He snorted. “My mom says that.”
“She must be a smart woman.”
She’d like you. Yep. Sure would. His mom would like her spunk. He liked her spunk. He liked a lot about her. Particularly the way the moonlight lit enough of her for him to see her top dipping low into her cleavage—a nice view if he ever saw one. No bra. And that sent his mind spinning to thoughts of lifting the pajama top, running that silky fabric through his fingers and getting a look at her. He already knew her breasts were enough to fill a man’s hand—his hand—nicely, but he’d never seen them. And that was what he wanted.
For safekeeping, he brought his arm down and clasped his fingers on his stomach. Thoughts of his hands on Lexi’s breasts were trouble. Big-time. His growing erection straining against his jeans proved it. Damn it.
“Did you fall asleep?”
Ha. “Hardly. In fact, I think it’s safe to say I’m wide-awake.”
“Why do I feel like I should apologize?”
He lifted his head, met her gaze, and that instant spark zapped him. So hot. “My mind wanders when I’m around you. Being here, in the dark, makes me think things. Seriously wicked things you’d slap me for.”
A small intake of breath was her only response. He laid his head back again and sighed. Moron. What kind of man took advantage of a woman who’d had her safety, her sense of comfort in her own home, violated?
A horny one.
Sometimes, the truth stunk. He wanted to consider himself honorable, someone who wouldn’t manipulate a situation to reach the conclusion he wanted. As a detective, he battled tunnel vision and that driving need to solve a case at all costs. A good detective worked with the evidence he had, made it fit, and sometimes, despite honest intentions, that evidence added up to convicting the wrong person.
She lowered her head to his shoulder. Definitely not slapping him. Maybe he wasn’t such a lowlife.
“What kind of things?”
Man, oh, man. The living room was definitely warming up.
“Lex?”
She lifted her head, met his gaze. “Yes?”
“You’re about to throw a match on leaking gas.”
“I know. I’ve been alone a while and it’s a little scary to me—this attraction to you.”
He reached up, tucked his hand behind her head and pulled her closer. Even in the darkness, her hazel eyes were bright, charged with something resembling anticipation.
Waiting.
Damn, they weren’t exactly perfect for each other. She viewed the world with a sense of innocence, wanting only to make it more beautiful. Him? All he saw was what could happen. The danger that existed the minute she stepped out of her house. The danger that now made its way inside her house.
But he wanted her.
Simple as that.
Then she made a humongous mistake by leaning in, enough that her breath skittered across his cheek and—man down—any motivation he had to stop flew out the window. Right out. Bye-bye.
“There are a million reasons we’re wrong for each other,” he said.
She slid her hand over his chest, between his pecs, and the friction ripped right into him. He should give in now because it had been too long since he’d had a woman, and this wasn’t just any woman. This amazing, beautiful, sassy woman he’d like to hear moaning underneath him. At least when his damned elbow healed since he couldn’t put any weight on it. Way to kill the mood.
“I think you’re wrong about that,” she said. “Besides, do we care right now? Clearly, we’re attracted to each other. I mean, I’m not great with men, but that smoking kiss was a good indication, don’t you think?”
A good indication.
So much for honorable. Brodey gave his head a hard shake. He didn’t know what the hell he wanted. No. That was a lie. He knew. He just didn’t want to give in to it. And how dumb was that? They were adults, reasonable adults—mostly—who wanted to have some fun.
Fun. That was what they’d have.
And while he did all this thinking, the furnace clunked, driving even more heat into the already boiling room while she straddled him.
“I like to think I’m a fairly confident person, but this is starting to feel like a rejection. You’ve got ten seconds to kiss me before I give up on you. And, Brodey, when I give up on a man, it’s over. No going back.”
As proved by her walking away from the cheating ex.
Couldn’t have that, could they?
He slid his hands around her waist, settled them on her hips where his fingers hit bare skin at the bottom edge of her top. His blood raced and he breathed in, enjoyed the sensation of his skin against hers. He curved his hands over her rear, inching along because why not? Putting his hands on her was the thing he’d been craving for days.
“I hope you’re not tired,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because you’re about to have a long night.”
* * *
LEXI SQUEEZED HER thighs against Brodey’s and her legs tingled with each bit of contact. She’d missed that feeling. The anticipation. The lust. “Bring it on, fella.”
She lowered her head to kiss him, but he was already in motion, pulling her in, and then her lips were on his, raking against them, nipping and sucking and...crazy good. A fierce buzz roared inside her, tearing straight up into her breasts and—wow—this kiss. Too much. Too. Much.
Never before had she thrown herself at a man. Never. They always came to her. With Brodey, she didn’t need him to chase her. She simply knew what she wanted. Somewhere along the way, he’d given her reasons to trust him. The way he watched over her, protected her, listened to her. All of it brought safety. Emotionally and physically.
Even if the man drove her insane. Which he was about to do on her treasured sofa.
In a grand way.
He dug his hands under her shirt, slid the hem up, his roughened fingers scorching over her skin. “Get it off.”
Together, eyes locked, they worked the fabric over her head and tossed it on the floor. Her own little striptease. She took a second to absorb the fact that she was almost fully naked—tap pants still firmly in place—and he hadn’t removed a stitch of clothing.
She kissed him again, pressing against him and reveling in the light abrasion of his shirt against her bare skin. “You have too many clothes on.”
Then she was airborne as he shifted her sideways. “I can fix that.”
The two of them went to work on his clothes, him removing his shirt while she worked on his zipper. The shirt gone, he grabbed his wallet from the arm of the sofa. Before tonight, that wallet sitting there, disturbing the order, possibly leaving smudges on the fabric, would have grated her nerves. Now? Who cared? He pulled something from the wallet. Condom. Good thinking.
He boosted his hips and she glided his jeans down, hooking her fingers into his boxer briefs, bringing them along with the jeans. Multitasking at its best.
His erection sprang free and Lexi figured she’d just hit the lottery of male perfection. She skittered her fingers over his legs, good solid legs a woman could count on to hold her up. He stepped out of his jeans and she tossed them aside, then stood in front of him, running her hands along the ridges of his stomach, up his chest and—dear God, the man was all lean, sinewy muscle. This was a body toned and carved to perfection.
“Lex?”
“Yes?”
“Uh, there’s one thing.”
Of course there was. The man had a lecture for everything. Forget that. She dived into his neck, trailing kisses up and up and up, along his jaw, to his lips, and he set her back a step.
“Brodey, I love this protective streak in you and how you worry about every darned thing, but you can stop now. Please.”
“I’m sorry, but...”
Enough. She lurched back. Might as well just let him say what he needed to say and they could get down to business. “What is it?”
He stuck his elbow out. “Bum arm.”
She burst out laughing. “And that’s a problem now?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I don’t understand.”
He grunted. “I can’t believe you’re gonna make me say it.”
As the seconds ticked by, tension mounted and her brain hit overdrive—what am I missing? What’s he worried about? No idea. Using her palm, she banged on her forehead. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“Lex! I can’t put any weight on my arm. You have to do the work.”
Say what now?
Again, he held his elbow up and the look on his face, the pressed lips, the scrunched nose, all of it a cross of frustration, humiliation and sheer will. She grabbed his cheeks and dotted kisses over his face. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I get it now.”
“It’s not okay. I should be able to hold up my own damned weight.”
More kisses. “You can. Just not right now. It’s okay. Really.” She shoved him backward until the backs of his legs hit the sofa and he dropped onto it. “Lucky for you, I like being on top.”
He smiled at her joke. Mission complete. Gone was the frustration and embarrassment. The vulnerability. From a man who’d never shown her any sign of weakness. I could love him.
But she wouldn’t go to that particular place. That meant risking heartbreak. For now, she’d focus on the lust that, after months and months without it, brought her alive again. She stood in front of Brodey, watching him tear the condom wrapper, anticipating that second when he’d be ready and she’d pounce—literally—on him.
She waggled her hand. “Seriously? How long does it take? Should I do it?”
He snorted. “No. Sheesh, someone’s in a rush.”
You know it, mister.
He held his arms wide. “Come and get me.”
Then she was on him and a frenzy of kisses and licking and touching ensued. Neck, shoulders, jaw, everywhere. Poof. Total combustion. Insanity.
Loving the feel of his skin against hers, that rub of flesh against flesh, she inched closer, craving that first second when he’d be inside her, filling her. He gripped her hips and—finally—she gasped at the intrusion. So long she’d been without this.
He stopped. “You okay?”
“I’m great. Keep moving or I’ll kill you. Right on my sofa.”
The one she barely let anyone sit on.
She rolled her hips and he moaned, a low, guttural sound that melted her mind.
They moved together and her body became a tight coil, waiting, waiting, waiting. Please. So perfect. How was it possible he felt this perfect? This right.
Kidding herself.
Struck stupid by lust. Had to be.
Did she care? No.
He bucked his hips and her breath hitched. Something bright and sharp and beautiful flashed behind her eyes. I could love him. Her body exploded, just came apart bit by bit, and she cried out, hanging on as he moved inside her. She grabbed his cheeks and held on, wanting to see his face when he went over.
Gritting his teeth, he took a sharp breath as his orgasm hit him full force. He tightened his arms around her, bringing her with him as he slumped back against the sofa. So good together. Who knew? The cynical cop and the hopeful designer. What a team. Snuggling in, she rested her head against his chest, where his heartbeat thump-thumped in her ear. Slowly, she twirled her fingers in the smattering of dark hair, enjoying the silence and the odd familiarity, the comfort, that shouldn’t come from a man she’d slept with only once.
Comfort and familiarity that she’d experienced only one other time, with someone who’d humiliated her with his intern.
Don’t think about it. The hurt and anger and unwillingness to take a chance on someone.
Not now. Not when she’d finally found a man who wouldn’t lie to her or keep secrets.
One she might trust.
* * *
FOR THE FIRST time in months, Brodey woke up thinking he’d not only hit the lottery, he’d also hit the sex-all-night megalottery, and in his mind, that was one hell of a way to start the day.
Even if he was dog tired.
He pried his eyes open, blinked a few times and focused on the weird color of Lexi’s bedroom ceiling. Why the hell would anyone paint a ceiling peach? Then again, why would anyone pay twenty grand for a couch?
He didn’t get it.
Lexi’s world was an enigma. An enigma he’d have to start understanding if he expected a woman like her to continue playing the megalottery with him.
But, damn, her world was all happy, calm colors, while his was dark crime. She saw light where he saw gloom. Eventually, his need to point out the obvious dangers and her need to ignore him would blow any relationship to bits.
Next to him, Lexi flopped to her stomach, her sandy-blond hair splaying over her pillow. Immediately, thoughts of nudging her awake and really giving this day a bang of a start filled his mind. He considered it. Sure did. But as tired as he was, she had to be just as tired and had clients to see today. At least he could nap.
He stared back up at the ceiling, tilted his head one way, then the other. Oddly, his already supremely under-control blood pressure dropped another notch. Huh. Maybe she had something with all this feng shui nonsense. He closed his eyes, thought about the day ahead. After last night’s break-in and the subsequent call to the PD, he needed to come clean to his superiors about his involvement investigating this case. He was a cop and cops talked and before he knew it, the brass would want answers.
Plus, he needed help. After the warning left for Lexi, he couldn’t investigate and keep her safe at the same time.
Hold up here, bud.
His superiors? Was that necessary? They didn’t know the case, at least not the intricacies, the nuts and bolts. Not as well as the lead detective. And that guy was a friend of his father’s. Brodey could head in there, turn over any evidence he and Lexi had found and tell the detective to help himself to the credit. Brodey’s name wouldn’t even have to come up.
This might be a plan.
Slowly, he folded the sheet and bedspread back and slid out of bed. The sudden chill bolted right into his feet. Damned winters. A hot shower would do him some good. Help run the morning kinks out of his elbow. He’d help himself to that, head for clean clothes and call his father to hang with Lexi while he went to the PD and confessed his sins.
Chapter Ten
Brodey stood in reception at Area North headquarters waiting for Detective Lawrence McCall to answer his page. A woman sat to his left, her head buried in some kind of needlepoint project, and a sudden punch of yearning blasted him, ate right through his core. Who would expect to see a woman doing needlepoint in a police station? A cop. That was who. Because cops saw oddball stuff every day and that part of the job kept him sane, gave him something to laugh about after seeing things no right-minded human should.
“Junior!” McCall’s booming voice echoed against the walls.
The man stood at the door leading into the main area of the building, his big chest stretching his dress shirt to barely bursting, and Brodey thought maybe the guy had lost some weight. He also wore a snarky grin. Old-timers like Larry, guys who couldn’t understand why female detectives didn’t want to be referred to as broads, knew being called Junior broke Brodey’s chops. In a bad way.
“Lawrence,” Brodey said, loading him up on the sarcasm, “how’s it going?”
McCall snorted. Yeah, you’re not the only one who can bust chops. When Dad had arrived at Lexi’s, he’d given Brodey inside information that as a child, McCall was often teased about being a nerd whose mother called him Lawrence instead of t
he shortened Larry. At times, the guys around the station liked to crawl under the man’s skin by calling him Lawrence.
McCall whapped him on the back of the head and shoved him through the door with a laugh. “How you been? Everything okay? Your dad told me about the elbow.”
“I’m good. Don’t start with the elbow jokes. I’m out of my freaking mind with boredom.”
McCall gestured down the long corridor. “Who’d have thought you’d miss this job, right?”
“Amen, brother.”
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s about one of your cases. You got somewhere we can talk?”
McCall flopped his bottom lip out. “Sure.”
He led him down the corridor to an empty interview room where the ripe, stagnant smell of sweat and fear permeated the air. Thousands of people had sat through questioning in here, some guilty, some not. But one thing was for sure—when they entered this room, their central nervous systems reacted. And not in a good way.
Brodey dropped his messenger bag on the floor. The bag contained his notes, Lexi’s flyer and a sketch of Long that he’d be turning over to McCall. He parked himself in one of the metal chairs bracketing the table and tension sped up his arms like swarming spiders, their tiny legs powering along. He cupped a hand over the back of his neck and rubbed. How the heck had he’d gotten himself into this mess? All he’d wanted to do was kill a day by helping his sister.
McCall scraped the chair against the linoleum, and the sharp sound drove into Brodey’s skull. Or maybe that was just his nerves.
“So, what’s up?”
Making direct eye contact, Brodey eased his shoulders back. Command presence, the ability to look confident and in control, sometimes meant the difference between bleeding out in the street or making a bust.
“The Williams case.”
“My nightmare. What about it?”
“I have information. All I ask is that you hear me out.”
The detective dropped his chin to his chest and groaned. “Ah, Junior, what the hell’s this, now?”
“Nothing horrible.” Brodey waggled a hand. “It’s good. But my butt could wind up in a sling.”
The Detective Page 12