She took it and he curled his fingers around hers, tugging her to her feet and onto the dance floor.
Finding a space in the crowd of dancers, Craig slipped his hand low on her hip and pulled her close.
*
God, she was so completely in over her head. Phoebe swallowed hard, but didn’t protest when he pulled her body snug against his.
Their bodies ground together, moving to the snapping bass of the funk song. He moved his hand behind her hip, almost cupping her ass cheek, his other hand on her upper back, pressing her close.
She bit back a groan as a heavy ache gathered between her legs, her nipples tightening under her shirt.
The way they danced wasn’t particularly dirty, almost every couple on the floor danced in a similar fashion. But the way he moved against her had to be a promise of what he’d be like in bed.
And she wanted him there. All too much. This was crazy. She closed her eyes when he nuzzled her ear. Absolute insanity.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body closer to him, grinding her hips against his.
His breathing grew heavier and his erection harder to ignore. He caught her chin with firm fingers, lifting her head. He gave her no warning before his mouth slanted softly across hers.
Heat exploded in her belly at the first light caress. The second pass of his mouth came firmer, his tongue sliding easily between her lips to flick against hers.
Phoebe’s head swam, the room tilted and she had to tighten her grip on him to stay grounded.
He lifted his head with a groan and pressed her head back against his shoulder.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t you dare apologize.”
He laughed and the hot rush of air from his mouth against her ear almost made her legs weak.
“Okay. Then I won’t.”
His tongue slid along the curve of her ear and she stumbled with a gasp.
He gave a husky laugh and she flushed. He knew exactly what he’d done to her with that little tongue trick.
“Easy, baby,” he murmured and then lifted his head a bit.
Disappointment stabbed that he’d put another inch between them. Just when things were getting good.
She was at the point where she didn’t care. She’d gone far too long without a man, and here was Craig, ready to make her feel like a woman again. Make her feel alive.
Maybe it was because he was a cop, and it made her more inclined to trust him. Made her think that he wouldn’t hurt her and he’d never be the type to abuse a woman—even as her logical side knew that theory was crap. Statistics had long proven that police officers had a high rate of abusive behavior. But somehow, on a gut level, she knew she had nothing to worry about with Craig.
She trusted him. Even if she had no reason to, she did. And it scared the hell out of her. But at the same time, she wanted him. Wanted to do spontaneous, crazy things she’d never done in her life. Had been afraid to do after Rick.
Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Craig was younger. He was sexy, confident, and endearing. Plain and simple, he made all the bells and whistles in her body come to life. So why the hell shouldn’t she take this step? It didn’t have to be serious. It didn’t even have to be a relationship. It could just be one night of sex if she wanted. And right now? She wanted.
She lifted her head from the curve of his neck and leaned back a bit, meeting his heated gaze.
“Come home with me tonight.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes before they burned even hotter and his nostrils flared.
“You sure you know what you’re asking, Phoebe?”
“I know damn well what I’m asking,” she fired back and gave him a slow smile. “Do you know what your answer will be?”
His gaze lowered to her mouth. “My answer would be…whose place is closer?”
Tension threatened to weave through their sensual discussion, but she pushed it aside and tried to make light of her reply.
“I’d rather you come to my place.” Going home with him meant she’d be in unfamiliar territory. Gave her the handicap.
Understanding flickered in his gaze and he moved his hand over her back in a gesture that could only be described at reassuring.
“Your place it is.” The song ended a moment later and he moved back from her. “Do you want to go back to the table and have another drink with your friends first?”
“No.” She licked her lips. “I’d rather go. Now.”
“My car or yours? Or separate?”
“Separate.” She gave a slight smile. He was catching on quick.
They moved back to the table to grab her purse. Gabby and Justin watched, looking intrigued.
“Hey, guys. We were just going to order some nachos. You want some? We can get a full order.”
“We’re actually going to head out.” Phoebe could feel her face burn red. “Thanks for inviting me, guys. I’ll catch up with you on Monday.”
“Nice meeting you,” Craig said and reached over to shake both of their hands again.
Phoebe cleared her throat and shot Gabby a quick look. “I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you near the entrance outside, all right, Craig?”
He gave her a slow smile and nodded. “Sounds good.”
Biting her lip, Phoebe spun and hurried across the club, knowing Gabby probably thought she’d lost her mind. Which is why she’d called the last-minute bathroom meeting with her.
Sure enough, she’d only been in the neon-lit restroom for about ten seconds when the door swung open again and Gabby strode inside.
“What the hell?”
Note from Shelli
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About Shelli
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Shelli Stevens writes a variety of romance genres including contemporary, cowboys, paranormal, and romantic comedy. Shelli is most known for her contemporary series such as Holding Out for a Hero, The McLaughlins, and A is for Alpha.
She’s a compulsive volunteer, and has been known to spontaneously burst into song. She is a true pluviophile (lover of rain) and currently lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two daughters.
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Shelli recommends … Mari Carr
Because You Love Me
Just Because, Book 2
Mari Carr
Prologue
Bridget Wilder ducked behind the boxes and wondered how the hell she got here. Slowly, she peered around the shipping crate that was currently hiding her. She was armed with nothing more than a mini-recorder, her car keys, cell phone and a tube of cherry ChapStick. If things went down badly, she was screwed.
One of these days she was going to take lessons at the shooting range and get a permit to carry a concealed weapon. Sometimes she thought she was the only journalist in New York City who wasn’t packing heat. Not that her job as the What to Do in the City This Weekend girl was all that hazardous to her health. Worst on-job injury she’d ever received was food poisoning from a hot dog at a street fair.
Now, that was all about to change. Her mind whirled over the information she hoped to receive tonight. The Honorable Judge Lucian Thompson wa
s on the take. He was as crooked as they came and she was about to get rock-solid proof. She imagined the implications her front-page story would have for the city’s court system. How many guilty criminals had Thompson sent back out on the streets simply to fill his own pocket?
The editor in chief of her newspaper was going to freak out when she presented him with this article. She grinned in excited anticipation. This was the kind of story—the kind of break—every struggling reporter hoped to receive in her life. She pictured herself as a young Woodward or Bernstein—except, of course, she had a rocking manicure and hot pink Converse tennis shoes. Her picture would be splashed on every TV station and in every newspaper as the reporter who set New York City on its ear with her groundbreaking investigative report.
She checked the time on her cell phone. Her informant, a friend from college, was late. Lyle had lived in the same apartment complex during their senior year. He’d asked her out a few times early on. She’d genuinely liked Lyle, but they had absolutely nothing in common—he was into mysteries and sudoku, while she was a romantic comedies and shopping kind of girl. One night after drinking too much red wine, Lyle had tried to kiss her. More than a little bit tipsy, she let him. It had lasted less than fifteen painful seconds. Then they’d pulled apart and started laughing hysterically. It had been obvious to both of them there was no sexual attraction. With the pressure of a relationship gone, the friendship had blossomed and grown.
After graduation, she’d landed a job at The New York Reporter, a small newspaper in the city, while Lyle had been hired as a network specialist for the city court system. She’d teased him after he landed the job that she was glad he’d learned to use his computer skills for good rather than evil. She had no doubt Lyle could hack his way into any computer system if he put his mind to it. Bridget considered that now and worried about the means he’d used to discover the information he was about to share with her.
A door opened at the far end of the abandoned warehouse. She’d laughed when Lyle had given her directions to the place for “the drop”, as he called it. Her friend was far too fond of Tom Clancy novels, and she knew he had every episode of Criminal Minds saved on his DVR. She started to rise, but recalled Lyle’s warning. Count to one hundred before you expose yourself. I want to make sure no one’s followed me.
She’d rolled her eyes when he issued that directive, but given the creepy surroundings and the nervous butterflies in her stomach, it suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Crouching lower, she slowly began to count in her head. She hadn’t made it to thirty when the doors of the warehouse opened again. Peering from behind the crate, she watched as two men came into the large room. Lyle, who’d been standing in the middle of the room, whirled to face them.
Bridget’s heart raced faster as pure, sheer terror coursed through her veins. Lyle had said he would come alone and he’d insisted she do the same. Given her friend’s nervous stance, she knew these men hadn’t been invited to the party.
“Well, well, well. What a surprise. You’re out late, Lyle.”
Fuck. Her breathing picked up when she recognized Judge Thompson’s voice. This was bad. Very, very bad. She sank lower, her back pressed against the rough crate. She forced herself to think. There had to be something she could do to protect her friend.
“Judge Thompson.” Lyle’s voice was steady. Bridget’s respect for her geeky friend went up several notches. “Didn’t expect to run into you here.”
“Didn’t you?” The judge’s question was laced with malice. “Surely you didn’t think your computer tampering would go unnoticed.”
“Tampering?”
Bridget’s breathing accelerated and her hands shook as she reached into her pocket. Pulling out her cell phone and her mini-recorder, she struggled to hit the red dot. Perhaps she could capture the judge saying something incriminating she could use to barter for their freedom. Unfortunately, she wasn’t holding her breath the device would pick up much. She was too far away.
Quietly placing the recorder on the ground, she turned her attention to her phone, dialing 911. The operator’s voice sounded unbearably loud in the warehouse and Bridget froze. There was no way she could talk to the person on the other end without being discovered.
Lyle and the judge continued to speak, but Bridget found it difficult to make out their words as blood coursed through her body, pounding in her ears like a bass drum. The operator spoke again. Bridget was paralyzed with fear. She had to do something, say something, but she was too terrified to speak, even in a whisper.
As she peered around the crate, Bridget’s stomach plummeted to her feet. The judge had pulled out a gun. The men were still speaking and by their comfortable stance, she knew her presence was unknown. The judge and his accomplice were completely focused on Lyle.
“Who are you meeting here?” the judge asked.
Lyle put his hands out nonchalantly. “I’m not meeting anyone. Just taking a little nightly stroll.”
The judge’s henchman threw a punch at Lyle’s face. Bridget heard the cracking of bones and suspected he’d broken Lyle’s nose. Lyle made no move to defend himself or to fight back. He simply raised his hands to his nose, trying to stem the flow of blood.
“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Judge Thompson sneered at Lyle.
Bridget was distracted when the 911 operator spoke once more. She needed to act, needed to do something before Lyle was hurt even worse. Keeping her eyes on the men in the center of the room, she lightly whispered the address to the warehouse. The operator attempted to ask more questions, but Bridget had already spoken more than she dared. None of the men had heard her whispers, and it gave her foolish hope. Perhaps the police would arrive in time. Perhaps the cops would burst in with guns drawn to capture the villains and save them.
“Give me the flash drive.” The judge held an outstretched palm toward Lyle, the other hand still holding the all-too-threatening gun.
“Flash drive?”
“Don’t be any more stupid than you already have been. I know what you have in your possession. You can give it to me now and try to beg for your pathetic, meaningless life, or I can take it off your dead body. Either way works for me.”
“Either way sounds like a death sentence for me.”
If Bridget hadn’t felt like beating the shit out of Lyle for his cavalier attitude, she would have cheered on his bravery. He wasn’t cowering or pleading. He was incredible.
As the seconds passed, Bridget prayed the night’s silence would be broken by approaching sirens. None came.
“Give it to me,” the judge demanded.
Lyle shook his head. “You didn’t think I’d actually bring it here, did you?”
Bridget prayed that was true. If Lyle didn’t have what Judge Thompson wanted, surely that bought him more time.
The judge looked at his accomplice, jerking his head toward Lyle. “Check his pockets.”
Lyle didn’t put up a fight as the bruiser began searching his pockets. Bridget closed her eyes and released a silent curse when the man pulled a flash drive out of Lyle’s right pocket.
“You don’t think that’s the only copy I’ve made, do you?” Lyle’s voice rang out across the vast space, his words clear and welcome.
Yes, Bridget mouthed. Keep them guessing…and talking. Where the fuck were the police?
The judge shrugged as if unconcerned. A malicious smile covered his face and Bridget knew things were about to go as bad as they possibly could. The scene began to unfold in slow motion as the judge lifted his hand and fired one shot directly into the center of Lyle’s chest. There was no warning, no time for Lyle to run or dodge. One minute he was standing there, the next he was lying on the floor.
Bridget sat stunned, motionless. It was as if time simply stood still. She didn’t breathe. Her heart didn’t beat. Ice-cold numbness consumed her.
The judge’s voice broke the spell. “Search the rest of the warehouse. Make sure no one else is here.”
She was dea
d. Glancing around, she realized she’d placed herself in the worst possible position for escape. She was hiding along a far wall, and the only way to the lone door at the front of the building was by crossing the vast space where the judge stood, where Lyle lay inert on the floor.
Distant sirens pierced the night and all three living occupants jerked. The judge’s henchman gave up his search and the two of them hastily escaped. The sound of a car’s doors slamming, an engine starting, and peeling tires on the pavement told her they’d be long gone before the cavalry arrived.
Bridget picked up her mini-recorder and phone, then rose from her hiding spot. She forced her legs to support her. As if treading through waist-deep mud, she fought her way to the center of the floor. She knew what she’d find there, knew what she’d see. Lyle had been dead the second the judge pulled the trigger, his life extinguished in the blink of an eye.
When she reached her friend, she dropped to her knees by his side. His lifeless eyes were still open, a slight look of surprise covering his frozen features. She studied his face, memorizing it, imprinting it in her mind and on her heart. She’d let him down. He’d trusted her with the information he’d uncovered. Only her. And she’d failed him.
Picking up his hand, she held it gently in hers.
“I’m sorry, Lyle,” she whispered. “So sorry.”
The sirens grew louder, cars pulling up outside the warehouse. She didn’t rise to meet the police. Instead, she remained with Lyle and let them come to her. They entered with their weapons drawn and approached cautiously. Once they determined she wasn’t a threat, they took stock of the scene and called for a coroner.
Calmly, she answered all of their four thousand, two hundred and twenty-two questions. She saw the look of surprise on all the cops’ faces when she named Judge Thompson as the murderer. Finally, a million years later, they let her leave—with a police escort.
Climbing the stairs to her apartment with the rookie cop shadowing her ascent, Bridget made a silent vow to her friend. The judge would pay for tonight’s crime as well as all the others. She wouldn’t rest until justice had been served…for Lyle.
Luck Be Delanie Page 11