by Aleah Barley
“Jack!” Her scream was ear-shattering. “Get your butt out here.”
Honey wriggled slightly until she was lying on the ground, her body nestled in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest. Soft, supple fingers brushed against his skin, drifting downward across his torso.
“I’m right here.” His tone came out high-pitched. Nervous. He swallowed hard. Everything was hard. If he stood up, he’d expose an erection hard enough to hammer nails.
If he didn’t stand up, his sister would come over to investigate.
He got up slowly, clambering onto the couch. “What do you want?”
“What do I want? You’ve got to be kidding me. I want to talk about why you beat up my boyfriend last night.”
“Your ex-boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, it doesn’t matter.” Jessica put his kettle on the stove and turned on the burner. Every movement was neat, precise, showcasing a graceful economy of movement. Between marriages to wealthy men old enough to be her father, she taught dance classes to preschoolers at a studio in Santa Monica. “What do you think gives you the right to interfere with my life?”
“You’re my sister. He was saying things about you. Things he had no business saying.” Jack leaned forward. “Aren’t you even going to ask who won?”
“You got your ass handed to you.” Dressed in lemon yellow yoga pants and a pair of expensive yellow tennis shoes, she’d obviously been on her way to the dance studio when she’d heard the news. “You okay?”
“Some scrapes and bruises. The doctors say I’ll be sore for a while, but no permanent damage. They wouldn’t have released me otherwise.”
That was a bald-faced lie, but Jessica didn’t know him well enough to realize.
His entire life Jessica had been distant, cold, and competitive. The way they were brought up, the six-year separation in their ages might as well have been sixty.
That didn’t mean he was going to let a jerk in a fancy suit say anything bad about her.
He glanced at Honey. Her expression had turned calculating. She knew when he was lying. Either that, or she’d peeked under his clothes the night before. He could only imagine the possibilities that were running through her mind. Standing up and tattling on him was only one option. One good poke in the ribs, and he’d be screaming for his mother.
Maybe not his mother. Maybe someone with genuine maternal instincts.
“What are you making?” he asked.
“Tea. I’m on this diet where all you eat is tea and fruit. I’ve had so many oranges in the past week, my skin’s going to change color.” Her mouth twisted up in disgust. “It’s supposed to be good for you, and I can have any kind of tea I want. What kind of tea do you have?”
“I’m not much of a tea drinker. Why don’t you start some coffee?”
“Coffee isn’t on my diet.” But she found some beans and started pouring them into the grinder. She moved fast, keeping her back to him.
Keeping her face away from him.
“Jessica, look at me.” Nothing happened. “Jessica.” He addressed her in the same voice he used to question recalcitrant suspects or give orders to uniformed patrolmen. “Look at me.”
She turned, her long legs closing the distance between them in two smooth steps. Even standing only a few feet away, she didn’t see Honey partially hidden behind by the couch. Not through the tears in her eyes.
A dancer, Jessica was used to sweating in the heat. Her makeup was the best. But it couldn’t hide the swollen skin on her cheek, or the slight yellow tinge of a healing bruise.
“Forget beating him up. I’m going to bury him.”
“I already broke up with him. Four days ago. It was over—done with—and then you had to go get chivalrous.” Her gaze dropped.
Her lips spread into a full smile. “Guess Carlos didn’t knock you around too hard. Who’ve you got down there?” She stepped forward to peer over the back of the couch. “Anyone I know?”
Honey’s hand shook as Jack stood and pulled her to her feet. Heat colored her cheeks, but she forced a smile onto her lips. “Jessica, right?”
When there was no flicker of recognition, she extended a hand. “Hey, good to meet you. Nice shiner. You know what works on a black eye? Use a good moisturizer first, then a light concealer and liquid base. That powder stuff makes it look worse, and it stings like nobody’s business.”
Jack stared at her.
“What? I’ve been in a few bar fights in my day.”
Jessica laughed, and the tension in the room relaxed. Or maybe it was the tension in Jack’s shoulders. “Jessica, this is Honey. She’s a friend of mine.”
That wasn’t quite right. “Not exactly friends.”
“More like enemies,” Honey said.
“Bickering kids.”
“Two gladiators locked in a battle of epic proportion.”
“Not really.” They weren’t enemies, but they’d never be just friends. Not when there was the possibility of something more. Not when he’d give anything to tear the T-shirt from her body and kiss her silly.
After his sister left, of course.
Impulse made him reach out to cover Honey’s hand with his own.
“Will you look at that?” Jessica said. “My little brother finally got himself a girl.” Her smile was eager, genuine. She threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around Honey’s shoulders. For a moment, it looked like Jessica was going to squeeze Honey half to death. “Oh, you’re so cute! I could eat you up with a spoon.”
That was just like Jessica. One minute on the warpath, the next minute full of smiles.
The kettle went off on the stove with a sharp whistle. Jessica walked back into the kitchen to make the coffee. “It’s been a long time since Jack had a girlfriend. It’s because of his job. He never meets anyone decent. Just criminals.” Honey flinched, but Jessica had her back turned, oblivious. “Dating in this city is brutal. It’s not like high school. Jack used to date all the time back in high school. Cheerleaders. Tennis stars. Even that one girl—the one you mooned after for a year. What was her name?”
“I don’t remember,” Jack said quickly.
“You must. You were head over heels for her. I have a good memory for that sort of thing.” Ever the proper hostess, she retrieved a third mug from the cabinet for the surprise guest. “Actually, come to think of it, her name was Honey, too. Isn’t that peculiar? Honey Moore.”
Honey jerked away, stumbling back a few steps. Her eyes had gone wide, and she looked like a cornered animal searching for an escape route.
“She broke your heart,” Jessica said casually. “Crushed it into a million little pieces, and she made you look like a fool.” The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the apartment.
Her voice had a teasing edge when she continued. “But that has to be someone else. Only an idiot would still be hung up on the same girl after twelve years.”
“Jack’s not an idiot.” Honey spoke quietly but firmly. “Anyway, we’re not dating. I needed a place to stay the night, and Jack was kind enough to oblige. He’s a real gentleman.”
“Sure, that’s why you were flopping around on the ground in your underwear.” Jessica turned around. “You’re her, aren’t you? The same Honey.”
“It’s none of your business,” Jack said.
Honey cleared her throat. “There was an accident at my house last night. I don’t have anything else to wear.”
“Oh.” Jessica flushed. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to imply—” A nervous pause. “I’m sorry. There are some clothes in my car. I can see what I have that might fit you.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Things had definitely changed. Back in high school, Honey wouldn’t have taken help from anyone. Not while there was still life in her body. A scholarship student who wore clothes bought at a thrift store and carried a canvas backpack with an ink stain on the bottom, all she’d had was her pride. Now she watched quietly as Jessica walked out the door.
With just two of them, the apartment should have seemed bigger. Less crowded.
It didn’t. Honey’s slight form dominated the space.
“You were in love with me, Jack?” Her voice was a low murmur, rough like raw silk. “I thought you’d have more self-respect.”
“Sweetheart, there was a time I would’ve walked over broken glass to hear you say my name.”
“And now?”
“It’s been a long time. Things have changed.” Jack wasn’t the same person anymore. Back then, he’d been willing to fall in love at the drop of a hat. These days, he didn’t even know if he could still fall in love at all.
Sometimes he thought about what it might be like to go home to a woman who loved him. He couldn’t see it. Too many nights spent pulling double shifts, and he’d come home to find all his clothes on the front lawn. A woman could only put up with so much.
Other cops had wives and families. They worked their shifts and they went home. Jack’s problem was that he didn’t know how to leave his work at the office. All he’d ever wanted to be was a cop—the best cop that he could be, working his way slowly up through the ranks. In another ten years, he’d be a captain, maybe higher than that. Maybe then he’d be able to delegate.
“I’m not in love, but I might be in lust.” His eyes had wandered to her thighs. The sight of all that bare skin only a few inches away had his breath coming faster. His sister’s presence had put a damper on things, but one smile from Honey, and he’d be ready to go all over again.
It wasn’t only lust.
The Honey he’d been in love with had been young, wild, and dangerous. Not innocent—never innocent. She’d been the perfect object of affection for a teenager who was desperate to rebel.
Now he was older, wiser. He didn’t want a dangerous woman—an unrepentant car thief—but he could see himself with a respectable mechanic. A small business owner. For a while, anyway.
If she was being honest about her life. So far, she seemed too good to be true.
Jack shook his head, trying to clear away the unaccustomed thoughts. He needed a shower. The cold water would reduce his bruises, clean the sweat from his skin, and quiet his raging libido.
But he shouldn’t leave the room, not with Jessica coming back any minute. The two women were bad enough apart. He couldn’t imagine the trouble they’d get into if they ever teamed up.
He stood, unbuckling his holster and slipping off his coat. He reached up to start unbuttoning his shirt. His arm ached.
“I like you, too.” Honey pushed his hands aside. Nimble fingers made short work of the small fastenings. A sharp tug, and she was pulling his undershirt out of his pants. Another few minutes, and he’d be completely undressed.
Completely exposed.
So far, Honey had only seen his split lip. If she got any further, she’d uncover the gash on his chest. Seventeen stitches—the result of a thug wielding a broken bottle—plus more bruises than he could count.
He took a step backward. Leaving Honey alone with his sister might be a bad idea, but staying would be downright dangerous.
“There’s food in the refrigerator. Help yourself to anything you want. I’m going to take a shower.”
…
“Unbelievable,” Honey said after he’d left the room. Jack Ogden had mooned over her for a year. “Un—freaking—believable.”
She spun on the balls of her feet, turning to pace across the empty apartment.
Jack’s place was nice. Modern, with an open floor plan. In Venice, it was near the ocean while still being off the beaten path, and—better—it was a place where no one would ever think to look for her. His reputation as a cop made it even safer. Extra insurance.
Just like the gun he’d pointed at her.
It was a beautiful apartment, too. Hardwood floors, wall-length windows, and a king-size bed in the other room with a comfy mattress and creamy Egyptian cotton sheets.
She’d broken into his home, helped herself to his cookies, and yet the only time she’d felt like a criminal was while she was stretched across Jack’s bed, luxuriating on top of rich covers.
Things were different now. She’d been invited. Okay, maybe not invited, but Jack certainly knew she was here. That meant he trusted her, right?
Pipes rumbled. The shower started.
She trusted him, too. He could keep her safe.
At least, that’s what she’d thought, standing in a Walmart parking lot last night. Going to her family would mean putting someone she cared about in danger. She couldn’t do that. Not again.
Her grandfather had died from a stroke while she was in prison. Her uncle had delivered the bad news through the bulletproof glass of a prison visiting room. If someone had found him earlier, her grandfather would have made it. If there’d been someone living at the house.
Instead, he’d died gasping for breath on the kitchen floor.
Her fault. Hot-wiring Jack’s car had been stupid, impulsive. But that was always her problem. She never thought things through first. She never thought about the consequences… Regret for what she’d done still haunted her.
But Jack didn’t need her help, and he didn’t require her protection. He was so squeaky clean, so untouchable. She’d figured that nothing she did could hurt him. She’d hoped his apartment would be a place where she could rest and recuperate while she searched for the person who’d burned down her house.
She’d even thought Jack might help with that. Cops had connections. Resources. Jack’s badge could open doors.
And it was probably lying right at her feet.
Honey bent down to pick up the coat from where he’d left it on the floor. Double-checking what she already knew. Inside left pocket. A shiny metal shield in a worn leather carrying case. Tall letters squeezed awkwardly into the small space: detective.
“Damn.”
Jack wasn’t going to help her. Even if he’d agree, she couldn’t ask. Not after Jessica’s soap opera confrontation. Oh, you’re the Honey who broke Jack’s heart? Imagine that!
Followed by Jack’s fumbling attempt to introduce her as his “friend.”
He would have walked over broken glass for her, and she’d acted like a jilted lover. A little girl with an unrequited crush. She didn’t deserve the way he’d looked at her this morning. Not after how she’d treated him.
He’d been her first love. What she’d felt was pure and true, but she’d shot it through the heart, and she wasn’t that girl anymore. Spending more time in Jack’s company would mean leading him on. She might be able to do that to another man, but she couldn’t do it to him.
She had to get out of there before Jack got back. Or his sister.
The badge felt heavy in her hand. The full weight of his authority. Her fingers curled inward, squeezing so tight she could feel its sharp edges eating into her palm. Her adrenaline kicked up a notch, making her breath come faster and her heart hum.
Her grandfather had always said that running to a cop for help was a fool’s mission. “Baby girl,” he would announce, “the only protection you’ll ever have is your wits.”
It had been years since she’d done anything bad. Years since she’d stolen a car or acted on the slightest impure thought.
But Jack was right.
Nothing had changed. Not really. He was still an upstanding member of society, and she was still a wild child with a smile on her lips and a song in her black heart.
She grabbed the badge and headed for the door. Halfway there, she backtracked long enough to pick up Jack’s gun and handcuffs off the kitchen table.
He already thought she was a criminal. She might as well prove him right.
Chapter Four
Honey ignored the phone the first time it rang. Answering a cell phone while driving was dangerous. Especially when it belonged to someone else. Namely, Jack.
She ignored it the second time, too. The third time, she took half a second to think before picking it up. “Jack Ogden’s phone.
Jack’s not available at the moment—”
“Damn right, I’m not available.” A familiar angry growl. “You stole my car!”
“Borrowed. I borrowed your car.”
Honey let out a satisfied murmur as she shifted Jack’s black 1969 Dodge Super Bee into gear. Classic American muscle with a coupe body and a ramcharger hood. Most Super Bees had been cheap toys, stripped-down versions of better cars. Jack’s was different.
Revving the car’s engine, Honey could hear the 426 Hemi purr. There had only been 166 of them made. A few years ago she’d tried to track one down for herself, but most of them had vanished into the violence of stock car races. The few surviving cars were locked up in fancy collections. She couldn’t buy one if she saved every penny she came across for the next ten years. Worse, she couldn’t even steal one.
Not that she stole cars anymore.
Stealing cars was childish, dangerous. It could get people hurt. Changing her ways hadn’t been easy, though she’d never been a career criminal like some of the other people in her family. The only thing she really missed was the cars.
“It’s a beautiful machine,” she said. “Thanks for the loan.”
“Sure.” Jack’s voice had turned silky, hard. “You borrowed the car, and you left the keys. You know, Honey, I almost believed that nonsense you were telling me. ‘I’m a changed woman. I’ve reformed.’ Liar.”
“Now, now.” Honey shifted easily, getting off the highway. “I have reformed.”
She’d quit boosting cars even before she stole Jack’s police cruiser. That had been a fluke. After sneaking her very first bottle of champagne with her cousin Barney, she’d gone for a walk to clear her head. The patrol car had been sitting there, less than a block from the wedding reception, with a shotgun locked to the cage and a copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude on the passenger seat.
She’d known it was Jack’s car. He was the only cop in Los Angeles who liked to read Gabriel García Márquez.
Knowing it was Jack’s was what had made it so exciting.
