by Kim Linwood
Thinking of Payne with a towel makes me think of Payne without a towel. With him standing in my apartment, it doesn’t take much to think of what sorts of things happen in showers, and before showers… and after showers so you can shower again.
Bad, hormones. Naughty, hormones!
“Nora?”
I shake my head, breaking out of my little Payne-covered-in-water dream. “Uh, sorry, what?”
“Do you have a kettle or something to heat water in?” He’s standing in my little kitchen, looking incredibly out of place, like an oversized G.I. Joe in a Barbie Dream House.
A kettle? Is that something normal people have? I haven’t even turned on my stove in a month since the Christmas cookie fiasco. “Um…” Awkwardly, I pull a couple of mismatched mugs out of the cabinet and point to the microwave. “Two minutes should do it. The drink stuff is in here.” I pat the drawer under the microwave. “There’s hot chocolate, some instant coffee and probably tea. I’m not sure. My mother stocked most of this when I moved in, but I hardly use it and…” I shrug. “Knock yourself out. I’m going to go change into something—”
“More comfortable? More revealing? Less official?” He winks at me and grabs a mug.
“I was thinking dry, but those are all probably true.”
“If you need some help, I’m excellent at both buttons and zippers,” Payne calls after me as I head into my bedroom.
I close the door loudly and firmly behind me in response.
When I emerge, comfortably dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt, he’s standing by the kitchen sink in nothing but jeans and a thin white undershirt that clings to him like a glove and is soaked enough in spots that I can see the outline of his tattoo through the material.
Oh, the things I want to do to that man. Dad would not be giving his blessing.
He takes a sip of whatever he ended up making and turns to look at me. “Sorry. The truck dumped a load of slush down my jacket when I tackled you, and it was worse than I thought.” As if to demonstrate, he wrings out his shirt into the sink.
I’m sure it’s impressively soaked, but all I see is how the muscles in his arms coil and flex as he does it. Making that two soaked things in the room.
“Oh.” I nibble my lip at the sight, at least until I notice and force myself to stop. “Yeah. No problem.” I don't know quite what to say.
His brilliant green eyes sparkle. “Is this okay? I can go upstairs if you’d like.”
Come on, Nora, say something sensible. Don't just stand there and drool. “I—I've got a dryer. Do you want me to, um, to throw it in for a while? Anything else? How are your pants?” Oh shit, I didn’t just say that, did I?
“Just the shirt is fine, but I’ll keep it in mind that your invitations are pants optional.” He winks. “I rented my place furnished, but there’s no washer and dryer. I appreciate the offer. It would save me a trip down to the laundry room.”
“Yeah, okay.” I’m biting my lip again. “Your undershirt must be freezing too, though. Are you sure?”
He laughs. “Well, seeing as you’re so set on getting me out of my clothes…” He hooks the back of his undershirt and pulls it up over his head, his entire back rippling as he bends his head forwards. I might have a couple more things for the dryer as well after that display.
I hold my hand out woodenly, taking the shirts from him. They’re icy cold, but they still burn my hand as I carry them to the bathroom.
There's a laundry room in the basement, but the machines are ancient and a pain in the ass to use. Since my apartment has hookups, a washer and dryer were my parents' moving-in gift to me. They’re small, so I still do sheets and big stuff downstairs, but for a single girl, most of the time they’re perfect. Tossing his shirt in along with a couple of my things, I set it for forty-five minutes, close my eyes and steel myself to last at least that long with him without making a fool of myself over his biceps.
I will not throw myself at him. There’s something suspicious about him and he’s not to be trusted.
He peeks into the bathroom with a sparkling smile, his broad shoulders nearly the full width of the frame. “Thanks!”
Fine, I probably won’t throw myself at him.
10
Payne
Nora’s fixing herself some hot chocolate, and I’m spending way too much fucking time on trying to figure out if she’s wearing a thong under those yoga pants, or going without. Not that her ass is her only sexy asset. She has a tight little body, too fit to be thin, but with a nice layer of curve on top.
“So, have you always wanted to be a cop?” I ask, covering up my leering with small talk.
“A police officer, and yeah. Pretty much as long as I can remember. Though for most of my teen years I was thinking about mounted patrol.” She laughs, reaching up for something and flashing a tempting little slice of skin. “Girls and horses, right?”
“I guess?”
She smiles and leans back against the counter. “No sisters then, I take it.”
“Nope.” None that I know about at least. I could have siblings dotting the country from coast to coast and I wouldn’t have a clue.
“Brothers?”
Not unless you count the guys I served with. “Nope.”
She takes that in, watching me with a keener gaze than I feel comfortable with. “Yeah, me neither.”
I shrug and rub the back of my neck. Maybe this was a bad idea. I like the idea of fucking her, and she makes me laugh, but this talking and hanging out thing isn’t something I’ve tried much before.
“So… a photographer? That’s a pretty big leap from being a SEAL,” she says, nodding towards the emblem on my chest.
“What can I say? I like getting paid to shoot things.”
Nora was taking a sip of hot chocolate when I said that, and almost chokes.
“You okay? Do I need to do mouth to mouth?”
She scrunches up her nose at me and shakes her head as she gets her breathing back under control. “So what kind of photography do you do?” Nora perches on the arm of the couch, staying close, but just out of reach. Smart.
“What sells, mostly.” This is where it gets tricky. The truth is, it's pretty rare I have to go into any detail about what I do. Claiming to be a freelancer can withstand a quick check, but it’s very much not my main source of revenue. “I get commissioned to follow certain people or events usually.” The best lies are half-truths. “I’m here to cover the election. Using the lead-up time to get shots of interesting people and the city.”
She leans forwards and slides down onto the cushion. “Seriously? No wonder I keep seeing you.”
I open my mouth to say something, but her nipples are poking out against the t-shirt she’s wearing and I’m having a hard time not watching her breasts rise and fall as she breathes. A hard enough time that I shift my position to ease a little pressure.
“I guess that means you aren’t just stalking me.” Nora chews her lip.
“Disappointed?”
“Of course not.” She says it fast and certain. Probably even means it, but I catch the way she’s checking out my bare chest and give her a wink, making her flush.
“So you work by the coffee shop a lot? Or just today?” There’s a dangerous line here between asking socially polite questions, and pumping her for information that can make my job easier. I’m not sure why it isn’t sitting well with me to walk that line. I should be using every angle I can get.
“I do for now, yeah. I'm on guard duty, at least up to the election.” Nora gestures to herself. “Isn't it obvious, with the terrifying figure that I am?” She grins.
Hah. With her heart-shaped face and cute button nose, I can't imagine her scaring anyone. “I’m quaking in my boots—I mean socks, but I guess carrying a gun helps.”
She frowns. “Maybe, but I’d rather not use it if I don’t have to.”
Funny, in my world that’s pretty much the start and the end. “So how did you end up with that job?”
“My captain needed someone, and I was available.” Nora trails a finger around the rim of her mug. “It's my first real assignment outside of the office.”
“And they put you on guard duty? Do you have a partner?”
She shakes her head. “No, but it’s not like I’m doing much. I’m really just a glorified babysitter.”
“So who are you watching? Someone important? A senator? A judge?”
“Alderman Trabucco,” she says with a proud little smile before standing up to take our empty mugs back to the kitchen.
Well, fuck me.
That line between being friendly and using a contact? It’s getting blurrier by the second.
This could be the perfect in. A press photographer with a girlfriend working at the alderman’s office? Nobody would bat an eye at my poking around. She could probably even get me into some of the areas not open to the public.
My assignment is to kill Trabucco right in his office. One gory shot to send the signal that there's nowhere safe, and make sure whoever gets elected in his place knows theirs. If it were up to me I’d go for something safer and less flashy, but for what they’re paying me, I’ll make it work. I’d be an idiot to turn down any edge I can get.
“Want a refill? There’s some time left on the dryer,” Nora calls out from the kitchen.
“Yeah… sure.”
Shit. If I do my job, this is going to have serious blowback on Nora.
But what the fuck are they doing putting her on bodyguard duty alone as her first assignment? There’s no way someone hasn’t noticed pressure building from the Mob. It’s like she’s being set up to fail.
When she returns with our refills, she sits down closer than before, our legs almost touching. I shift, closing the distance. In a move as old as time, I sip my tea with one hand and stretch the other over the couch behind her head.
“Very smooth,” she mumbles into her hot chocolate.
“Too subtle?” I go for broke, sliding my arm down until it snakes behind her back and around her waist. “All right.” With a tug, I yank her up against me until her hip is flush with mine. “You want direct? I can do direct.”
She yelps and puts down her mug before it spills all over the couch. “Slow down, cowboy. How do I know you're not a crazed killer?”
She might drive me crazy, but I’m not there yet.
The killer part we’ll put aside for now.
Trailing my hand down from her waist, I let it slide past her hip until I've got a good grip on her thigh. “That goes both ways. How do I know you’re not some sort of black widow, pulling me in to trap me in your web? Maybe my drink’s drugged and I'm going to wake up spread out naked on your bed, tied up while you decide how you're going to have your wicked way with me.”
I like her laugh. Coming out of such a small package, it packs a punch. Her reactions are open and honest, and that’s so rare in my world, it’s something I’ve come to appreciate.
“I could get into the idea of you naked and tied down on my bed.” Her cheeks are bright pink, but she looks me in the eyes and her interest goes straight to my cock.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be the one tied down?” As her breath hitches, I move in closer, hooking my finger under her chin and watching her pupils dilate. “Yeah, I think you’d like that. I bet you even have an extra set of handcuffs kicking around, don’t you?”
Nora pulls away, just a little. “That's at least a second date thing. Maybe third?” She swallows nervously.
“So, does this count as a first date, then? What do you do on the first date?”
“I—” She gathers her courage. “I might kiss. If it goes well, that is.”
“Mmmm, good ol’ first base.” My lips brush against her cheek. “What about second?” The hand I have resting on her thigh glides up, not touching, but just teasing the sensitive area under her breast.
“I…”
Every signal she’s giving off screams do it, but I can see the tension and confusion warring in her brain. A light touch and a few kisses could probably have her flat on the couch with my hand up her shirt, but I don’t push.
Instead, I pull her onto my lap so she straddles me, squeezing me between her thighs. She lets out a surprised yelp, but doesn’t try to get away. There’s no way she’s not feeling how hard I am, and the pressure of her weight on my cock makes it a real challenge to not start grinding against her.
I move a hand to the back of her neck and pull her close until I can smell the scent of chocolate and sugar, begging me to taste her.
“If all I get is first,” I whisper. “I better make it good. I’m going to kiss those sexy lips over and over.”
Her soft breath brushes against my skin. The heat of her pussy burns me right through our clothes.
“Then I’m going to enjoy the taste of your skin. Here”—I stroke her neck, right under her ear—“and here.” I trace the gentle ridge of her collarbone, coaxing out a little sigh.
For a second, I’m not sure if she’s going to pull away or not, but she licks her lips and looks at me through heavily lidded eyes. “So are you going to? Or—”
I take her mouth and she melts into me, her hard little nipples grinding against my chest. Nora tastes like candy and feels like a dream. She’s not shy, but when I push, she gives for me, opening and letting me in to plunder the depths of her.
Our tongues wage a passionate battle as I hold her down against the steel rod angrily protesting the cruel confines of my pants. I haven’t been so turned on by a kiss since I was a teenager, copping a nervous feel in a dark movie theater.
In the other room, the dryer finishes its cycle and beeps a warning.
She writhes on top of me, throwing her head back to bare her neck as I make good on my promise. My hands slip under the hem of her shirt, unable to resist at least feeling the soft skin of her waist. I kiss my way down her neck and she whimpers with need. When I trace her collarbone towards the center of her chest, she slides her fingers into my hair.
It takes iron control, but I take a deep breath and stop before I bury my face in her cleavage. Instead I pull her face to me and kiss her once more on the lips, a reluctant goodbye. It takes a moment after I’ve pulled away before Nora realizes I’m done.
“Wait, you don’t have to go yet,” she says, her voice rough.
She trusts me.
She doesn’t even know me, and yet she fucking trusts me not to be the asshole that would take that statement and push her straight into something she’d regret as soon as the glow wore off.
And the bitch of it is, she’s right.
I don’t want to lose that trust. It would make my job a hell of a lot harder in the long run, and worse, I just don’t. I like the way she looks at me, and I’m not ready for that to change yet.
“Yeah. Yeah I do. Unless you were just playing hard to get with that not on the first date shit.” I thrust my hips and her eyes widen. “But maybe we can schedule a second date?”
She slides off my lap, taking the temptation of her heat with her. A small hand trails down my chest, coming to rest on my abs. “I think I’d like that.”
Her shirt got pulled as she moved. Does she know how fucking edible her breasts look right now? All pushed up with her cleavage showing?
“Coffee. Tomorrow. Joe’s Joe. Sound good?” I review what I just said to make sure it made sense.
Nora smiles, looking adorably pleased with herself. “I’m off duty at five thirty tomorrow. Meet you there?”
“I’m tempted to say no, just so I can walk you across the street and save you from traffic.”
“Oh, ha ha.” She sticks out the tip of her tongue and wrinkles her nose. “Fine. You may pick me up from work if you’d like, but only because I like the idea of showing you off, not because I can’t look both ways.”
“See, there’s your problem. You looked left and right, but you forgot to check up, down and sideways.”
Nora laughs and gets up, grabbing her phone off the
counter. “What’s your cell, in case something comes up?”
I grab my burner out of my jacket, getting her number and then calling her to send her mine. Deftly avoiding the small issue of not remembering my own number.
She gets my stuff out of the dryer, and as I slide the warm shirt back on, I notice that it’s picked up just a touch of whatever fabric softener she uses on her own things.
The scent of her surrounds me on the way upstairs, and even though I usually avoid scented products like the plague, I find myself reluctant to strip it away.
Fuck.
11
Nora
The oversized clock above the alderman’s door ticks lazily, every second feeling like an hour. It’s five fifteen, and the only thing keeping me from going nuts is the knowledge that it’s almost time for my coffee date with Payne.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but from what I can tell, there is no particular threat to the alderman. Unless you count me.
“Norma,” Trabucco says, not even looking up.
I grit my teeth. “Nora, sir.” At least he doesn’t call me Dora.
“Could you be a dear and get me another coffee? You know what I like.”
For this, I went to college?
For this, I went to the police academy?
There’re fifteen minutes left in the day and his limo’s going to pick him up practically right outside the coffee shop. Where the hell is his assistant hiding?
I should get it just so I can pour it over his head.
“Sir, my job is to stay with you, not to run your errands. I can’t protect you if I’m not with you.”
He stops packing his briefcase long enough to look up at me with an exasperated look on his face. “You work for me, don’t you?”
“I’m a police officer, sir.”
“I hardly think anything horrible is going to happen to me while I'm in here.” He gestures around us. “If you leave my office for the two minutes it takes to get me my coffee, I will still be here and alive when you get back.” His gaze comes back to me. “I'm willing to bet my life on it.”