They circled each other like sumo preparing to grapple, him stocky and a little stooped, Josie younger, fitter and filled with a burning rage that made the difference.
How dare he come uninvited into Nate’s home!
How dare he hurt Dickson!
The side of his foot caught the rug, and for half a second he lost his balance. Josie struck, wielding the trophy like a cricketer going for a hook shot. He raised a forearm, tried to deflect the blow, but she was quick, the sharp edge of the cup catching him across an eyebrow.
He went down on one knee, claret flowing from the wound.
She glimpsed his face.
Grey hair.
Hawkish nose.
Seventies “porn star” moustache.
Barely conscious of the scream escaping her throat, Josie raised the cup and brought it down on Simpson’s crown, the force of the blow so hard the cup broke off from its base and skated across the white tiles.
She glanced at what remained in her hand, a jagged piece of metal protruding from the wooden base.
He lashed out, backhanding her with a slap that snapped her teeth together. Josie reeled and went down, half landing on top of him, the remains of the trophy still clutched in her hand. Head spinning, ears ringing from the blow, she drove her left elbow hard into his groin.
He sagged, groaned, and Josie’s stomach heaved as she inhaled a lungful of stale body odour and beer breath. She raised her right arm, checked the position of his thigh, the jagged piece of metal glinting in the light.
And then it was wrenched from her fingers and thrown across the room. Someone grasped her under the arms and lifted her up and away from Barry Simpson.
She struggled, hands clenched into fists as she was hauled backwards.
Then something registered. She knew the hands, recognised Nate’s hold from when he’d dragged her out of her car. She spun around, all fight going out of her as she stared into eyes gone black with fury.
He set her down against the wall, eyes dipping to the spot where Barry Simpson had struck her. Then he wheeled around and went to where the other man was dragging himself to his feet.
‘Get up you bastard!’
Josie leaned against the wall and sucked in mouthfuls of air, watching as Nate grabbed the other man’s shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. Simpson staggered sideways, but in seconds Nate had him by the throat and pinned to the wall.
‘I should turn you to pulp you fucking loser! Is that how you get off, huh, beating up on women?’
The fog in Josie’s mind began to clear, and she flattened her palms against the wall to keep herself upright. She could see Nate more clearly now, dressed in the bike leathers like the first time she’d seen him, body a controlled mass of unleashed fury. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered he’d come straight back without bothering to change.
Barry Simpson said nothing, his gaze moving from Nate to her.
‘Don’t look at her you scumbag.’ Nate grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him off the wall, pushing him down the two steps so the man stumbled and fell onto one of the couches.
Nate hauled him up again, hooked a foot around one of the dining room chairs and dragged it from under the table. ‘Sit down.’ He shoved Barry Simpson into the chair. ‘And start talking.’
A movement in the doorway caught Josie’s eye and she turned to see Dickson braced unsteadily between the door frame, a red welt on one side of his shiny head.
‘Thank goodness.’ She went to him on shaky legs, wrapping her arm around his waist and helping him back inside the house.
‘I’m sorry, Josie, Nate. He wasn’t in the car when I got there. He came out of the bush, got me with a wheel brace I think.’ Dickson rubbed the side of his head and winced, leaning heavily on Josie. ‘I lost my service weapon in the scrub. Still haven’t found it.’
Barry Simpson turned a sickly shade of grey at the words “service weapon”.
Nate dragged him to his feet again, frisked him, then shoved him back in the chair. ‘I’m throwing the book at you, Simpson.’
The man’s eyes widened, and he turned even paler. ‘Throw the — you’re a cop?’
‘Unfortunately for you,’ Nate growled.
‘I saw the reward on offer.’ Simpson’s voice took on a whining tone, though he didn’t look at her again. ‘Robbie, my boy, said he saw you with her at the supermarket. When I thought about it, I remembered you turning up here the night she was kidnapped. I only came up to observe, see if I could catch a glimpse of her.’
Nate said nothing, though his gaze slanted to where she and Dickson stood holding each other up.
‘That’s all I was going to do, I swear. Then that guy…’ He pointed an index finger at Dickson, ‘came out the door. He had a gun. I thought he was one of the kidnappers. When he leaned down to look in the car, I hit him from behind, kicked his gun into the bush.’
Nate cut an intimidating figure pacing up and down in front of Barry Simpson. ‘And then you entered my house?’
Simpson spread his hands, obviously trying to appeal to Nate’s better side. Josie didn’t like his chances. Right about now, Nate looked like he didn’t have one.
‘I went to the door, saw it unlocked and figured I might as well take a look.’
Nate stopped pacing, leaned down and got right up in Barry Simpson’s face. ‘Who, apart from Robbie, knows about this?’
‘Only my wife.’ Simpson visibly shrank from Nate. ‘Why would we tell anyone else? We want the money. The bank’s going to foreclose on the pub any day.’
‘I don’t give a shit,’ Nate hissed, struggling to contain the fury inside him. He longed to punch Barry Simpson’s lights out for even daring to touch Josie, let alone giving her the bruise darkening her jaw…
But he was a senior detective, in charge of an operation on the brink of collapse if he didn’t go into damage control right now. And there was never an excuse for police brutality.
‘You’ll go home, Simpson, and you’ll shut your family up, and never breathe a word of this, or I swear I’ll throw the book at you. Josie’s not been kidnapped, she’s a protected witness in a covert, undercover gangland operation, involving people you don’t want to know. You put one foot out of line, and I’ll have you up for unlawful entry, assaulting a police officer, assault occasioning actual bodily harm and impeding a police investigation. And that’s just for starters.’
Barry Simpson’s head bobbed up and down.
Good.
The guy was shitting himself.
Suddenly tired, Nate grabbed Simpson’s shirt front again and hauled him out the chair. ‘Get out of here, and don’t let me see you again.’
He shoved the publican in the direction of the door and pointed at Josie. ‘You can apologise to Ms. Valenti and Detective Cross on your way out.’
Nate raked an unsteady hand through his hair, watching as Simpson apologised to Josie and Dickson in turn. Then the publican fled, slamming the door behind him, like a nest of blood sucking vampires were on his tail.
Bone weary, Nate ascended the two steps and looked from Josie to Dickson. They were still close, supporting each other after the ordeal. Dickson looked sheepish, as if gathering words of apology together for his amateurish decision to go outside. But Josie was staring straight at him, green eyes glittering, long, blonde curls tumbling around her face.
Nate’s heart went from zero to a hundred in about five seconds.
‘Hey.’ He rested his hands on his hips and looked into her eyes, dug deep for a smile, though smiling was the last thing he felt like doing with her and Dickson joined at the hip.
And then something amazing happened.
She broke away and ran at him, covering the half dozen steps so quickly it seemed as if her feet barely touched the floor.
He crushed her in his arms, rested his cheek against her hair and let his eyes drift closed. Her beautiful face had kept him going, her demand he come back for her birthday, spurring him on t
o make the 4:00 a.m. deadline.
He only wished he was in better shape to greet her.
They stayed like that for a long time, her clinging to him while he warmed her chilled body, comforting each other, welcoming each other.
And when he looked up — Dickson had gone.
Chapter 17
Nate leaned his forehead against Josie’s and traced the pad of his thumb across her lips. ‘I would kiss you, but you can probably smell the beer and Absinthe. Let me go get cleaned up.’
She raised a hand and trailed her fingertips along his stubbly jaw. ‘The cheap perfume’s the worst.’
Anxious to reassure her, Nate captured her hand and kissed her fingers. She was so tender, so tentative the way she touched him. After the grubbiness of the hazing, her softness was mind blowing.
‘I escaped her clutches, princess.’
‘Not entirely.’ She pulled back and gave him a dubious look, gaze shifting to his neck. ‘There’s lipstick on your throat.’
Nate laid his free hand over his heart. ‘She was a lap dancer, Josie. She was all over me when I was semi-conscious. I paid her to go — really.’
He wasn’t the spill your guts type. It didn’t go with the job. But Josie would have concerns about a sex worker, any woman would. And he needed to explain. Hell, he wanted to share his tortuous night with her.
‘It was an initiation.’ He flexed his sore shoulder inside his jacket. ‘The good news is, I scored Grassy’s job, the bad news — I was expected to celebrate. There was booze, drugs and hookers. I sidestepped the drugs and the lap dancer.’
Shit. It was a seedy world, and he wouldn’t blame her one bit if she decided she wanted nothing more to do with him.
‘What did they do to you?’ she asked eventually, checking him out with concerned eyes.
‘Plied me with alcohol mostly, but hey, it’d take a lot more than that to keep me away on your birthday.’
He gathered her small frame closer, let his hands slide up and down her back. He desperately needed a toothbrush, and about half a bottle of mouthwash before he kissed her. But he couldn’t let her go, not yet.
She shivered, sighed, and laid her head on his shoulder.
Fire ripped through Nate’s veins as she relaxed against him, and he wished he could divest them of their clothing there and then. He wanted her — more than he could remember wanting any woman, but he had to take his cue from her, do only what she felt comfortable with. He was unsure of her experience, and to question her about it would be seriously uncool.
Two years ago, she’d taken his blunt rejection well, and if anyone had overreacted and gone all awkward — it was him. If Josie rejected him now, he’d just have to cop it on the chin.
Testing her a little, he ran his hands down her back and spread them across her shapely bottom, cupping both cheeks and urging her closer. When she murmured, he pressed his hips against hers, moulding their lower bodies together so she could feel his arousal, feel how much he wanted her.
He leaned back and watched for her reaction.
Her eyes widened, and then she grinned, gave him a tentative press back. ‘Judging by that, detective, the liquor hasn’t affected you.’
A groan escaped his throat and he hardened even more, her simple move more arousing than the lap dancer’s practised choreography. This was honest, forthright Josie, her judgment unimpaired by sugary alcopops, a woman who knew what she wanted.
And she wanted him.
Body wired with desire, Nate buried his nose in her hair, inhaling frangipani and almond oil. ‘I know the timing sucks, but would you run the shower for me, while I have a quick word with Dickson?’
She reached up and cradled his face between her hands for a moment, then tenderly brushed his hair back from his forehead. ‘I have a better idea. Why don’t I join you?’
Hoping Nate would appreciate a soak in the bath more than a shower, Josie sat on the edge of the tub and watched it fill with warm water. She inhaled the fragrant bath oil she’d found in a drawer next to a box of tea lights and matches, and tried not to speculate about whom Nate had last taken a bath with.
She leaned over and poured some oil into the water.
She was here now — and he wanted her.
Nothing else mattered.
Screwing the lid back on the bottle, she hummed along to Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” and began lighting the tea lanterns. One by one, she placed them inside the vases standing on the vanity, then switched off the overhead light.
In a bathroom full of mirrors, the effect was stunning. Open flames flickered and danced, creating shapes on the ceiling and leaving the room shadowed in an intimate half light.
Studying her reflection in the mirror, she turned slowly, observing herself from every angle. Her hair sparkled with highlights, and despite the redness of her jaw courtesy of Barry Simpson, her face had a healthy glow, eyes shining with an excited anticipation.
But the pyjamas were hideously wrong.
Slowly, and with fingers that trembled a little, she unbuttoned her top, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. Then with one quick tug on the tie and a wriggle of her hips, she stepped out of her pyjama pants.
She splayed a hand across her tummy in an effort to still the butterflies, and tried to see herself through Nate’s eyes. Breasts full and heavy for her slight frame, her nipples were large and pink, her waist narrow, still blemished with yellow bruising from her fall across the handbrake.
She turned her back and gazed over her shoulder, gathering her hair up into a ponytail. Twisting it around her hand, she followed the line of her neck, the curve of her back, the outline of her spine as it dipped towards her generous bootie.
Oh gees.
Suddenly self-conscious, she grabbed a clean towel and wrapped it around her, securing it under her arm and leaving her shoulders bare.
What did her predecessors look like?
Were they elegant?
Willowy?
Tall, like Nate?
She unstrapped her watch and laid it on the vanity, anxiousness cramping her stomach.
Fifteen minutes gone.
What could be keeping him?
Biting back her impatience, she clasped the towel to her chest and turned off the taps. The bathroom went silent, save for the hypnotic plip plop of water dripping from the stylish tap.
Come on, Jos, you know he likes you. Best foot forward.
She was unfastening her earrings when a light tap came at the door.
She turned, heart refusing to behave.
‘Come in.’
And then the door swung open, and the man she’d been waiting for stood silhouetted in the doorway.
Nate locked the door, heart cranking up at the vision that greeted him. Wrapped in a white towel, Josie was perched on the side of the bath, backlit by candlelight, golden hair framing her face.
She rose as he came closer, an uncertain expression in her eyes. ‘I thought you might enjoy a bath. It seems a shame not to make use of it.’
Heat infused Nate’s body at the visual of him and Josie sharing the tub, his primitive side eager to get there right away, his civilised side warning him to take it slow.
And more annoying, his common sense, reminding him of the perils of submerging a newly inked tattoo.
Gees, the last thing he wanted was to bring that up at a time like this.
He smiled and stepped closer, slipped one hand around her nape and kissed the fragrant softness of her neck. ‘You’re stunning in a towel.’
She shivered, gave a little gasp and tipped her head to the side. ‘They’re a wardrobe staple now, since you threw one over me in the car.’
‘You had too many clothes on then. This is much better.’ Nate pressed soft kisses to her reddened jaw, shutting out the image of Barry Simpson striking her. There was no room for fury in his veins right now.
‘You handcuffed me as well,’ she said.
Amused she’d broached the subject of the
zip ties, Nate kissed his way down the creamy column of her throat, getting high on the intravenous drug that was Josie. Was his princess really that adventurous?
Careful to keep a teasing note in his voice, he spoke against her ear. ‘I can do it again if you like, though a fluffy pair would be kinder on your wrists.’
The thought of Nate restraining her with fluffy handcuffs sent a bolt of desire straight to Josie’s groin, mind filling with images of them shopping together at the Tool Shed, or one of the other trendy looking adult shops along Oxford Street.
‘Not yet, detective.’ She tightened her grip on his shoulders. ‘Not when I’ve just got my hands on your body.’
He straightened and gathered her closer, moulding her curves to his hardness until she wanted to crawl inside his skin.
‘Umm. You smell of toothpaste and mouthwash.’
‘I slipped into the ensuite, so I could do this.’ He captured her lips, stealing her breath and making her head spin. Like a wine taster savouring a full-bodied Shiraz, he sampled her mouth, licking, nipping at her plump lower lip then gently sucking on the same spot.
Josie’s body moved into overdrive, desire surging through the circuit board of her heart. Spearing a hand into his dark hair, she let the silky strands slip through her fingers, tasting him, as he was tasting her.
He deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. She moaned, a sweet ache between her legs. And then the towel went south, and she was naked in his arms.
Nate groaned and broke the kiss, eyes locking with hers as he raised a hand and cupped the fullness of her breast. A wave of longing washed over Josie, and she pressed her hips up to his, saw his nostrils flare at her panting response.
‘Nate — please.’ She closed her eyes for a beat as he teased both nipples into hard little pebbles. ‘Take your clothes off.’
Warding off the spinning feeling, she reached for his belt buckle as he continued to rain kisses over her face. He shrugged out of his jacket and she pulled his belt free of the loops. The tee-shirt was next, and then they melded together, skin to skin, breasts crushed against his solid chest, firm lips nuzzling her neck.
Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection Page 34