lifting it up to join the other. He guided her backward so she was lying on his sofa, stretched out. And then he was on top of her.
Oh, God, it all felt so good. He felt good, his erection pressed between her legs. It had been nearly a year since she’d felt a man’s body against hers in an intimate way, and she wanted to scream at all she’d missed because of Sam. She pushed him out of her mind. Not here, not now. God, not now, or she’d lose it.
Jeremy curled her hands over the arm of the sofa. “Leave them there.”
The absolute authority in his voice sent a shiver down her spine and a r
ush of heat between her legs. “Okay.”
He flexed his hips once, pressing himself against her core. He grunted but then he pushed himself off her and she moaned. “I know, kitten, but I want to play with you for a bit.”
Play? She understood soon enough when he knelt over her, trapping her legs beneath him. It gave him more balance, better leverage, but not enough body contact for her. Not nearly enough. Then he put his hand on her stomach and she stopped worrying about what he wasn’t doing and concentrated on what he was doing.
“Love the way you look in this sweater, like a naughty elf. It’s so soft,” he murmured. “It’s been killing me all day. I brushed up against it when I hugged you at the station, and I wondered if your skin felt as good as it did. I figured it must. Then when you took your jacket off, I saw it barely met the top of your jeans. I swear it was an accident when I brushed your back. If I’d known how smooth and warm your skin would be, I wouldn’t have touched you. The thought of it has been torturing me all day. And now, here you are, in my home stretched out before me like a holiday feast.”
Oh, God. He had one hell of a way with words and, though it sounded like he wanted to touch her, he hadn’t moved his hand yet. Her stomach quivered.
He slid his hand to the side and leaned forward, rubbing his face against the sweater over her stomach, like a cat. “Mmm, yes. Soft sweater. But that’s not what I want to feel. Not really.” He locked eyes with her then grabbed the edge of the sweater in his teeth and, with a little help from his hand, tugged it up so her stomach was bare.
As he drew it up her body, the whiskers on his chin lightly abraded her skin, and she shuddered. “Jeremy, please,” she begged, her eyes still locked with his, but she wasn’t sure what she was begging for, exactly. Back off? No, not that. More. Definitely more.
“Don’t mind if I do.” A devilish grin lit his face and he drew a finger over her skin, sometimes using the pad of it, sometimes the nail, scratching her lightly. “Feel good?”
“Oh, God, yes. Please don’t stop.”
“How about this instead?” He dropped his head and licked her, drawing his tongue across her skin, dipping into her belly button. The muscles in her stomach trembled, and he laughed. He pushed the edge of her jeans down just enough to bare the top of her hip bone, sucking at the silky skin there, following it with a nip from his teeth that made her arch her back. “I guess so.”
He continued to tease her, to torture her with his velvet tongue, never moving away from her bared stomach. Her hands clenched and unclenched against the arm of his sofa, and she rubbed her legs together, trying to ease the ache inside. He caught her movement, though, and to her utter shock, he grinned wickedly then slapped her hip, hard enough to make it sting. “None of that, bad girl.”
She froze, but she wasn’t sure if it was because he’d hit her, or because the rush of heat that followed the stinging sensation made her core ache even more.
He must’ve felt her tense, because he stopped dead, his face paling. “Oh, Christ. I, um...shit.” He started to push away.
“No, wait. I want...” Her begging words drifted off and she licked her lips, trying to make the jumble of thoughts in her head clear. “I need...” She paused again, shook her head, but she still couldn’t make sense of it. “Jeremy?”
He sat back on his heels and ran his hand through his hair. “I think it’s time for us to talk.”
What? No. She wanted to scream, but he pulled her to sitting and tucked her close, his strong arms locked around her. To her surprise, her panic started to ebb in his tight embrace, although she was unable to prevent the rush of words from her mouth. “You hit me. But it felt... Why did you stop?”
She felt his sigh. “There are things about me you don’t know, things we need to discuss before we go any further. Things that will help put what I did, and why I stopped, into perspective.” He kissed the top of her head and drew her closer. “And we need to talk about you and Sam, too.”
She went rigid at the mention of her ex-husband’s name, then leaned back and scowled at Jeremy. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
He kissed her nose even as he rubbed gently along her back. “I know, kitten, but I need to. You mean a lot to me, and I need to know what happened so I know whether I should hurt him or thank him.”
Kitten? He’d called her that twice now, and the playful nickname made her feel warm inside, as did his admission, but she still wasn’t sure what to think about what he’d done, and she definitely wasn’t happy about discussing Sam. Some wounds were still too raw. Might always be too raw. “Fine.”
In spite of her confusion, she allowed him to guide her head back against his chest. He smelled like man and musk and a woodsy undertone that was probably his soap, but she liked it. He was wrapped around her, and if she were honest with herself, she felt comforted and oddly safe there in his embrace. Jeremy was a big guy, all muscle, and strong, but gentle in his strength. The careful way he held her was proof of that. On the other hand, while there’d been no anger or malice in the swat he’d given her, and his voice had been low and sexy and teasing, he’d still hit her.
She tensed again and he knew that, too, because his arms shifted and he pulled her even closer. His touch calmed her body, but her mind was another story.
The only difference between what Jeremy had done to her and what Sam had done to her was how each made her feel, but in reality, wasn’t it the same thing?
* * *
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t believe he’d slipped up like that, falling into Dom behavior without conscious thought, without consent. Her husband had hit her in anger, which had to be on her mind, and dammit, he knew better. It was achingly obvious Becca was bothered by his words and actions. Without context, why wouldn’t she be? In his previous relationships, that playful slap would’ve been the prelude to much deeper, darker pleasures. But Becca didn’t know the game, so her confusion was genuine—and completely warranted.
Time to back up, back off and do some damage control. His body balked. Her skin was so soft, her scent so potent. Hell, that taste of her had been a mere sip to a dying man, and he’d been thirsty for years.
But first things first.
“You offered dinner earlier. Is the offer still open?”
She wrenched herself out of his arms and stood, watching him. Usually her eyes danced with excitement or laughter, but right now, they were slightly unfocused and wary. He kept his face neutral, and finally she nodded.
“I’ve had beef stew going in the slow cooker all day, so it should be ready. It’s not a traditional Christmas feast with ham and all the trimmings, but...”
His mouth watered at the thought. “I’m not big into ham. Stew, on the other hand, is probably my favorite meal of all time.” His stomach grumbled in agreement and he felt himself flush. “As you can tell.”
Some of the caution eased from her face. “I have homemade bread, too.”
“Sold.” He pushed up from the sofa and walked to her. He grazed his knuckles across her cheek. “I know you’re confused. I promise I’ll explain it later, if you’ll be patient with me. Can you do that for me, kitten? Will you give me that chance?”
She stared at him for a long while then rubbed her face against his hand. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I can ask for. I’ll follow you, since I don’t know where you live.”
She gave him the address, scratched Oscar’s ears again, and then they headed out. To his surprise, she didn’t live far from him at all. He’d even passed it on patrol a few times. He’d expected she’d live in a newer development in a fancy house, and maybe she had with her husband. But her home was small and older and, while it was fairly nondescript from the outside, it was warm and cozy and colorful on the inside. It fit her to a T.
He hung his jacket and the pouch carrying his off-duty weapon in the f
ront hallway. She had a rustic wooden bar nailed into the wall with hooks evenly spaced out. There was a bench beneath it and, following her lead, he toed off his shoes when she did, stowing them underneath. That coat rack gave him ideas, wicked, sexy ideas, but he forced himself to focus. If what he liked turned her off, he’d have some serious thinking to do.
He’d never imagined himself in a relationship where kinky sex wasn’t a part. But Becca was special. He knew it and his heart knew it but his body wanted to do things to her to make her scream. He honestly had no idea if he could have a vanilla relationship with her, but he knew he’d have to try if she shut him down. Now that he knew what he’d been missing, he wouldn’t easily give it up. “It’s smells incredible in here.”
She smiled tentatively over her shoulder. “Thanks. I know we just got here, but are you ready to eat?”
He nodded. “I’m starving. What can I do to help?”
In her small kitchen, she pointed him to a cabinet where the doors had been removed. “Bowls are there, and utensils are in the drawer below. What can I get you to drink? I have wine, juice, milk, iced tea, beer.”
“What are you having?”
“Beer. Goes well with this stew.”
“Sounds good.”
She pulled two from the fridge and grabbed mugs, then grabbed napkins. She also took a loaf of bread from a bread machine and sliced it into thick chunks, handing him the plate.
When everything was on the table, he held out her chair for her. She sat and ducked her head, and he swept her hair to the side, kissing her neck and biting lightly over the pulse there. He licked the sting away, and then sat across from her so he could see her face. “Bec?”
She looked up, her eyes dazed again.
Christ, he had no problems imagining her under him, that unfocused, sexy look on her face as he took her to the edge and back until she begged for mercy. Then his stomach growled again, bringing him back to reality. “Eat your dinner, kitten.”