The Grand Opening

by Ava Miles

  Abbie’s coping mechanism sounded appealing, so she headed into the bathroom to clean the tub, forcing herself not to glance in the mirror. The power of her emotions made her afraid to be alone with him.

  She was out of control.

  Chapter 23

  When she told Keith he could go to Dustin’s soccer practice, his face glowed like he was headed to Disneyworld. Maven didn’t say anything, but she saw the smile on his face before he ducked his head.

  After seeing them off, Maven opened the passenger side of his SUV and gestured her inside.

  She shook her head. “I want to take my own car.”

  “There’s no need.” He patted the supple brown leather seat for emphasis.

  “But then you’ll have to take me all the way back here.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he informed her, leaning against the car now like he could wait her out.

  They both knew she was stalling. The yard seemed quieter without Keith around. Goosebumps broke out on her arms. Since she was wearing a short–sleeved T–shirt, he could see them. Darn it. And that damn itch on her back was starting up again. She was allergic to him. That was it.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a friend’s.”

  The more she hesitated, the more relaxed he became. She walked forward. “You have friends?”

  His mouth curved. “More than you know. This one has some equipment I think you might enjoy.”

  She stopped in front of him. Those slumberous eyes of his glowed in the summer light. “Why does that sound ominous?”

  “I think you’ll approve of his equipment.”

  “Is there a joke there?”

  He closed the door when she finally jumped inside. “My friend would make one. Buckle up.”

  “I’m a cop. I always buckle up. And if you speed, I’ll give you a ticket.”

  He turned up the music—rap, of course.

  “I never speed with people in the car. Now, stop poking at me.”

  From what she could tell, he never did anything to put his family or anyone else in jeopardy. He was responsible…to a point.

  She settled back and let the primal beat of the bass pulse and throb around her, trying not to notice how smooth the leather felt against the exposed skin where she’d cut her jeans above the knee. It made her think of how his hands felt on her, so she looked out the window to distract herself. The trees flashed bright green as he sped up the mountain road. She wondered where they were going. She’d seen him talking on his cell before they had taken off, laughing like he was demented. She wished she had her gun.

  They turned onto a private drive. He gunned the engine to climb the rough road. Whoever lived here would have a bitch of a time getting out once the sky dropped a load of snow. The simple rustic log cabin appealed to her, but when he shut the car off, she gave him her best smirk.

  “Why am I not surprised you have a pied–à–terre?”

  He chuckled. “Pied– à;–terres are usually in big cities, but I understand your meaning. You think I bring women here?”

  The jolt of jealousy surprised her. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? “It’s your business.”

  He came around to help her with the door—not that she needed it. He kept his hand on the side of the car, caging her in. “Since you brought it up, I’ll share my business. Sharing is caring, after all.” He studied her for a long moment, as if weighing what he wanted to say.

  She squirmed. Oh, this wasn’t going to be what she wanted to hear.

  “There hasn’t been anyone since I met you. I wasn’t happy about that, but I’ve made my peace with it.”

  His meaning hit her like a slug in her police vest. “You’ve got to be kidding?” He was, right?

  “You believe me deep down or your voice wouldn’t squeak that way. You can analyze it later. Come on.”

  Without waiting for her, he walked up the porch steps. Opened the door. Who doesn’t lock their doors? She followed, reeling from his confession. How did a guy like him go all those months…

  She wouldn’t think about it. Her hands and other parts were growing sweaty. She rubbed her palms against her jean shorts and jogged after him.

  The house’s interior was filled with the rich textures of leather and suede and burnished wood. The fireplace’s stones looked like they’d been underwater a hundred years, as smooth as a baby’s bottom. No photos or knickknacks were displayed.

  “Who lives here?”

  “Rhett’s renting it, but don’t worry, he’s not around right now.” Maven walked over to the bar and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. “What would you like?”

  “A Coke would be fine.”

  He handed it over. “Let’s find your surprise.”

  She hung back, finding it eerie to be alone with him this way. She usually had a buffer. Her gaze fell to his rock–hard butt. God, she was losing it. Her muscles were locking up, thinking about all that hard sinew in his body. He wouldn’t be a pushover in bed.

  She shook her head to clear it. They passed through a mudroom where dirty hiking boots sat by the back door.

  The view took her breath away. Perhaps it was the two bald eagles circling overhead. There was one lone tree in a small flat valley before the next mountain peak rose up in bold, thrusting points dotted with sage and evergreens and craggy, moss–covered rocks.

  Maven walked over to a table and pointed. “Your surprise, my lady.”

  Her eyes took in three guns that had been laid out at precise angles—a Marakov PM Pistol 4.5 mm, a Beretta Elite II 9 mm, and a stunning Winchester 12 gauge shotgun inlaid with cherry wood and a silver insignia pattern.

  “Rhett wasn’t sure which one you’d like. He always carries a few.”

  She closed her mouth, certain she must look like some wacko fish in Finding Nemo.

  “He said to tell you his permits are on his desk if you want to check.”

  “Huh?” Where was her sense? Her ability to think on her feet?

  “He only has left–over beer bottles, but he said they’re fun to shoot. He even said you could shoot the full bottles in the fridge if you’re still pissed after you make it through the empties. But he draws the line at the pickle jar. That man loves dill pickles. He can eat a whole jar on a card break.”

  Her mouth opened again. If she didn’t cut this out, she was going to inhale one of the bugs zipping along. It would be embarrassing to start gagging. Maybe he’d give her the Heimlich. She quaked at the thought of him pressed against her backside. Get a grip, Peg.

  Maven gestured to the table set up a number of yards in the distance, which she somehow hadn’t noticed. Sure enough, it held a combination of brown, green, and clear bottles. “He said he’ll have someone clean it up, so you’re not to worry about that. Just shoot them. He wants your stats. He said he’ll join you sometime if you’re any good.”

  She tried to say something, but only managed to sputter like a car backfiring.

  His smile never left his face. “Why don’t you set up? He only has enough ear protection for one, but he kept the ear plugs he didn’t use in business class from Hong Kong, so I’ll use those. I’ll rustle up some snacks.”

  He headed into the house before she could find her voice. She shuffled forward, trying to take it all in. He’d set up a mini firing range just for her? Dear God, it might be the nicest thing anyone had ever done.

  She picked up each gun, judging the weight. All were freshly cleaned.

  Maven came back with a plate of apples, cheese, and grapes. “Rhett’s not the healthiest eater, but whoever’s been doing his shopping is hoping that will change.”

  He held out the tray like some waiter at a fancy party. She took a stem of grapes to be polite. Crunched on a few while he bit into an apple. She noticed he didn’t throw the core out like she’d warned Keith not to do. He put it in a napkin like Mr. Responsible Nature himself.

  Why did he keep surprising her?

  “So, will his collection do? I had
no idea what you’d like.”

  She felt him come up beside her, and they studied the view together. “Right. You hate guns.” That made this whole surprise even more…

  “Well, I knew you couldn’t use your service weapon to vent, so this seemed like a good idea. Plus, you can’t jam these as easily as your paper shredder.”

  She’d melt in a puddle at his feet if he didn’t stop talking, so she secured her eye and ear protection. She picked up a gun because she didn’t know what to say. Swiveled to see him stuffing in yellow ear plugs. He gave her the thumbs up.

  She turned before she let loose some giddy grin. Brought the 9 mm up and fired six rounds straight, taking out six bottles from left to right in an explosion of glass.

  Maven whistled. “Somehow I knew you’d hit everything,” he yelled because of the earplugs.

  “Did you make a bet with Rhett?” she yelled back.

  He waggled those dark browns. “Sure did. It’s what we do.”

  She picked up the shotgun. Each round took a few seconds longer to unload than it would from her service gun, but she liked the recoil. It made her plant her feet to prepare for the impact. The bottles blew to bits. Part of her enjoyed the destruction. The mommy inside loved not having to clean it up.

  The pistol fit into her palm like it belonged there. She checked the chamber and sighted her remaining beer bottles. She decided to mix it up. Found her stance. Then she fired from right to left, blowing the bottles from the inside out like a metronome clicking back and forth.

  She tore off the goggles and ear protection, wanting to dance in place. Her blood sang as it coursed through her body. Her skin soaked up the wind rushing down the canyon. The sunlight gave everything crystal clarity.

  Maven walked to the target area. “You seem to be out of bottles. How about I hold this apple up by its stem? See if you can shoot it?”

  Her head lurched back when he did exactly that. His body looked about as relaxed as she’d ever seen it.

  “You’re crazy! You really must trust me not to shoot you.”

  “You’re a good shot. Plus, doesn’t my willingness to do something like this prove how much I care about you?”

  His words burned her throat like the gunpowder swirling in the air. Is that what he was doing? Proving himself?

  She picked up the weapon and reloaded, watching him from heavy–lidded eyes. Surely, he would back down. Even her fellow officers wouldn’t do something this nuts.

  He didn’t move a muscle. Simply kept smiling, saying nothing.

  Well, hadn’t he said enough already?

  It hit her then. Smack between the eyes. He was waiting for her to make her move. Hadn’t he showed her his hand?

  Yearning rose within her, a long tortured cry starting at her toes and cruising up her body, gaining speed. She put the safety on and set the gun down. Her feet took a few steps toward him. His smile made her increase her pace until she was running. He threw the apple aside and opened his arms as she hurled herself against him.

  “I should have called your bluff.”

  His hand caressed her cheek. “I still wouldn’t have folded. This hand’s too important.” Then he lowered his head slowly, never taking his eyes off hers, and kissed her.

  His gentleness had to stop, so she dug her hands into his hair. Devoured him with teeth and tongue.

  She pulled her mouth away and grabbed his face. Looked into those liquid, green eyes. “I want you.”

  He anchored his hands on her face, fingers stroking her skin. “You remember what I said? It hasn’t changed.”

  Her skin felt sunburned. Inside, her muscles coiled. Shifted. Waited.

  She couldn’t hold back anymore. She had to be with him. She didn’t know where it would go, but she knew one thing.

  She didn’t want only one time with him either. He was right. It wouldn’t be enough.

  Her fingers caressed his lips. His jaw clenched. The insistent evidence of his desire pressed against her hips, and she angled her pelvis closer. His breath hissed out.

  “Fine. We do it your way.”

  “Thank God.” He picked her up like she weighed nothing and carried her into the house.

  “You don’t have to carry me.”

  “Don’t protest about something silly. Save your energy.”

  The doorknob turned easily. He made a beeline for a long hallway. “We’re not going to use Rhett’s bedroom, but I think this one will do.”

  When he walked inside, she was aware of a tall slanted ceiling and Mission–style beams. Indian weavings hung on the wall in bold oranges and reds. He deposited her on the side of the bed and sat in front of her. Took her hand.

  “I don’t know how slow I can make this for the first time, but I promise I’ll take care of you.”

  “Slow? Good God, no.”

  He grinned and cupped her neck, pulling her head closer. “You say that in horror. We’ll deal with that later. Let me make love to you, Peg.”

  The intimacy of his voice made the first ripple of unease spread across her belly, but the jagged edge of desire overrode all thought. She fitted her mouth to his and dug her hands under his T–shirt, caressing his thickly corded chest until he pulled back and yanked the shirt off. She did the same, wanting contact, flesh against flesh, heat. He grabbed her hands when she went for her sports bra.

  “Give me a minute to enjoy this.”

  She pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top. “No.”

  He grabbed her hips as she ground into him. “So that’s how it’s going to be.”

  Her head fell back. She grabbed his hands and put them to her breasts. “If you had any idea how long it’s been…”

  He flipped her, cutting her off. Tugged on the zipper to her shorts and swept them and her panties away. He lifted her and tugged off her sports bra. Threw it across the room.

  When he leaned up, his eyes were all smoke and fire.

  “I won’t make you wait.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed out.

  His head lowered. He took her nipple in the sweetest, wettest suction of her life. A tortured moan tumbled out as pleasure surged through her body. His hand swept down her belly, lighting a trail of heat to her core. He parted her with his fingers and began to play. She bucked against him as he switched to her other breast, never breaking his rhythm. The tug, the pull, the flick of his thumb made her convulse, crying out in one long, agonizing refrain.

  She panted, her hand over her forehead. He brushed it aside and kissed the side of her mouth. Forcing her eyes open, she almost did a double–take at the tenderness in his face.

  “Better?”

  A laugh huffed out. “Not really.” It hadn’t made much of a dent in the raging river inside her.

  He pressed his fingers higher inside her, causing her to twist and moan. “I understand the feeling.”

  “Kiss me,” she whispered and wove her hand through his hair when he settled that sweet mouth on hers.

  His tongue thrust in time with his fingers. He gently bit on the corner of her mouth and tugged on another sensitive area. Feeling the build, she wanted to scream for the release she knew was right around the corner. He slid his other hand across her breast. Caressed the nipple. Then he pulled. She came again, moaning nonsense words, flushed with sweat, wanting.

  “I can’t take anymore,” he ground out.

  His hands left her. She felt him shift away. Her eyes popped open, fearing he was leaving. Instead, she got the best view of her life. Maven naked had to be the hottest sight she’d ever seen, and she’d busted plenty of naked people. He slid back over her body. Held up a packet.

  “Do you want to put this on or should I?”

  She grabbed it and tore it open. “This single mom thanks you for not making me wait.”

  He groaned as she rolled it over him. “Well…I didn’t think I could stop you. Christ, Peg. Touch me.”

  His head fell forward until it rested against hers. His breath warmed her face. She gave him
a few long, hard strokes before he grabbed her hands. “Enough.” He caressed her cheek. “I need you.”

  He positioned himself over her, fingers caressing her collarbones. She wrapped her legs around him in a bow as he pressed forward, penetrating her slowly, watching her, always watching her. His gaze seemed to look inside her, so she closed her eyes. Focused on him entering her body. She bowed her head on the pillow at the sensation.

  “Deeper.”

  He pulled her hips forward, impaling her to the quick. Her cry sounded tortured. When he propped himself his elbows, she waited for him to move. He didn’t, so she opened her eyes. He was gazing at her with heated control and expectation.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “Say my name.”

  Her heart’s rhythm stopped for a moment, out of sync with the pounding pulse in her body. “Don’t stop.” She realized it was a plea.

  “Say my name,” he insisted, his voice as deep and dark as the mountains at night.

  The woman inside tore through the barriers she’d erected. She took his face in her hands. “Mac. Mac. Mac.”

  He pulled out and thrust into her in one hard lunge. Her head dug into the pillow as he fell into a take–no–prisoners rhythm. She gave him back everything she could, wanting to make it good for him. She caressed his back. Dug her fingers into his waist. Called out his name again. He pounded into her, breathing hard. The need for release built in them both. Her legs tightened when he thrust deep. She flew like a dancer across the stage, poised brilliantly in the air, defying gravity. When she landed, her body felt like a feather.

  She was conscious of him thrusting in bursts and then freezing above her, calling out her name. Then he folded over her, wheezing in her ear. His hot sweaty skin burned her, but instead of pushing him away, she drew closer, wanting the heat.

  Wanting him.

  His hand ended up in her hair somehow, caressing her scalp. His chest heaved in time with hers.

  Sweet mother of God.

  He turned on his side, taking her with him. “Holy freaking Christ.”

  “My…thoughts…exactly.” She tried to inhale deeply, but her lungs wouldn’t cooperate.