Too Hot to Handle

by Aleah Barley

  His sister and the brass were problems that he’d have to deal with in the morning. He had something more important to think about. Honey Moore was in his shower, warm water pounding over her bare skin.

  Standing there in his antique bathtub, she’d have to choose between getting out of the shower to retrieve a washcloth from the closet in the hall or using the bar of soap as it was. He hoped she used the bar. He liked the thought of the hard piece of soap making her body slippery, coating her breasts with white residue before she moved it down across her belly. Would she pause for a second, feeling the pressure of the soap and her own hand between her thighs? Maybe even thinking about him for a long moment before moving on?

  A bolt of lust made his hands shake. He lifted his legs up onto the overstuffed couch. One ankle banged against the couch arm, and he winced in pain.

  The noise of the shower filled his head. The sound was soothing, like one of those white noise machines that helps people sleep. Jack could use some sleep. Anything to keep his mind off Honey. But it was a lot more pleasurable to think about Honey…

  His eyes slowly flickered closed, and he fell into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Two

  Honey Moore woke with pounding in her head and a curse on her lips.

  “Damn it all to hell.”

  At eighteen, she’d sworn on a stack of bibles she was done lusting after Jack Ogden. It hadn’t been easy getting over him. The man was tall, dark, and handsome, with a soft laugh that could light her blood on fire. He wore combed cotton T-shirts that stretched tight across his broad shoulders, blue jeans that had gone threadbare at the knees, and an occasional sweet smile that melted her insides.

  With that brown, curly hair, those bowed lips, he might have been too handsome—almost pretty—if it weren’t for the inevitable scarring around a nose that had been broken one too many times.

  Looks weren’t everything. He also had a rough voice like crushed velvet, a catalogue of steamy expressions, and gentlemanly manners he’d learned in the cradle.

  But she’d made her decision. Sworn her pledge. No more wanting Jack.

  Waking up with his hand nestled between her knees was a setback.

  Time for an intervention. “All right, Honey,” she whispered. “Stand up. Get off this couch and leave.”

  The rough pad of his thumb scraped over the soft inner skin of her thigh. He was sound asleep. The future political dynamo would never make a move like that while he was awake, no matter how much Honey might like him to.

  It was damn annoying. Sometimes she wanted to hit him in the head with a wrench, just to see what his response would be. He’d probably look at her with those soulful blue eyes, shake his head, and let out a soft sigh.

  “Deep breaths,” she said. “Easy, girl.”

  Jack’s thumb massaged her thigh idly, the circular motion stoking an ancient fire inside her. She sucked air into her mouth, trying to cool down her blood.

  It didn’t help.

  Going to sleep next to him had been a bad move. Not that she’d slept much the night before—she’d spent most of it tossing restlessly, worried she was going to fall off the side of the narrow couch. Worried that the person who’d burned down her house would come after her.

  The only thing she hadn’t thought to worry about was Jack’s intentions.

  She turned over on her other side to face him. High cheekbones, tanned skin, and curved lips that were perpetually twisted downward.

  At least, that was what she’d always thought.

  Asleep, the man was all smiles. There wasn’t a line of anger or tension in his body. Her stomach tightened in surprise. All this time, she’d known he was a good man. Everyone in Black Palm Park knew that. She hadn’t known he was happy.

  Honey settled against him, her head falling into the crook of his arm. There was something comfortingly reassuring about the feel of Jack’s body against hers. Hard muscles and warmth. He made her feel safe, even if he did look like something the cat dragged in.

  His arm tightened around her waist, capturing her. Pulling her against him. If they got any closer, she’d need birth control.

  Heart pounding, she darted forward to brush her lips against his cheek. The pressure on her waist changed. It was still solid, but this time his hand clenched into a fist, bunching her T-shirt up around her waist.

  Long fingers brushed over her back.

  Her skin tingled everywhere his hand touched her. Heat roared through her body before settling low in her belly.

  She rocked forward against him, her eyes flickering shut. There was no history biting at her heels, no past to trip them up. All she was feeling was the inevitable chemical reaction that came from too many hormones and not enough clothes. Man and woman.

  His hand dipped down beneath the elastic band of her panties, and Honey came crashing back to earth. Jack Ogden wasn’t just any man. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. Not if she could help it.

  “Jack.”

  He murmured quietly. He was probably dreaming about a supermodel, a famous actress, or Anne Green, the perky lawyer who’d captained the cheerleading squad so many years earlier.

  Not her. Never her.

  “Jack.” A second time, louder now.

  His mouth descended on hers. The kiss was rough, urgent. Her teeth nicked his lip. She melted into him, accepting the coppery taste of his blood in her mouth. One kiss followed another. He kissed her with his eyes wide open, their color a deep blue like the ocean on a clear day.

  The most honorable man in a city of millions had his hand splayed across her back, and he knew exactly what he was doing. That knowledge got her blood pumping. He began to kiss his way down her neck, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

  “Good morning.” Pearly teeth nipped at her collarbone playfully before he pulled away. “You always talk to yourself like that?”

  “Only when I’ve got no one better to talk to.”

  “You didn’t have to sleep with me.”

  “I didn’t sleep with you—”

  Collapsed on the couch the night before, Jack had looked tired, vulnerable. His body had rolled sideways and—without thinking—she’d lunged forward to catch him, pushing him back into the middle of the couch. Then he’d tried rolling over a second time.

  Not good at all.

  The man had been completely exhausted. If she’d left him by himself, he’d have been sleeping on the floor in a couple of minutes. She hadn’t seen his injuries, but judging by the way he’d been holding himself, they were bad. The last thing he’d needed was another fall and a night spent on a hard surface.

  But getting him into bed hadn’t been a possibility. Jack was a big man. Tall, muscular, and heavy. Capable of putting the pressure on her hips that she’d always desired. She liked digging her nails into a solid set of shoulders. Just thinking about it was enough to make her hungry, eager.

  Standing there the night before, trying to decide what to do next, she’d ended up climbing onto the couch beside him. It definitely wasn’t how she’d imagined spending the night with him. Still, it had been nice to lay next to Jack.

  Especially when he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in tight. His grip warm and reassuring, telling her that she was still alive.

  “I didn’t sleep with you,” Honey repeated. Her cheeks flushed a bright red. “It didn’t happen.”

  Face to face, it was hard to remember why she’d turned him away in the first place. He was exactly her type. “You ever wonder what would have happened if we’d stayed together?” she asked. “It never would have worked. Ten bucks says we would have burned out within the month. Chemistry like that’s explosive, and—”

  Jack was staring at her, shock in his eyes.

  “Maybe not.” Honey chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe we’d have dated for all those years, gotten married, and had two-point-five kids. Maybe everything would be different—maybe the world would have been destroyed by an asteroid years ago.”


  She’d made her decision in high school, and now she needed to stick with it.

  But her long fingers tangled reflexively in Jack’s rich chocolate brown curls. In the dim light from the far window, his hair was so dark, almost black, and it gave him a dashing look. The busted lip didn’t hurt, either.

  All bruised and battered, he didn’t look like the proud owner of a detective’s shield—a man who’d made her life a living hell. He looked like one of the charming thugs from her part of town.

  His hair was soft to the touch, tight curls that kinked at the end. Nothing like her frizzy red hair. She could smell his shampoo, something expensive and manly. It smelled like sex, pure and simple.

  “Want to tell me what the hell you’re doing in my house?”

  Ah, bitter and confrontational. That was more like the Jack Ogden she knew and disliked. He had been grumpy the day they met, and his temper hadn’t improved in the years since. If she’d been anyone else, she might have been offended. As it was, she was relieved. Everything was back to normal.

  More or less. There was still the small matter of his hand on her ass.

  “I told you. My house burned down last night.”

  “I wouldn’t call that a house.”

  He’d grown up in a mansion on top of a damn mountain. The house she’d inherited from her grandfather might be a piece of 1950s tract housing with the structural integrity of a cardboard box, but it was still her home. Or it had been, until the night before.

  “Home is where the heart’s at,” she announced in a singsong. “Except in my case, home is a burnt-out piece of crud.”

  She’d lived in that house her entire life, and now it was gone.

  She’d never go home again. Honey started shaking. Her mouth opened, forcing air down into her lungs. It didn’t help.

  One moment, the room was quiet, comforting, and the next second, uncontrollable sobs wracked her body. Jack’s embrace was the only thing tethering to her reality, and even that wasn’t enough. All she could think about was the stench of burned plastic. Her lungs tightened in response to the remembered burn.

  Friday night had been nothing special. She should have been at home in her pajamas eating tomato soup from a can and yellow cheese sandwiches, watching sitcoms on TV. Only, her cousin Brody had called her in desperation. One favor, that was all he wanted—a ride home from his girlfriend’s house in North Hollywood. When she finally got to him, he was standing naked on the side of Ventura Boulevard, trying—but failing—to protect his dignity with a cell phone and a neon-orange traffic cone.

  The fire must have been set just after she left, because it had already died down when she got home. The firefighters were standing on the corner sharing a pack of cigarettes and a thermos of coffee.

  She should have been in the house.

  If Brody had waited ten more minutes before calling, she’d probably be dead. Burnt to a crisp, along with her stuff. Her cousin was a low-down, dirty dog, but she owed him a big fat “thank you.” If it weren’t for his philandering ways, she’d be a dead woman. Killed by the same fire that had turned her house into rubble.

  The sun had risen outside, and she was still in one piece. Standing in front of her ruined house the night before, she’d been gripped by a fear like ice in her veins, a certain knowledge that she wouldn’t last the night.

  But now here she was. With Jack.

  His palm moved down her back, soothing. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  “You think I’m overreacting?” He hadn’t seen the fire’s bright embers glowing in the evening light.

  His headlights hadn’t lit up the car parked at the end of her block, illuminating the man who’d stuck around to make sure she didn’t make it out alive. Driving a boxy sedan with high-intensity lights, the arsonist had gunned the engine, and then he’d chased her old truck to hell and back.

  After she’d lost the sedan, she’d ditched her truck at a Walmart parking lot, caught a bus over the Sepulveda Pass, and gone to the one place where she’d thought she’d be safe. The one place where she’d known no one would look for her.

  “My house burned down, and I don’t know why.”

  “Come on, Honey, you’re a smart girl.” A familiar cynical edge colored Jack’s voice. “You must have plenty of enemies. Did you finally take something worth stealing?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Honey sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not a thief.”

  “It’s called ‘grand theft auto.’ Not ‘grand I’m-just-taking-it-for-a-spin-around-the-block auto.’”

  Honey flinched. Her reputation was a burden. It was also well-deserved. When she was younger, she’d stolen anything with wheels. But she hadn’t stolen a car in a long time. Not since she’d spent a year and a half with her room and board provided by the Los Angeles County Correctional Facility. Eighteen months that she could have spent taking care of the people who depended on her.

  “If that’s what you really think, then maybe I shouldn’t have come here.” Honey jerked away, sitting up. “I thought you’d help me. Even if you’re not my friend, you’re still a cop.”

  “Damn it, Honey.” Jack reached out, tugging her back down into his arms. His voice softened. “All right. You’re not a thief. What do you do?”

  “I’m a mechanic.” She chose her words carefully, eager to make Jack understand. Things had changed. “These days, I fix cars. I don’t steal them.”

  “With your record?”

  “Right, my record.” Honey crossed her arms defensively. “After all, I’m just a car thief—a felon with a prison record. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  “Nothing you didn’t deserve.”

  “Sure.” He was right. She’d stolen his car. She’d also gone to prison and paid her debt to society. “It’s my garage. I don’t get as much work as I’d like, not in my part of town, but I’m my own boss. I’m honest. I don’t overcharge on parts, I don’t gouge on service. I can do things with an engine you wouldn’t believe. It’s all about classic American muscle.”

  He gave her a sly smile, almost apologetic. “That’s one place where we agree.”

  Honey bit back a grin. With their bodies pressed against each other, she could feel every inch of Jack’s classic American muscle. The night before, she’d figured that a borrowed T-shirt would be more modest than her “I’m Sexy and I Know It” pajamas, but she probably should have left on the plaid flannel short-shorts.

  His blue eyes suddenly went dark, wary amusement giving way to desire, and his hands started moving down her back. Honey’s entire world narrowed to a point. Everything would be all right as long as he kept touching her.

  Then she was kissing him again. This time, she was the aggressor. Every movement was harsh, rough—an act of desperation.

  Sex wasn’t something she took lightly. Her reputation might be less than sterling, but the truth was that she’d never slept with someone until the third date, and she’d run off her last boyfriend two years ago.

  For a bad girl, she was usually pretty good. But right now, she wanted to tear Jack’s clothes off and screw him silly. Her hands moved down to fumble with his belt buckle. If she could feel him inside of her, penetrating her to her core, she’d know that everything was going to be okay.

  “Honey.” He freed his mouth from hers. “Honey, what are you doing?”

  “Okay, that’s not exactly the response I was hoping for.” All she needed was a little cooperation. The hard flesh she could feel nestled against her belly told her he wanted her enough to play along. “Are you really turning me down?” she teased.

  Jack stilled her hands. “Yes.”

  She felt like she’d been slapped.

  Outside, birds were singing, and people were going on with their lives as if nothing had changed. For them, it hadn’t. For her, nothing would ever be the same. Not with the only home she’d ever had burned to the ground and Jack’s kiss still warm on her lips. Not with his rejection ringing in her ears.

  “Loo
k, Honey—”

  The scraping of metal on metal interrupted him. A key clicked in the lock. The apartment’s door swung open with a bang.

  Even injured, Jack’s instincts were good. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, and he rolled sideways hard, pushing himself over her and onto the ground. He landed first, his body hitting the floor with a loud thud. She ended up sprawled awkwardly on top of his torso. “What the hell—”

  Jack’s hand clapped over her mouth, preventing her from completing the question.

  Chapter Three

  “Jack Ogden, you son of a bitch!”

  Years spent working as a police officer meant that Jack had been introduced to all kinds of dangerous people. Monsters, even. None of them were as scary as his older sister in a foul mood.

  “I’m a grown woman,” Jessica roared. “I can take care of myself. What do you think gives you the right to mess around in my business? When I get done with you, you’re going to wish you’d never been born.”

  Jack had been bracing himself for Jessica’s rage ever since his fist connected with Carlos’s jaw. The rational move would be to stand up, apologize for what he’d done wrong, and take his lumps like a man.

  Unfortunately, he’d lost the ability to process rational thought twenty minutes ago. Lying on the hardwood floor, the only thing he could think about was how Honey felt on top of him. He couldn’t imagine anything better than burying himself in her warm curves.

  The way she’d been acting a few minutes earlier, he wouldn’t have had to imagine for long.

  Glasses crashed together. The refrigerator opened and shut. His sister was making herself at home.

  Weird.

  The two of them didn’t hang out. The last time he’d tried inviting Jessica to dinner, she’d laughed at him. Between her classes and her charity work, she was a very busy person. Too busy for the younger brother she’d never been close to. They saw each other at family events and benefit dinners, which meant that he shouldn’t even be in the same room with her for another week. Not until the annual ball that Jessica helped organize as a benefit for the local hospital. The invitation was in his desk somewhere.