by C. A. Szarek
He squirmed on the bench seat and chided himself to pay attention to the road he’d finally been able to pull out on.
His tires screeched when he tore into the hotel’s parking lot and he slammed the shifter into Park. Shannon dashed into the building with no second thought to his Tundra’s poor transmission and hammered on the elevator button, ignoring the few odd looks he got. It occurred to him he was in full uniform, so he cleared his throat and straightened. Don’t wanna be described as a crazy cop.
He glanced around for the stairs because it was taking too long, but when he was about to head toward the door with the little plaque on the wall, the elevator finally dinged.
C’mon, Shannon chanted as the mirrored double doors opened too slowly. Only ingrained manners made him allow the older couple who’d been waiting before him to step on the elevator first.
His heart and stomach jumped at the same time.
Calm the hell down.
He wasn’t running to a scene or answering a call. A glance at his watch told him he wasn’t even that late—it was only five-thirty-five. There shouldn’t be any urgency. Shannon hadn’t checked in with Taylor yet, so there was no reason to freak out. She’d said she’d leave her office around five, so she was probably just getting home, too. He wouldn’t be tardy for their…date?
Was that what was going on? Was he dating Taylor?
He shook his head. “Don’t put a label on it,” he whispered.
The elevator doors opened and he jumped. It wasn’t his floor, yet he’d been ready to rush out into the waiting corridor.
I’m hopeless.
The older man threw him a nod as he helped his wife off on the next floor, and Shannon returned the gesture and told them to have a nice evening. The little slice of forced civility calmed him a tad. He drummed his fingertips on the support rail while he waited for the elevator to take him two floors up, to the fifth.
Finally he was in front of his suite, swiping his keycard. The little green light couldn’t flash fast enough.
Shannon wanted his uniform off. Wanted to rush back to his truck and be at Taylor’s apartment now. Like he was a high school kid meeting a girl for their first evening unchaperoned.
Jesus, something is wrong with me.
He glanced at the full-length mirror on the sliding closet door. He could read the urgency on his face and forced deep breath number one hundred and one for the last hour—or maybe it was just the previous fifteen minutes.
The gun belt came off first, then his shirt. Shannon ditched the rest of his clothing fast, and didn’t bother picking them up from where they lay on the patterned commercial carpet. Good thing polyester doesn’t wrinkle.
He shoved his legs into jeans and strapped his backup gun to his ankle. He never went anywhere unarmed. The small Sig nestled right above his cowboy boot.
Shannon paused in front of the mirror again, surveying his civilian clothing. He’d chosen dark jeans and a collared gray polo shirt, because he didn’t know where she’d pick for dinner, and he wanted to look sort of nice.
He shook his head at himself as his stomach flipped.
It’s not a freakin’ first date.
He was amped up, and in more than one way. Not only did he want to talk about that kiss, he wanted a repeat. He’d have to let Taylor lead in that regard, but he was on edge. Should probably take advice from that old comedy movie where the lead guy jacked off before his date with the heroine, minus the hijinks that followed, of course.
Nah…he’d never done that in his life.
Shannon could keep his hands to himself where Taylor was concerned, right?
He grabbed his cell and fired off a quick message to her.
On my way.
His heartrate picked up as he waited for her answer, which was one word—Okay—a few seconds later.
He couldn’t get back to his truck fast enough. Shannon did a repeat of his hotel parking lot job when he finally got to Taylor’s building, throwing his Tundra into park without a backward glance—though he did remember to lock it. He didn’t pay the meter, but it was after six so he shouldn’t get a parking ticket.
He took the stairs two at a time and finally, finally, made a fist to knock on her door. Wasn’t left standing there more than a few moments, thank God.
“Hi.” Her tone was almost shy, but she looked him in the eye.
Shannon’s body hummed. He wanted to snatch her to him, take her mouth, but Taylor wouldn’t appreciate that kind of greeting. He screamed at himself to relax and smiled. “Hi.”
There was a pause, and they stared at each other. Her hazel eyes drew him in, with their rich mix of greens and browns, and he couldn’t look away. The glowing light of her living room behind her surrounded her petite form like an aura, bringing his attention to her freckles. Somehow, she was a mix of innocence and vixen.
“Uh,” Taylor whispered, breaking the spell. “Are you gonna come in?”
He nodded and swallowed, because speaking was a no-go.
She slid out of his way, and Shannon wanted to tell her she didn’t have to go so far. He was dying to touch her. Kiss her.
Taylor looked up at him, tapping both hands on jeans-clad thighs before shoving her fingertips in her pockets, as if she’d realized what she’d been doing.
Shannon let his eyes rove her body. The dark denim was snug, outlining muscular legs, shapely hips and a slender waist. He craved a view from behind, to check out her ass. Her tight yoga pants last night had already told him it was fantastic. Form-fitting jeans were even better.
She wore a pale pink sweater, with a slight V-neck, and it was tight, too, hugging her breasts. The fabric looked soft, beckoning exploration. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders in loose, natural waves his fingers itched to touch.
Damn, she’s hot.
She looked perfect, feminine. So opposite of what he was used to with her.
Taylor had been hiding a fantastic body that spoke of the workout routine she’d told him about. It fed his fantasies.
“I’ve never seen you in jeans,” Shannon blurted.
She touched her cheek, and tucked a strawberry-blonde wave behind her ear. He wanted to groan when her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip. “Uh, thanks.”
“You look great.”
“So do you.” Her cheeks went pink, brightening every freckle, but something about that made Shannon’s tension loosen. Taylor was just as nervous as he was.
Is that good or bad?
He smiled. “Thanks.” Shannon made his feet close the distance between them. “Are you hungry?”
Taylor nodded.
He was, too. Just not for food.
She swallowed and he ordered himself not to kiss her throat.
A dark spot there made his gaze still. At first he thought it was a smudge, but there was a matching mark on the other side.
What the hell?
Shannon cupped her face and tilted her chin up, his libido vanishing while he focused on what looked like deep bruising.
Taylor uttered a protest, but he maintained his grip.
Shannon’s sudden hold on her chin made her still, but he wasn’t hurting her. He tilted back and forth gently, and Taylor’s gut tightened.
“What the hell happened to your neck?”
She sucked back a groan. “Nothing.” Tried to pull away but he didn’t release her. If anything, his grip firmed. She grabbed both his wrists, but that didn’t force him to let her go, either.
Those whiskey-colored eyes studied her bruises, then met her gaze. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
“Long story.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “I got all night.”
Do you?
Her heart tripped for a different reason than having to tell him about the holdup and how she’d received a black and blue throat.
What did she want from Shannon Crowley? And what did he want from her?
“Well?” he prompted. This was a growl. A demand that should’ve irked
, but it didn’t.
She sighed. “I’d rather not talk about.”
Shannon’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. His thumb gently stroked her discolored skin.
Taylor ignored the shiver that shot down her spine. She’d inspected the angry marks when she’d gotten home from work. It looked bad. Much worse than it felt.
“Taylor, it looks like someone tried to choke you. This wasn’t here yesterday. Tell me what the hell happened today.”
“Someone tried to choke me.” She tried to keep her voice dry, sarcastic, because she couldn’t handle the touch of caring in his hard tone. Her tummy wobbled, along with her knees.
“Who?” The look Shannon sported was like none Taylor had ever seen from him. His handsome face was tight, threatening. Like he had murder on his mind.
For my sake.
Her heart fluttered and she had to swallow—again. “I’m…fine.” She cursed the crack in her voice.
Damn, why hadn’t she taken time to put makeup on the bruises before he’d come over?
Taylor opened and closed her hands on his wrists, and she couldn’t look away from the angry concern in his eyes.
“I guess we can stand here all night until you tell me what happened.” Shannon finally released her, but he crossed his arms over his chest and glared.
She couldn’t help but notice how the movement flexed his muscled forearms—his thick biceps strained against his short-sleeved polo shirt and the gray material stretched across his pecs. Taylor unwillingly remembered what it’d been like to be pressed into that chest the night before.
Of their own accord, her eyes trailed his frame. The shirt was tucked in, hinting at his abs. Same tight jeans from the night before hugging his muscular thighs. He was wearing cowboy boots again, too.
“Taylor.” Her name was all warning.
She jumped. He probably thought her hesitation was because she didn’t want to tell him—which was true—but that was better than getting caught ogling him. Taylor wasn’t fond of either idea. A sigh broke from her lips. “I guess if you have to know—”
“I do.”
Regaining a tiny bit of composure, she managed a smirk. “I was going to say, we might as well sit. I told you it was a long story.”
Shannon nodded.
She tried to scoot away from him on her couch, but he prevented it, tugging her closer. Taylor didn’t fight him. Instead, she launched into what’d happened.
He listened with quiet intensity, like he’d have to write a report on it.
That was a tad distracting, but not as much as Taylor’s hyperawareness of his body touching hers. They were thigh to thigh, and nearly hip-to-hip. She felt his body heat, sensed his muscles and wanted to focus on that, not The Adventures of Donnie Simmons.
She had to fight the urge to climb on his lap and slide her arms around his neck. Taste his mouth like she had last night. Taylor shivered and rubbed her arm. The fine-woven fabric of her sweater was ultra-soft beneath her palm.
“Are you okay?” Shannon demanded when she’d finished.
“Yeah.” She nodded to reinforce the word, but the sergeant looked skeptical.
“You sure?”
Taylor squirmed under his appraising gaze. Unfortunately, the movement didn’t relieve her nerves. It just rubbed their bodies together, making her want more. She tried to move away, to no avail.
Shannon’s large hand clamped on her chin again, so he could get another look at her bruising. “Taylor, this looks bad.”
She tilted her head, and it made the swollen skin throb. She bit her bottom lip to keep from gasping. Didn’t want to admit she was in discomfort—he’d probably rush her to the ER. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt unless I touch it. It’s not as bad as it looks. The paramedics said it’s okay.”
“I want to beat the shit out of that asshole for putting his hands on you,” Shannon growled.
Why does he care so much?
He took a breath and released her, but didn’t look away.
She forced words out. “My partner saved my ass. And the guy got shot, so he got his. He’s looking at time when he’s better, no worries.”
“Thank God your partner was there.”
Heat kissed her cheeks. Taylor didn’t need to hear that crap again, or be reminded of the guilt she felt for being reckless, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Shannon, either.
She hadn’t told him about her mandated meetings with Dr. Wong, or about the torture she’d survived during session one that afternoon. She’d only managed a reprieve for the next day—her second appointment was the day after that, at nine a.m. sharp.
Taylor had convinced the doc she could work in the morning, but she was essentially on light duty until her time with him was complete, and she wouldn’t be allowed to leave the office. Of course, Baker was on board with that. She’d argued again, and he’d won. Again. She was so desperate to avoid being trapped, she almost wanted to tackle Texarkana on her own. Her boss wouldn’t allow that, either.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“You’re scowling.”
“Oh, sorry.” She jolted, and ended up bumping shoulders with Shannon.
He slid an arm around her and drew her closer.
Somehow she didn’t—couldn’t—argue. Taylor sank into his warmth. She fought for a sense of normalcy when the picture of her and John caught her attention.
She closed her eyes when guilt crept up from the pit of her stomach. She rested her head against Shannon’s shoulder, hiding her face instead of obeying her mental command to move away from him.
It felt good to be held by someone. He felt good.
His lips brushed her temple and she squeezed her eyes tighter.
Why do I feel like crying?
Taylor struggled for a distraction, and cleared her throat so she could speak. She forced her head to lift, and met Shannon’s eyes. “You didn’t tell me about your day.”
He gave a half-smile, but his gaze slid to her lips. He dipped his head down, and she met his mouth with hers. She should’ve leaned away, but she didn’t.
The kiss was soft and gentle at first, a question, but when she let him in and his tongue brushed hers, Shannon delved deeper, kissing her harder. More insistently.
Unlike last night, he pulled her into him until Taylor sat on his lap, plastered to his hard chest.
Shannon groaned, and she answered with a moan when things became urgent. She clutched at him, snaking her arms around his neck and burying her fingers in his dark hair. Soft. His hair was so soft.
Their tongues danced and dueled, their lips tangled and fused, and his teeth nipped, but it didn’t hurt. Desire settled low and hot, until she had to wiggle to appease the empty ache in her core.
He shifted her closer, and Taylor felt his erection against her hip.
Shannon’s hands swallowed her waist and inched up her back, caressing as he went. It was soothing but arousing at the same time.
He spread kisses along her jaw line, and his stubble teased her skin, made her burn for more. The farther he moved away, the more it made her miss his lips on hers, so she cupped his cheeks and tugged until he gave her his mouth again. That kiss lasted so long, Taylor had to pull away to breathe.
They panted against each other, then Shannon resumed his exploration of the underside of her throat with insistent nips and licks.
Taylor yelped when he brushed her bruises with too much pressure.
He froze and their eyes locked. “I’m so sorry, I forgot.”
She shook her head as the pain cleared her hazy desire and she came back into her brain. Her body still throbbed all over, for more. For him.
Then she remembered John and bit back a whimper.
I shouldn’t have done this.
“It’s…okay… We…”
“Got carried away,” Shannon finished.
Taylor bit her bottom lip. Confusion, desire and guilt swirled around her head, and she avoided glancing
at the picture that was too close for comfort. She looked down. Her body was running hot, her blood boiling for a man other than her fiancé. Passion—that felt good, familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time. It made her want more, but want to push Shannon away at the same time.
“Taylor.” His whisper drew her gaze, against her will.
“What?” Her voice cracked and she tried not to wince.
“I’m sorry I hurt your neck, but I’m not sorry I kissed you.”
She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, ignoring the sight of his kiss-swollen lips, mussed hair, and the way his breath hitched, as if he was affected by her as she was by him.
Irresistible.
Taylor wanted Shannon.
The confession resulted in more guilt seizing her gut. John. Shannon wasn’t her fiancé. “I just… I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” She slid off his lap, locking her knees when they wobbled—she’d almost landed right back on top of him. Her legs didn’t want to hold her up, and her whole form screamed a protest when she broke their physical contact.
Shannon shot out a hand to steady her and she hated that she yearned for that small touch—and more.
Disappointment darkened his amber gaze, and his full mouth was turned down at the corners, but he nodded as he looked up at her. “Do you want me to go?”
Taylor hedged, rocking back and forth on her feet. “No,” she whispered finally. “I meant it when I asked you to dinner.”
Why did I say that?
It would be better if he left.
She couldn’t let him go just yet. Taylor trembled and called herself every name in the book.
Shannon didn’t say anything for a long moment, just studied her until she squirmed. He stood and blew out an audible breath. “Okay.”
“Good.” She forced the answer past her lips, because she had to say something. “You can tell me about your day over dinner.” She reached for normal with both hands, but seeing this man for the third night in a row was as far from normal as things got for Taylor.
Why can’t I tell him to leave?
“You got it.” Finally he smiled, but she didn’t like the touch of sadness in it. His dimple was missing, and that was worse than the glare.