by Tawna Fenske
I laugh and brush her knee with my hand, loving how slippery-smooth her skin feels. “I’m sure there’s a fancy fork for that.”
Bree grins and tilts her head back to look at the stars. She’s right, they’re amazing out here. I spot the big dipper and use that as a reference point to find the rest of the constellations. There’s Orion and Ursa Major and—
“We should have brought one of those bottles of beer to share.” She shifts a little on the stone bench so she’s leaning against me. Her hand flutters through the water again, and I nearly die when it comes to rest on my knee. “I saw some in the cooler.”
“No glass allowed in the hot springs area,” I say without thinking.
She turns and smirks at me. “Are you always such a rule follower?”
“Pretty much,” I admit.
“I noticed you stayed the speed limit the whole way here,” she teases. “Even when we were out on that long stretch of highway where there weren’t any cars in sight.”
“I’m a cop,” I point out. “I try to minimize the amount of law breaking I do.”
“Hmmm,” she says, snuggling back against my chest. Her hair tickles my nose, and I breathe in the flowery scent of her hair. “I’ll bet I can come up with at least one law you’ve broken.”
I laugh and trail my fingers down her arm. She shivers, clenching her hand around my thigh. “How do you figure?”
“Have you ever sung Happy Birthday out loud to someone at a restaurant?”
“Of course,” I tell her. “My other sister, Katie—her girls love doing birthday parties at this pizza place downtown when they visit. We always sing there.”
“That’s illegal,” she says, tipping her head back to stare at the stars. “The song is copyrighted. There was this big lawsuit about it a while back where the American Society of Composers came after the Girl Scouts for singing that song and a bunch of others around the campfire.”
“Are you making this up?” If she is, I don’t care. I could sit here all night stroking her arm and listening to the soft lilt of her voice.
“I’m totally serious,” she says. “I mean, it’s not like it’s enforced a whole lot, but you’ve totally broken the law, Sergeant Sexypants.”
Sergeant Sexypants. I should probably scoff, but I dig that she has these pet names for me. And that she just shifted again so her breast brushed the side of my arm. Is she doing this on purpose, trying to make me crazy? If so, it’s working.
“I Googled weird laws like you told me to a few weeks ago,” she says. “Besides the whole thing about silly string being illegal in Alabama and sex shops being illegal in Georgia—”
“Sex shops are illegal in Georgia?”
“Yep.” She giggles. “No vibrators for you the next time you’re in Atlanta.”
“I’ll make a note of it,” I say, secretly thrilled that Bree’s the one steering the conversation into sexy territory. “So I’ve been breaking the law all this time,” I say. “Singing Happy Birthday in public places.”
“It’s a shame,” she says with a soft sigh. “Guess I’ll have to perform a citizen’s arrest.”
“Want me to go get the handcuffs?”
“Not just yet,” she says, and the flirty note in her voice makes me dizzy. “Do you own a Sharpie?”
“What?”
“A Sharpie. A permanent marker.” She turns to look at me again, and her mouth is so close I could kiss her. I want to kiss her, badly. “Pretty much every state has an anti-graffiti law that makes it illegal to have any broad-tipped indelible markers in public places because they can be used to commit acts of vandalism.”
Her hand moves as she’s talking, sliding inch by glorious inch up my thigh. I don’t know if she’s aware that she’s doing it, but I want her to keep going. To slide that slick little palm up the leg of my shorts and—
“I hereby pledge to get rid of all my permanent markers the second I get home.” I hold up one hand like I’m swearing an oath, and it’s all I can do not to slide it down through the water to cup her breast. God, I want her.
“Hmmm,” she says, pretending to think. “I don’t know if that’s enough. You should probably face some sort of punishment.”
Dear God, yes. I brush a curl back behind her ear and consider trailing my finger down her throat. “I love that you went out and Googled weird laws,” I say. “Might have to make you an honorary cop.”
“I accept.” Her tone is flirty, and her body is warm against mine. “I’m already virtuous and saintly and committed to following all the rules.” She flutters her lashes, perfectly straight-faced, but a grin tugs up the corners of her mouth. “A bastion of purity.”
God, that mouth. I want to taste her again, to devour the raspberry softness of those lips. My whole body aches with the urge to have her.
Something flickers in her eyes, and for a second, I wonder if she’s read my mind. She licks her lips and edges closer to me on the slippery stone bench.
“You know, it really is too bad you’re such a rule-follower,” she murmurs.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m guessing there’s a rule about public nudity in the hot springs,” she says. “And right now, I’d really like to take off my top and have your hands all over me.”
My mouth goes dry, and my dick springs to life. It’s a fact Bree is well aware of, since her hand just slid the rest of the way up my thigh and is now stroking me through my swim shorts.
I lean closer, close enough to whisper in her ear. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” My fingers find the laces on the back of her bikini top. “This place is clothing optional after nine.”
I move back in time to see her eyes widen, and I’m not sure if she’s more shocked by my words, or by the feel of her bikini top slipping free as I tug the laces.
But she makes no move to stop me. “No kidding?”
“Scout’s honor,” I murmur. “And before you ask, yes, I really was a Boy Scout.”
“Duh.” The word gets muffled by her mouth colliding with mine as I claim her lips again. Our tongues tangle like we’ve done this a thousand times before, and Bree moans against my mouth as I finish untying her top.
Her breasts float free, and I scoop both palms beneath them. Her skin is silky and hot, and I’ve never felt anything so fucking good in my life.
“God, Austin.” Her voice is quivery and wild as my thumbs stroke her nipples. She arches against me, moaning as I squeeze her softly. She tastes like summer fruit and desire, and the flowery smell of her hair makes me dizzy.
I pull her onto my lap like she’s weightless. She floats against my chest, the apex of her thighs nesting perfectly against me. She grinds against my arousal, circling her hips like she’s already got me inside her.
“Christ, you feel good,” she pants.
“So do you.” I seize the chance to kiss my way down her throat, licking the salty warmth of her pulse before my chin dips into the steaming water. I’m still cupping her breasts, and I lift her up in the water so I can bury my face between them. She’s so damned delicious. I circle one nipple with my tongue, then the other, alternating between the two until I’m dizzy.
I can’t get enough of her. I’m drowning in heat and desire and so much softness. The hungry sounds she’s making in the back of her throat are enough to bring any man to his knees. I’m grateful I’m already sitting, grateful she’s straddling me and rubbing against me and leaving no doubt we want the same damn thing.
“Wait.” I catch her wrists as she’s untying the drawstring at my waist, and she looks up at me with curiosity in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not a damn thing.” I swallow hard, not wanting to kill the mood by bringing up annoying details like sanitation in a public pool or the reliability of condoms in hot mineral water.
This stuff never comes up in my sisters’ chick flicks.
Bree reads my mind, because her face breaks into a grin, and she squeezes the hardened
length of me through my swim trunks. Then she slips off my lap. “Race you back to the tent.”
She doesn’t have to ask twice. Both of us spring out of the water and shuffle into our flip-flops, sprinting away like beachfront bank robbers. We drop several articles of clothing along the way, but neither of us stops. We’re laughing as we make it to the campsite, breathless and dripping and clutching each other’s hands. Virginia barks once but doesn’t move from her spot by the fire pit.
My hands are slippery as I unzip the tent. We dive through the flap and bounce onto the air mattress, panting from running and from wanting each other so damn much.
“Careful there, Lieutenant Loverboy,” she says when I catch the bottom of a sleeping bag in the zipper.
And there it is. The reminder she hasn’t forgotten who I am, what I do. I turn to see it flicker across her face, but it’s nothing like the blaze of heat in her eyes.
I reach for her again, pulling her on top of me as I lie back on the air mattress. I’m feeling smug that I had the foresight to set up our bed, to zip the damn sleeping bags together instead of fumbling out an awkward question about what sleeping arrangement she’d prefer.
If there was any question before, there isn’t one now. We claw at each other’s bathing suits, tugging at wet strings and damp fabric until we’re blessedly, gloriously, naked together.
“Bree,” I breathe against the side of her throat. “I want you so much.” I glide my hands down her back and up again, memorizing the curve of her ass, the way her body fits perfectly against mine.
“Please, Austin,” she begs. “Don’t make me wait. Tell me you’ve got a condom and I don’t have to find my purse.”
I grin and reach over my head to the little pocket that’s meant for flashlights and tissues and whatever the hell else you need handy when you’re camping. Right now, it holds three condoms.
“Your wish is my command,” I tell her as I pull out one of them. “Anything you want. Anything.”
She grins in the moonlight trickling through the tent’s vented ceiling. “Thank God you’re a Boy Scout. Be prepared or whatever the motto is.”
I’m not feeling much like a Boy Scout as I tear open the wrapper and somehow get the condom on with Bree still straddling me. If that doesn’t deserve a merit badge, I don’t know what does.
She spreads her legs, letting her thighs fall on either side of my hips. Her eyes lock with mine and she smiles again.
There’s no hesitation. No, “are you sure?” or any of the other questions I’d normally throw out there to make sure I’ve got enthusiastic consent.
Bree’s consent is her sinking down hard and slick onto my cock, taking me in with one sharp thrust of her hips. “Holy Christ,” she gasps, eyes wide as quarters. “You’re huge.”
“Do we need to slow d—”
“No!”
She starts to move, hips grinding to a rhythm that’s coursing through both of us. I grab her waist, thrilled by how soft she is. How fluidly she’s moving, how snug she feels around me. I pray I can hold on for more than a few seconds, but she feels so fucking good.
Gone is reserved Bree, the Bree who makes polite conversation with journalists and knows which fork to use for escargot.
This Bree is wild and primal and I fucking love her.
It.
I love it, not her, obviously. What kind of idiot falls head over heels in love with a woman he barely knows, a woman he met less than three weeks ago who’s not even sure she wants to date him?
But as Bree sinks onto me again and drags her nails down my chest, the words rattle in my brain like pennies in a soda can. I can’t shake them out.
“Austin!” She throws her head back and cries out, and I know in that instant it’s the truth.
I’m in love with Bree Bracelyn.
The realization hits the same instant the orgasm grabs hold and yanks me over the edge with Bree. She’s screaming and panting and collapsing on top of me, and it’s the best fucking experience of my life.
I love you.
I stroke a hand down her back, not daring to say the words out loud. I couldn’t possibly, not now, not yet.
But as she drifts to sleep on my chest, I know without a doubt it’s true.
Chapter 12
BREE
I’m smiling like an idiot as we drive away from the empty campsite the next afternoon. I seriously couldn’t wipe this grin off my face if I used sandpaper and acid.
I can’t stop thinking about all three condoms and the glorious ways we used them over the last few hours. Holy shit, that was amazing.
“Don’t let me forget to do that background check.”
And there goes my smile. I turn to Austin, who’s staring straight ahead at the road with both hands on the wheel.
“What?” I manage to keep the wobble from my voice, but just barely.
“On Meredith’s boyfriend.” He glances over and gives me an odd look. “I told Kim I’d check into him and make sure he’s not a convicted felon or something.”
“Oh. Yes. Eddie. I remember.”
Austin looks back at the road, then at me again. “You okay?”
“I’m perfect.” I paste the smile back on and reach over to rest my hand on his thigh. That’s always an effective distraction. “Thank you for the amazing trip.”
He smiles back, and I feel his thigh relax beneath my palm. “No problem. I’m glad you decided to break your no-cop rule.”
“So am I.”
I am, I really am, except—
I glance back at him. At those chiseled features, those blue eyes so focused on the road ahead. Last night, though, they were focused on me. There was an intensity in them I’d never seen before, something besides sex. An emotion that looked an awful lot like love, though that’s silly. It’s too fast, isn’t it?
But hell, I’m right there with him. I don’t know how it happened, but I’m crazy-stupid-head-over-heels for Austin Dugan. I love his smile and those warm blue eyes. I love his sense of honor and his Boy Scout background. I love him, even though I know that’s the craziest thing in the world.
You can’t love him. Not until he knows the whole you. Not until he knows what happened.
I glance back at him and bite my lip. Maybe I should tell him. Not the love thing, but the other. What happened thirteen years ago. I could rip off the Band-Aid fast and see what happens.
I hesitate. How the hell do you bring up something like this?
“Tell me some more dumb things you’ve done,” I say.
He looks at me like I’ve just suggested we cover ourselves in tar and lie naked in the road. “Come again?”
“Like you were telling me at my place the other night,” I remind him as my brain snags on the memory of Austin’s fingers inside me that same night. I press on, keeping my hand on his thigh to remind myself why I’m doing this. “There was the story about lighting your hand on fire, and the one about talking to the mannequin and—”
“This is your idea of post-sex pillow talk?” His voice is teasing, but his expression is curious. “Inviting me to embarrass myself?”
“We’re past the pillow talk and on our way home,” I point out. “I just wanted a reminder that you’re human. That you do dumb stuff, too.”
There. It’s a start, a hint that there’s something I want to confess. I hold my breath, waiting.
“Let’s see,” Austin says. “Did I tell you about the time I interviewed for an internship at this big city police department in college?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It went well,” he says. “I was nervous as hell, but I felt good about how I answered the questions. After it was over, I got up and shook everyone’s hands.” He gives me a cockeyed grimace. “Then I turned and walked into the coat closet.”
I bust up laughing, trying to imagine it. “Did they try to warn you?”
“That’s the thing, they were busy talking and looking at each other and not me,” he says. “It was a big clo
set, and I got all the way inside before I realized what I’d done. For a few seconds I thought about just pulling the door closed and hiding out in there for the rest of the afternoon.”
“What did you finally do?”
“I walked out and gave them this sort of sheepish wave and said, ‘closet’s all clear. I checked it for contraband.’ Then I left through the real door.” He smiles. “I got the internship.”
“That’s awesome.” I’m still laughing, which feels good. I love that he’s so self-aware, so willing to laugh at himself. Humor is one of my favorite things about him, but it’s not quite the tone I want for what I need to tell him. “Tell me another one.”
“Uh, okay.” He thinks about it a minute. “A few years ago when I was still a beat cop, a female officer caught me in the parking lot on my way to my car and said, ‘do you have a sec?’ I wasn’t very busy that day and I thought I was being all witty and clever when I answered, ‘I have a lot of secs.’”
“Ooof.”
“Yeah.” He makes a face. “The second I heard myself say that out loud, I fell all over myself apologizing. It was…awkward.”
“I hope she was understanding?”
“Yeah. She laughed. She still gives me shit about it sometimes, so at least she wasn’t offended.”
“That’s good. That it didn’t turn into a sexual harassment suit or something.”
I move my hand from his thigh to my own lap and wonder if there’s a way to steer this to a more serious zone. I can’t really segue from laughter into what I need to say.
“Tell me another one,” I say. “A more serious one this time.”
He looks at me oddly, keeping both hands on the wheel. “You want a grim story about me embarrassing myself?”
“Yes, please.” I lace my fingers together on my lap and try not to notice my hands are shaking.
“Let’s see,” he says. “There’s the time I went to—”
Rrrrrring!
Austin stops talking but keeps his eyes on the road. He slows the truck to a crawl and pulls into the shoulder, both hands still locked on the wheel.
