He felt an ache, an emptiness in his heart, and the feel of her place filled that hole. Obviously, she had excellent taste. He strode the short distance across the room and prowled along the book shelves. Running a forefinger over the neat spines, he recognized romances, mysteries, biographies and big picture books of foreign cities.
She owned a small TV. Of course, he didn’t have a big plasma screen himself, but he’d have to get her a bigger TV if he planned to spend any time here. Prickling on the back of his neck warned him. He’d been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t heard the shower stop or the bathroom door open.
Ho-lee… She was naked except for an oversized towel clutched to her breasts. Wet hair fell to her shoulders and down her back. He knew that body, but she didn’t know that. Wouldn’t that just clinch him as a slime ball? His jaw tightened, hands fisted, his cock ached. To serve and protect. That was the Chicago cop motto, and her protection was his immediate concern.
Their eyes caught and held, hers now washed of all makeup but still wide with the remnants of shock. His chest burned with the need to breathe. He wanted her right now, injuries or not.
Slow down.
He ground his teeth in frustration. One signal from her, and he’d take this to the next step. The couch. Her bed in the loft. And he could think of wild things to do on those spiral stairs.
It became a staring contest, and she blinked first. A flush covered her cheeks, and she apparently realized her absence of clothing. Clasping the towel protectively, she backed into another room and closed the door with a firm click. He didn’t move a muscle, staring at the doorway, hoping against hope she’d come out naked.
Right. That’s going to happen.
Jerking when the teapot whistled, he turned back to his kitchen duties, but all senses attuned to another click from that door. Ah. He spied her in his peripheral vision. She’d barricaded herself in a thick green sweater from neck to mid-thigh. Black slacks, fuzzy socks, and her hair skinned back in a high ponytail completed the armored-up look. He’d seen this in mugging victims. The more clothes the better. He shivered. Thank God, she hadn’t been raped.
“Sit down,” he said soothingly, nodding toward the living room. “The tea’s ready.” She huddled tightly in the sofa’s corner, black and green dark against the snowy background of the couch. He’d never known anyone with the nerve to have white furniture. Very impressive.
Her eyes followed his every move. “I don’t know your last name or anything about you,” she said awkwardly.
He handed her the steaming cup. “I don’t know much about you either, so we’re even,” he said. “There’s a lot of sugar in it. It’s good for treating shock.” He was too dirty to sit down on her furniture, so he leaned against the bookshelf, trying not to look menacing. She seemed more curious than afraid of him, certainly a step in the right direction.
She held her mug like a shield and watched him over the rim. “Do you want to sit down?” She sounded a bit more confident.
“Ah…no. I’m filthy.” He indicated the alley dirt on his pants.
She placed her cup on one of the red leather coffee tables and said, “I’ll get you a towel. How’s that?”
God. She’s not throwing me out. It was like the mugging hadn’t happened, and they were on a date. He spread the big towel she handed him over the seat of the side chair. Even with the cloth under him, he didn’t want to risk dirtying the couch. The chair put him closer to her, too. Leaning back, he crossed one ankle over the other knee jiggling his foot nervously. He had a feeling she’d definitely kick him out if she knew what he’d seen through her bedroom window.
Drumming his fingers on the chair arm, he tipped his head toward the fireplace. “Electric?”
“Uh huh. Home Depot.”
“Mm. Nice.” He nodded slowly, his gaze flitting around the room, desperately trying to think of something else to say. Their gazes locked, hers dropping when his didn’t. He studied her freely until her gaze, shimmery and still shocky, crept back to his. They remained staring at each other for a long moment.
He finally took a shaky breath and asked, “Are you feeling better?” The long silence had unnerved him.
Her lips parted, glistening from the swipe of her tongue.
That swipe shot right to his groin.
“I still don’t know anything about you.” She drew her knees up protectively in front of her chest and peered at him through long lashes.
Damn, back to the knees up as a barrier. Her signals were extremely mixed. He wasn’t normally a big conversationalist, but he sensed as long as they kept talking, the easier she’d be with him. That would be to his advantage.
Get it through your head. She’s not going to sleep with you tonight.
“So…?”
“So?” What had she asked?
“Who are you? Where are you from? Do you have family? You know, the usual stuff.” She gave him a hint of an amused smile.
“My name’s Sam Bolt.”
“Bolt?” She choked off an outright laugh, her eyebrows lifting.
“Yeah.” He chuckled, glad to entertain her, even at his own expense. It was her first smile, and it lit up her amazing eyes.
“It kind of sounds like a romance novel hero. At least it’s not your first name. Bolt Stone, savage love god,” she intoned, then tried to cover her rude snort with a cough.
He pursed his lips and nodded, as if seriously acknowledging her characterization, then ruined it by wiggling his eyebrows in a Groucho imitation.
She dropped her head against her knees, her shoulders shaking silently with laughter.
“I appreciate your confidence.” And he chuckled, loving her sense of humor.
“Sorry.” She laughed aloud. “So what do you do?”
Tactical guys tended not to advertise their jobs, but he wasn’t going to lie to her. “I’m a cop.”
“Oh, wow. You could have arrested that guy.”
“Yeah, if I’d have caught him. Bastard sucker punched me,” he admitted ruefully.
“Are you carrying a gun?”
He hesitated a moment. “Yup.”
“Why didn’t you take it out? That would have stopped him pretty fast.”
“I’d only pull it as a last resort. You seemed to be beating up on him pretty good.” His mouth quirked with humor.
“Well, yeah, until he punched me in the stomach. Shouldn’t we report this?”
“Technically, yes, but even at the time, he was long gone. He didn’t get your purse, and you weren’t seriously injured.”
Her lips pursed belligerently. “He ruined my Jimmy Choos.”
“Your Jimmy whats?”
“Boots. They’re designer boots.”
“Did you get a look at him? The guy, I mean, not Jimmy Whatsis.”
“Not really, did you?”
“Just his clothes. I can file a report in the morning. That’ll make it official. Okay?”
“Sure, good idea. Thank you.”
“So where were we?” His face ached from the sucker punch, but the adrenalin rush kept his cock hard and uncomfortably prominent. It took everything he had to sit still and keep it hidden. “What’s your name?”
“Liz,” she interrupted herself. “Oh, I didn’t tell you my last name. I’m Liz Aspen. Elizabeth really.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an actress.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s great.” He’d never met an actress. She certainly looked gorgeous enough. “What’ve you been in?”
“Local theater. I had a line in a movie once, though. Johnny Depp was filming here in Chicago, and I auditioned. “You want sauerkraut on your hot dog?” she said in a weary, fast food server tone.
He chuckled.
“You can see what a pivotal plot point it was. I thought about various ways to say it for the most impact. Should I be sultry, or business-like, or bored?”
“What’d you decide on?” He found himself amused and fascinated.
“
Sultry.” She winked seductively. “He actually looked startled when he heard my rendition and couldn’t come up with his line. The director yelled “cut” and ordered me to dial it down. The scene ended up cut from the movie after all that, but I at least got a sexy look back from Johnny Depp!”
“Yeah?”
Fuck Johnny Depp. Probably wanted the same thing I want.
And weren’t things getting better and better? She seemed very comfortable with him now.
“Yeah, well… I guess you’d have to have been there.” She gave a little dry chuckle.
“Are you in something now?” Her lovely face became animated, her eyes sparkled, and well, he just loved to see her smile. She needed it after what she’d been through.
“I’m rehearsing at Nine Fools Theater for a play called Tartuffe.”
He nodded, he hoped knowingly, having no idea what play she was talking about.
“You know the depth of my affection for him; I’ve told you a hundred times how I adore him.”
He stopped in mid-nod when she continued.
“Shall I defend my love at the expense of brazenness and disobedience?”
“I play Mariane. She’s the heroine. It’s a challenge for me. I don’t usually do seventeenth century plays, but it’s been fun, too.”
Damn, she is way out of my league. Thanks for the reminder.
Ah. Time for a quick break. “Well, I gotta go,” he said, abruptly pushing out of the chair, hoping she didn’t focus in on his erection, still stiff as a pike. “If you ever need…anything, you can call me. Do you have something for me to write my number on?” He headed for the kitchen.
She levered herself up, too. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. I really appreciate what you did for me. Thank you.”
On a piece of paper, he penned his cell phone number. “Just call me if you need anything, okay?”
They met at the front door and reached for the knob at the same time. Even after the evening’s more recent events, he had a hard time not thinking about her earlier activities. He thought of her lying in her bed, naked and luscious, her long legs stretched open. Needing to do this as much as he needed air, he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. He wondered if she felt his hard-on through her heavy sweater. His other hand tunneled through her hair to finger the bump high on the back of her head.
She clutched at his lapels and winced, her eyes darkening in pain.
“I’m sorry.” His whisper elicited a moan, a soft sound deep in her throat, not desire but pain, writhed through his belly. He’d already wanted her—even before they’d met in that alley. He traced her jaw, the crest of her cheek, the bridge of her nose. He wanted to make it all better for her—no pain, no fear. She felt soft and firm at the same time. With his fingertip, he shaped the little dip in the middle of her upper lip. She smelled of delicately scented soap or lotion, of something delicious.
Her eyes flickered shut on a soft, “Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I want to kiss you. I mean I’m not sorry I want to, I just need to kiss you.” She took a heavy breath that pushed her breasts against his chest. Her front teeth gleamed white as they dug into her lower lip. God, he wanted her mouth. With a throaty growl, he covered her lips with his, shaking with the effort to keep his tongue from spearing into her mouth. One attack tonight was enough. He brushed and nibbled her lips lightly, biting her lower lip with exquisite restraint.
She clutched his shirt. Her lips hungrily massaged his. He lost his battle.
The second his tongue entered her mouth, she stiffened, shaking her head, pushing at him. “No.” She turned, trying to get away.
He released her with a low groan, his breath rough.
“You’d better go.” She sounded as out of breath as he, breathless, but there was a firm edge to her voice.
After tasting her and the heavenly feel of her in his arms, he had no intention of letting this end. They hadn’t really begun, but they weren’t through by a long shot. No way. Making his reluctance clear, he murmured, “Okay. For now.” He lifted her chin with a finger and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Good night, Liz.”
He liked her, liked her home She had a sense of humor. Savage love god? She was spirited, had fought for her life.
And, yeah, she had a sweet body. She made him want things he’d refused to allow himself to want since his wife split. Things he’d forced himself to put on hold.
No, he and Liz Aspen were not through.
Chapter 5
When Liz woke on Sunday morning, she felt as if she’d been run over by a truck. She dragged herself out of bed but only made it as far as the couch. Coffee and a heating pad on her stomach made her feel a bit better. Had last night really happened? Had she really been mugged and then saved by her delicious neighbor?
A shiver wound uncomfortably through her.
You were so irresponsible to walk down the street at night and put yourself in danger. You know better. Thank God for Sam.
She buried her face in her upraised knees.
She’d recognized him the minute he’d sauntered into the bar last night. He’d watched her but didn’t approach. She hadn’t known his name, but close up or from afar, he was definitely vibrator-worthy.
As nauseous as she’d been, she still checked him out in the cab coming home. Unshaven, his goatee blended into the dark stubble on his cheeks. His beard had brushed softly against her cheek when he stood close behind her, softly when he bent to kiss her at the door. He’d stared at her with shadowed, inky eyes as if he knew her well.
His beautiful lips had been cut and bloodied.
Oh, God, I caused that. I’m an idiot. I not only risked my life, I put his in danger.
He’d held her hair back while she vomited. How humiliating. The heat of embarrassment washed over her but became another heat when she remembered his gentle treatment of her. They’d fit, her head nestled safely on his chest. For a few magical moments, she’d been where she was supposed to be. “What the hell does that mean?” she muttered.
Then the compelling kiss at the door. Being held in his muscular arms, the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath bathing her face, felt so right—until he took it further. His slick tongue had filled her mouth, overwhelming her senses.
She hadn’t been able to deal with it after everything that had happened. Sam Bolt was sensory overload personified. She didn’t really know anything about this sexy man who could make her forget her name with one kiss. “Ahh…” A wonderful kiss.
“It’s time.” She could barely move. Time to get ready for Sunday dinner with her parents. Too late to cancel now, but it would take all her acting talents and expertise at makeup to disguise her haggard face, aching body, and weary spirit.
* * * *
“Why are you so distracted today, honey?” Bailey Quarles, her best friend and a much too perceptive, gorgeous, blond, six foot two hunk of masculinity, had a yen for men.
His concern scattered her deep thoughts, and she glanced at the script she’d absently used to fan her face.
“Did you meet someone?”
“Why do you say that?” She attempted a nonchalance, since she wasn’t sure what exactly to say about Saturday night.
“Because you keep sighing and drifting off.”
He’d freak out if he knew she’d been mugged after leaving the bar.
Perched in the wings while they ran lines, he elegantly crossed his legs and settled back in the folding chair, waiting for her response.
She tried distracting him. “Maybe I’m working out the scene in my mind.”
“Huh. Darlin’, you forget how well I know you. And I also know what sighing and drifting means.” He arched one eyebrow over his handsome face, a bit of business he used quite effectively on the stage and for sure in the gay bars as well.
“Well, I did finally meet my neighbor. The guy in the big house.”
“Oh, yeah.” He leaned forward and balanced his el
bows on his knees anticipating a dishy story. “The dangerous, mysterious hunk? And?”
“Well, I’d seen him before, but we’d never talked.”
“What did you talk about? And would I like him?”
“Bailey, he’s all hetero, so don’t even think about it.”
His laughter echoed in the backstage area. “Honey, you sound pretty possessive. How cute is this guy?”
She couldn’t help chuckling, too. “Oh, all right, you got me. He’s really good looking, but it’s not so much that as it is his presence.”
Bailey’s gaze wandered out into the theater. He constantly surveyed his surroundings and marked everyone’s location. “His what?” He raised his eyebrow sarcastically.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. He’s tall, dark, and diabolically sexy.”
“Sounds like just what you need after that boring finance guy.”
“You never liked Fred, did you?”
“Nope. He wasn’t good enough for you.” He put the emphasis on you.
“Thanks, Bail.”
“Is this guy nice besides being a major hunk?” His questioning turned surprisingly serious.
She thought back to the man who’d held her hair back when she vomited. The man who rescued her and then made tea. “Yeah, he’s nice.” She gave a little smile. “Oh, and he’s a police officer.”
“Mm mm. Better and better. Handcuffs and what not. You must have made quite an impression on him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I think he’s in the back of the theater, Lizzy girl.” He tipped his head in that direction. “I’ve been watching him look for you for the last ten minutes.”
Her gaze followed Bailey’s and whoa! Sam Bolt in the flesh. So to speak.
All day she’d daydreamed about him and his kiss, probably the main reason she’d had so much trouble remembering her lines. The kiss had almost made her forget about the attack. Her heart thumped with pleasure and some surprise that he’d sought her out. Surprise that he knew how to find her.
She’d created an erotic fantasy around him and actually meeting him hadn’t tarnished it one iota. In fact, now his attractions had magnified. He’d been a kind and sensitive man wrapped in a buff body. Plunking the script on a table, she headed off the stage and strolled up the center aisle as if drawn to him by velvet ropes.
Undercover Lover (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 3