All Tied Up (The Boston Five Series #4)

by Poppy J. Anderson

  The look he gave her spoke volumes.

  Jordan thought his obvious outrage was adorable. She grinned. “No, don’t worry. My feelings won’t be hurt if you leave now.” She raised a nonchalant hand and nodded down the hall. “I’m going to run a bath. Just close the door behind you when you leave. Coffee’s in the cabinet on your right.”

  She had already turned around when he called her back.

  She stopped and turned briskly, giving him a questioning look while he ran a hand through his hair, looking indecisive. “Do we need to talk about what this was?” he finally asked.

  “It was sex,” she informed him. “If you need further information, I suggest you ask the internet.”

  “Very funny.” He hesitated. “You know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I don’t.” She lowered her head and smiled a little. “That’s why it’s called casual sex, with no strings attached.”

  “Okay.”

  She took a slight bow. “Thank you for the orgasm, Ryan. I really appreciate it. See ya.”

  Chapter 7

  Over the last week, Ryan had run into Jordan several times, and now he was asking himself whether he really had any idea what made women tick.

  Before Jordan, he’d never met a woman who hadn’t turned bitchy if you didn’t profess your undying love for her after sleeping with her. Even if women told you they didn’t have a problem with casual sex, they still expected you to make a 180-degree turn and give them your undivided attention.

  Ryan had experienced this more often than he cared to remember.

  Drunken phone calls late at night, women confessing that they’d hoped for a relationship after their one-night-stand; angry arguments at the pub, when an old flame spied him with a new conquest; women looking daggers at him when they realized he’d really meant that it didn’t mean anything. Ryan was all too familiar with these things.

  What he wasn’t familiar with was Jordan’s cool behavior when they met—and that had been maintained over the last seven days.

  Only yesterday he’d seen her at the grocery store, when he’d taken his mother because her car was in the garage for repairs. Like the exemplary son he was, he’d pushed the shopping cart through all the aisles, talking about the excellent grades his nephew was getting and his upcoming First Communion. Then he’d spied Jordan by the laundry detergent.

  His heart had skipped a beat as he frantically debated how to greet her. After all, he’d done a few things with her that were still prohibited by law in a few states. His mom had walked at his side, continuing to chat about his nephew’s communion. Mortified, he’d felt heat suffuse his cheeks. Meanwhile, Jordan had been coolness incarnate, giving him an impersonal greeting that belied the fact that only a few days ago, they had clung to each other moaning and sweating.

  “Uh, Mom,” he’d said, “this … uh … this is Jordan Esposito. She’s the new recruit on Heath’s squad.”

  “Oh! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jordan. My son told me how talented you are!”

  At his mom’s words, Ryan’s face had caught fire, and he’d almost choked on his own spit. He felt horribly embarrassed, almost like a teenager who’d been caught smooching by his parents. Jordan, on the other hand, hadn’t seemed to be embarrassed by the encounter at all. She’d greeted his mom with a friendly smile, shaken her hand, and begun to chat with her calmly and courteously.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. I’ve heard a lot about you, too. The entire station keeps raving about your food. I’m anything but a chef, so it’s really hard to follow in your footsteps.”

  The women had chatted and laughed, and Ryan had stood like an utter moron next to his mom, throwing alarmed glances in Jordan’s direction, because all he could think about was the possibility that his mother might realize her son had slept with the woman now in the process of coaxing a chicken teriyaki recipe from her.

  Even with her frightening sixth sense for knowing when her kids were trying to hide something from her, Ellen didn’t seem to harbor the slightest suspicion that Ryan and Jordan had seen each other naked. That was probably due to Jordan’s unfazed, natural behavior. She hadn’t shown even the hint of a blush as she happily discussed the preparation of chicken. All Ryan could think of was her naked body, his hands cupping her breasts, and how amazing it had felt to sleep with her.

  Ryan had fidgeted nervously, feeling felt like a sex offender for dreaming of sleeping with Jordan again when his mother was standing right next to him.

  By the time Jordan had finally said goodbye, Ryan was drenched in sweat.

  And now he stood panting on the treadmill, again feeling the urge to tear off her clothes as he watched her step through the door of the fitness center, a place where any municipal officer or employee could work out for free.

  He felt a little annoyed as he jogged but couldn’t help fixing his gaze on the dark-haired woman as she greeted one of the trainers, filled her water bottle at the drinking fountain, and then chatted a few moments with another trainer. She then sauntered over to one of the stair-steppers by the windows, and Ryan struggled not to break his stride as she took off her chunky sweater and stepped onto the contraption, wearing nothing but really tight, short shorts and an even tighter gym top. The view tormented him: Her butt tried to break free from her pants with each move on the hellish stepper, jiggling and moving from side to side like it was calling to him, mocking him.

  After less than five minutes of being hypnotized and driven crazy by the spectacle of her scantily clad body, he had to step off the treadmill. He was afraid he might slip on his own drool. How could a man focus on fitness with such a view?

  Gasping for breath, he left his treadmill, wiped the sweat from his face with a towel, and took a large sip of water. Then he sanitized the machine’s handrail while wracking his brain over whether to walk over and say hi to Jordan.

  Before he reached a decision, his legs started walking of their own accord. As he approached her on the machine, she looked hotter than you’d expect of a woman who spent her days wearing unwieldy firefighting equipment.

  It wasn’t easy to look cool drenched in sweat and panting like a pair of bellows, but Ryan tried to pull it off, slapping a charming smile on his face as he came closer. Unfortunately, the casual greeting got stuck in his throat when he stumbled over a dumbbell someone must have left on the floor instead of its proper rack. He barely managed not to fall headlong to the floor by grabbing onto the handrail of the stepper next to hers.

  He looked up in alarm, fearing he’d broken his foot and might end up crippled, and knew immediately that acting cool hadn’t worked.

  Jordan had seen him almost break his neck right in front of her.

  “Are you alright?”

  He nodded sheepishly, silently cursed the dumbbell, and straightened so he could at least pretend to be casual. He tried to ignore the pain in his foot and forced out in a croak, “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Good.” Jordan cocked her head but then focused again on the control panel of her stepper, selecting a new program and grabbing the rail with both hands as the tempo increased.

  He was a little perplexed that she wasn’t paying much attention to his presence, and he wondered how to start a conversation, considering she was working out in earnest while he stood there like a moron with a throbbing foot, craving her attention.

  “Could you do me a favor?” Jordan interrupted his conflicted thoughts, not even sounding out of breath.

  Her question was full of possibility. His mouth went dry, and in his mind’s eye, he already saw them wrestling in her bed once again. “Sure,” he said hoarsely and licked his lips, trying to remember if he’d done the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. After all, he lived only five minutes from the gym …

  “Could you thank your mom for me? I tried her recipe last night, and I really liked it. Tomorrow I’m going to make it for the crew—and finally the guys will all love me!”

  Chicken?

  Speechless, he simply sta
red at her. “Chicken?”

  “Yeah.” She gave him a dubious look. With each move on the stepper, her ponytail swished back and forth. “Your mom and I talked about her chicken teriyaki recipe yesterday, don’t you remember?” she prodded. “When we ran into each other at the grocery store.”

  He shook his head impatiently. “Of course. Of course I remembered!” Ryan struggled for words that made sense. “Did you really want to talk about my mom’s cooking?”

  Jordan tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pressed a button on the stepper’s panel. “No,” replied dryly. “I actually want to work out here. But since you came over to interrupt, I thought you could at least say hi to your mom for me.”

  Ryan narrowed his eyes at her.

  She didn’t seem impressed by his frown. She continued to move with strong, fluid steps, not allowing his presence to interfere with her routine, and met his gaze calmly. An outsider wouldn’t have suspected that they’d slept together only a short while ago. Jordan seemed far too reserved and inattentive.

  He didn’t like to admit it, but his pride was hurt. This woman had let him do wonderfully naughty things to her, had bitten down on his shoulder so hard when she came that he still looked like the victim of a zombie attack, and yet she was looking at him in such a perfunctory way, you’d think he was her mailman or bank manager.

  “Don’t you think we should talk about something besides my mom’s chicken teriyaki?”

  Jordan shrugged in a show of ignorance. At least she’d finally begun to breathe heavily with the effort of her routine. “If your mom has a recipe for spaghetti and meatballs, you can tell her I’d die to have it. The guys keep clamoring for pasta.”

  Ryan thought there had to be a hidden camera here somewhere, filming this exchange in order to tease him with it later. His frown deepened. “I actually meant talking about our one-night stand!”

  Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and gave him a puzzled look. “What is there to talk about?”

  He didn’t know either.

  After such an amazing sexual experience, shouldn’t a woman be hell-bent on seeing the man responsible for her earth-shattering orgasm again and talking to him?

  “I have no idea,” he replied honestly. “But don’t you think we should talk about what it means to us?”

  Her amused giggle sounded like a witch with a smoker’s cough. “What it means to us? Jesus, Fitzpatrick!” She paused for a moment to catch her breath. “We had sex—”

  “Amazing sex,” he threw in, eager to make a point.

  “Okay, fine.” Jordan rolled her eyes and confirmed, “Yes, we had amazing—and, above all, casual—sex. So what? I’m fine with that, and I’m not going to break out in hysterical giggles when I run into you on the street, Ryan.”

  He didn’t want implying he would be the one to giggle hysterically or who couldn’t deal with casual sex, so he exhaled loudly in a fake show of relief. “I’m glad to hear it. It’s just that, in my experience, most women don’t handle a one-night stand as confidently as you seem to.”

  She uttered another croaking laugh and gave him a wink. Her pretty face had turned red with effort by now. “Says the man who found himself chained to his bed.”

  Ryan hit her playfully with his towel, eliciting another gleeful laugh, which curiously felt like a punch to his gut.

  He longed to stay and chat with her, but he already felt like a barnacle—or worse, like someone who couldn’t handle a one-night stand. He raised his hand to take his leave.

  “See you around.”

  ***

  “Ah, there’s still hope for you, Esposito. Maybe you’ll be a decent firefighter after all.”

  Jordan smiled and took a mocking bow before continuing to dig her backpack out of her locker. “Thank you very much, Marty. It’s good to know my reputation as a firefighter rests solely on the taste of my food.”

  “At first I thought you’d never get the hang of it,” the older man revealed with a sigh, closing his locker a few yards from Jordan’s. “To be honest, the boys and I briefly suspected you were trying to poison us. But since we didn’t know if you would start crying like a little girl or not if we trashed your ability to cook, we kept our mouths shut.”

  Jordan almost choked on her laughter. After all, she hadn’t seen the guys exhibit any restraint so far. They’d been playing all kinds of pranks on her and had made her do all the dirty work for exactly three weeks now. They made her clean the bathrooms and polish the truck; they hid her equipment and rigged her bed in the dorm, so that it fell apart when she sat on it. In all these cases, nobody had wondered whether she might start crying like a baby.

  The harmless pranks didn’t bother Jordan—she was used to a lot worse after growing up with three brothers. Moreover, the pranks told her that her squad had accepted her, because all new recruits were subjected to this kind of treatment before they finished their training. Only the technical squad persisted in giving her the silent treatment, but she could deal with that.

  Today was a very good day, however, she thought with a sense of triumph as she slipped on her jacket and packed up her stuff. She had just finished a forty-eight-hour shift, during which she hadn’t only fetched a ten-year-old boy from a burning house with her lieutenant and helped rescue a trapped crane operator after an accident on a construction site, but she’d also cooked chicken teriyaki for the entire station. Everyone had praised it. Even the guys from the technical squad had deigned to leave their accustomed spot and come to the rec room, lining up like good boys to get some of her suddenly popular food.

  Jordan felt like embracing the whole world. It made her incredibly happy to feel accepted by her comrades, and it seemed food was the avenue to gaining that acceptance.

  Marty had come for seconds, thirds, and even fourths, and now he was complaining that he would have to roll home instead of walking. He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and leaned back speculatively, clicking his tongue.

  “So what are you cooking on your next shift? If it’s as good as this time, I’m bringing Tupperware.”

  His flattery felt good, but Jordan just rolled her eyes, closed her locker, and shouldered her backpack. “We’ll see. How about a vegetarian dish? After evacuating that 400-pound man from that attic, I’m worrying about the boys’ cholesterol, you know.”

  Marty, whose paunch was rather conspicuous, laughed good-naturedly but was interrupted by his lieutenant, who appeared behind him and patted his shoulder. “Why are you still here? Your shift ended thirty minutes ago.”

  Jordan grinned and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’d have been gone a while ago if Marty here hadn’t been stalking me with promises to leave his wife for me, so he can eat my delicious food every day.”

  “Rascal. You should be so lucky!” With a good-natured shake of his head, Marty took his leave by hitting her lightly on the arm. Jordan appreciated his sense of humor and his camaraderie.

  Left alone with her lieutenant, Jordan tried to appear calm. She didn’t want him to notice her nervousness, which sprang from the fact that she didn’t know whether he’d guessed—or had been told—that she’d slept with his brother. Although Heath and Ryan Fitzpatrick didn’t look very much alike, it was hard not to think about the blond detective when she was face to face with his brother.

  She wanted to do well at her job, and for that she needed to focus on the operations and rescues—but that was easier said than done when her thoughts kept circling around a policeman she’d encountered so often during the preceding week it was unbelievable. She also felt that, at some point, it was going to drive her crazy that she kept flinching every time someone yelled her lieutenant’s name: Fitzpatrick. It happened far too often.

  “Is it possible your chicken teriyaki tastes a lot like my mother’s?” Heath leaned against one of the lockers and studied his fingernails. “I know my mom would only give you her recipe if her life was in peril, so I’m
hoping you aren’t keeping her hostage somewhere, Esposito.”

  “You got me.” Jordan looked down at the tips of her shoes for a moment to gather the courage to admit, “I met her in the grocery store. She must have noticed my desperation, because she was nice enough to tell me how to make that chicken. And that’s the full story. No kidnapping, no torture—just a harmless housewife chat by the freezers.”

  His curiosity was obvious. “I didn’t even know you knew my mom.”

  She ran a hand through her hair and shrugged. “Your brother was with her and introduced us.”

  “Ryan?”

  “Who else?” she joked. “Do you have any other brothers?”

  He mimicked her gesture, running a hand through his own hair. “Two more brats like him.”

  “Sounds like a lot of fun.” She grinned.

  “No, it sounds horrific.” He frowned and seemed to be searching for the right words. “Listen, Jordan …”

  “Yes? I’m all ears.”

  “It’s about Ryan.” Heath raised both hands defensively and murmured, “He’s my brother, but I know he … well … he’s made several passes at you already …”

  Jordan waited for the point, but it wasn’t forthcoming. She sighed. “Are you worried your little brother is going to stalk me? Or are you afraid I might make good on my threat to use the bolt cutter on him? Don’t worry about me—I’m prepared for either.”

  He laughed dryly. “By now, I’m more worried about Ryan, to be honest. Compared to you, my brother’s an innocent choirboy.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh, for the Ryan Fitzpatrick she had encountered was anything but a choirboy.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” she assured him hastily and glanced at her watch. “If you don’t mind, I need to go.”

  “Sure.” Heath stepped aside to let her pass. “Try to get some rest before the next shift. I have a feeling we’ll be getting some hairy situations and stuff.”