by Maria Luis
Long seconds passed in which the older man did nothing but drum his fingers on the desktop. Then, “I’m gonna put Summers on the case.”
Brady’s stomach bottomed out. Summers was a decent guy, but a little slow on the uptake. His fingers curled into fists. Which meant that if Cartwell was resorting to replacing Brady with Summers, then Brady was well and truly screwed.
Desperation clawed at his throat, making it difficult to talk. “I’ll amp up the guys at Mardeaux’s local hangouts. Fuck, I’ll be out there myself.”
“Summers has a good track record for apprehending suspects.”
So do I.
There weren’t enough four-letter words to describe how Brady felt about Cartwell, Mardeaux, and Summers right now. Especially Mardeaux. He wanted to jump up and yell; to slam his fist into the wall; to explain to Cartwell that he had everything under control.
“You’re a good cop, Taylor,” Cartwell murmured after watching Brady with an expression that veered toward pity, “and an even better detective. Just admit that you don’t have control over this case.”
“How about the fact that Mardeaux is one federal charge away from sitting in the state pen right now?” The urge to stand up and storm out of Cartwell’s office was overpowering.
By Louisiana law, three-time federal felons got life behind bars. Mardeaux had two strikes against his name. The man might be elusive, but there was no reason to suspect that he was too stupid. One wrong move and Anthony Mardeaux could be learning what it was like to be handcuffed, permanently.
“Do you think,” Brady plunged on, anger heating his voice, “for one second, that Mardeaux has forgotten that Angola is his permanent home if he gets caught? If you had already committed two felonies, do you think you’d just wait around at your house for the cops to scoop you up and cart you off to jail with no hope of posting bail?”
Cartwell’s fingers ceased their tapping, and the man’s dark eyes tracked every one of Brady’s movements. When he said nothing, Brady swallowed harshly.
“I’ve got no doubt that Mardeaux is laying low. We’ve checked his house, his shop. I’ve got officers posted out there at all times of the day. He’s not there.” Brady broke off to gather his thoughts. If he’d ever hoped to make sergeant, he sure as hell had just ruined his chances.
Which was why he was completely surprised when his superior said, “You’ve made your point.”
Brady desperately fought off the urge to slump down in his chair at the lieutenant’s admission.
“Keep on the case.”
His head jerked up to look at the man seated across from him, but Cartwell didn’t give him enough time to say a single word. Instead, the lieutenant pointed at the door. It was a blatant dismissal. Not that it bothered Brady; he wasn’t opposed to getting the hell out of the man’s office.
His chair scraped across the linoleum floor as he stood.
“I’m still going to put Summers on the case.”
Brady’s fingers dug into the back of the chair. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I do.”
With those words, Brady’s fate was sealed. He either pulled himself together to focus all his energy on the job, or he might as well give up now before he got swallowed and spit back out.
He waited until he was back at his desk before sliding his phone out of its belt-loop holster. Ignoring Danvers’ inquiring gaze, Brady flicked through his contacts until he got to the S’s.
Anyway I can see you tonight?
He left off the “please” at the end. He had a feeling that Shaelyn would know he needed her anyway.
“Tell me you didn’t stop suckin’ the heads when you were up there in New York.”
Shaelyn paused in decapitating a red crawfish to stare up at Brady. They were seated at his kitchen table, a bucket of out-of-season crawfish at their feet and a white garbage bag on the table for the remains. His text from earlier that afternoon had surprised her. Surprised her, yes, but also excited her.
Not that she’d admit that.
She finished the job, slurping the spicy juices out of the head, and then tossed it into the trash bag. “Do you have to make it sound so sexual?”
The slow smile that spread across Brady’s face sent little warning bells ringing in her head. “Now, sweetheart,” he drawled in that husky voice of his, “why in God’s name would I pass up an opportunity to make you blush?”
“I’m not blushing.”
His brows arched high on his forehead.
“I’m not,” she reiterated firmly, even though they both knew her face was probably the shade of the crawfish they were eating. “It’s the fact that this is spicy as all get out.” She gestured at their plates.
He used the plastic ladle to scoop more crawfish out of the bucket and onto his plate. “Probably trying to cover up the fact that crawfish season ended months ago. But I figured you’d be craving some and couldn’t wait till wintertime.” He dug around the bucket with the ladle again and then held it out to her. “Still your favorite?”
Silly as it was, she couldn’t help but feel giddy about him remembering she preferred boiled corn-on-the-cobb to anything else. Meme Elaine would have said that it was the little gestures in life that showed someone cared; Anna would have said that Shaelyn should jump Brady’s bones before the opportunity passed.
But she was just Shaelyn Lawrence, and so she went with what felt comfortable. Grinning, she held out her plate with both hands. “Put that baby right here.”
“Some things never change,” he returned easily. He did as she ordered and then dug into his own massive helping. “Tell me, do you still do that thing where you have to listen to country music to fall asleep?”
Shaelyn shook her head. “You’ll be happy to know I grew out of that habit around the time that I moved from D.C. to New York. I had a roommate who hated country. She threatened to smother me in my sleep if I kept it up.” Her shoulders came up in a shrug. “I never could get used to the feeling of earbuds against a pillow, so I learned to do without Reba McIntyre.”
“Can’t say that I’m too put out about that.”
“No, you wouldn’t be—I used to have to bribe you to turn on the country station when we drove anywhere.” She didn’t mention that “bribing” had somehow always turned into fondling and sex. From the way his blue eyes heated, she had a feeling that he remembered her bribes all too well.
Brady pointed a crawfish in her direction, and the claws bounced with the movement. “That’s because I had a lick of sense.”
“Debatable.”
His broad hand went to his chest, then shook it out as if he’d been burned. “Damn, girl, rein in the claws.”
Laughing, Shaelyn wiped her hands on her napkin. Thank God she’d changed into a T-shirt after work, because the formfitting dress she’d been wearing earlier would have done nothing to hide how full she was. “I’m sorry, I forgot that as much as you like to dish the insults, you can’t take it.”
“Now you’re just being mean.” Shoving his chair back, Brady nudged the bucket of crawfish under the table and came to her side, his dirty fingers spread wide and coming right for her. “Wanna apologize?”
With reflexes she hadn’t even known she’d possessed, Shaelyn launched herself from the chair and grabbed hold of the kitchen towel off the counter. “Don’t you dare, Brady!” She snapped the towel at him, and the damp fabric elicited a sharp sound as it cracked in the air. “I’m armed.”
Brady wiggled his brows at the same time he did his fingers. “So am I, sweetheart.” He circled her like a lion after its prey, and Shaelyn felt distinct warmth between her legs. Hands down, Brady Taylor was the sexiest guy she’d ever met.
Feeling quite like a matador taunting a bull, Shaelyn snapped the towel again and then skipped out of the way when his questing fingers broached too close to her white T-shirt.
“C’mon, Shae,” he cajoled in a soft rasp, “one kiss to make up for it.”
She laughed,
because the sight of him wiggling his dirty fingers at her was honestly the best thing she’d ever seen. “Not on your life.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”
When she next snapped the towel, he took advantage and snagged it midair like a blue-eyed Mr. Miyagi. She let out a shriek when he reeled her in and encircled her hips with the towel, using it to bind her to him. Grinning widely, he backed her up against the kitchen sink and pressed his hips to hers as he reached around her to turn on the faucet.
“Someone is up and ready,” she quipped, unable to ignore the hard length of his erection pressing into her belly.
The faucet shut off. His hands came to her sides to dry on the towel. “He got a mite bit jealous watching you sucking on all those crawfish heads. Haven’t left your Louisiana roots so far behind now, have you?”
She laughed. “I should have known you’d say something like that.”
His head dipped and he met her gaze. “Then you shouldn’t have given me the perfect opportunity to say it.”
Speaking of perfect opportunities, was he not going to use the one he had right now? Shaelyn danced her fingers over the tight muscles of his biceps. How they’d ended up here again, she wasn’t all too sure. It seemed like not too long ago that even the sight of him incited her temper, but now . . .
“Brady?”
Blue eyes flicked down to her mouth. “Mhmm?”
“Are you going to kiss me?”
Masculine hands gripping her waist, he murmured, “I thought you’d never ask,” and then captured her lips with his.
It was a searching kiss, slow and unhurried as if they had all the time in the world to explore. In high school, most of their kisses had been frantic. They’d had only stolen moments away from her parents and his grandparents. The backseat of his truck had been a particular favorite when they wanted to be alone. But Brady was proving now that he had more to offer than just a fast and frenzied pace—although he excelled at that, too.
Applying gentle pressure, he coaxed her lips open. Heaven. That’s exactly what kissing Brady felt like. Her body was wholly aware of his—of the way his fingers balled the loose fabric of her T-shirt and of the way his much taller frame curled around hers. He was both safety and the unknown, wrapped up in a package destined to drive her wild.
He pulled away. Silently, his hand clasped hers.
The kitchen towel fell to the tiled floor. Neither she nor Brady seemed too inclined to pick it up.
“Are we not doing it on the table today?” she asked, following his lead down the hall.
Throwing her a saucy look over his shoulder, he told her, “I’ll take you on the table for the rest of your life. But today, we’re taking advantage of a bed.”
Without allowing her the chance to obsess over the “for the rest of your life” comment, he pulled her down the long hallway to his bedroom. The door was open already, and so were the window curtains. Evening sun filtered in through the slanted blinds, creating pockets of warm light on the unadorned walls behind the bed, on the dark navy sheets, and on the carpeted floors.
Brady turned to her, a crease of light illuminating the column of his throat. His gaze was as warm as the sun kissing her skin, and the thought hit her that she had no idea how she’d lived without him for so long. Cheating wasn’t acceptable, but some time in the last month she’d forgiven him. Whatever he’d done at the age of seventeen couldn’t be held against him now.
Although she could have sworn she imagined it, the ice encasing her heart thawed, just slightly. The anxiety she’d suffered so acutely while working for Carla had eased, too, and she had a feeling she had Brady to thank for that.
Her fingers sought the nape of his neck, and she tugged him down to meet in a hot play of lips and tongue. Broad, tapered fingers slid up beneath her plain white T-shirt, scorching a path up to her back and landing on the clasp of her bra. Nimble fingers did away with the eye-and-hook closures and the straps creasing her shoulders loosened as her breasts were freed.
When his hands came round to pluck at her nipples, they both released ragged sounds of pleasure. “Brady.”
“What do you want, Shaelyn?” he rasped, touching his mouth to the sensitive place right below her ear.
What did she want? Wasn’t it so very obvious?
Her fingers dug into his neck, no doubt marring half-moons into his skin where her nails left their mark. He kept going, alternatively pinching her nipples and caressing the hardened tips with the pads of his thumbs. For a girl who’d been celibate for years, Brady’s unique cocktail of pain and pleasure was enough to make her orgasm without any added stimulation to her lady parts.
His hands slid out from under the fabric of her T. “Take off your shirt.”
Shaelyn didn’t question him, her fingers hightailing to the hem of her shirt and pulling the worn cotton up and over her head. She shook her head to right her curls, and then allowed her un-latched bra to slip down her arms. She’d never felt so confident as she did in this moment. Maybe it was the way his gaze hungrily fixed on her breasts and full waist, or maybe it was just the fact that in letting herself go with Brady, she’d finally remembered to enjoy life.
Whatever it was, she wasn’t about to stand about idle and meek. She gestured at his shirt, which was, as per usual, black. “Your turn.”
With a sly grin, Brady did as he was told, pulling off the back of his T-shirt by the fabric behind his neck. Her mouth watered at the sight of his intricate tattoo and the cut ridges of his abdomen. His basketball shorts hung low, exposing the sharp lines of his hipbones and the tip of his cock peeping out from the elastic waistband.
“What next?” he asked.
She pointed at his feet. “Socks.”
“Done.” He bent over, took them off, and straightened. Raising his arm, he let his ankle socks flutter to the ground as though they were a set of sexy lingerie. From the wicked grin tugging at the corner of his lips, he obviously knew that he was being ridiculous but wanted her to play his game.
“Excellent, excellent,” she said, falling into character. In the past, she’d dressed up as a dominatrix, a shy schoolgirl, a lone girl waiting at a bar, and a host of other personas while working for Carla Ritter. But never had she felt so genuine, so at ease in her own body, as she did right now. She knew that Brady was responsible for that. No way could she have done this with anyone else—case in point, the fact that she’d been unable to summon the interest or the courage to date anyone for years.
Not until Brady Taylor had stepped back into her life.
In just her cotton shorts, Shaelyn circled him with a decisive sway to her hips. She danced her fingers up and down his powerful back, then trailed her fingers along the ribbed edge of his waistband. When she reached his erection, she gave him a silky smile and jumped her fingers to the other side of his cock.
Brady tipped his head back with a guttural groan. “Such a tease.”
She paused, lengthening his torment with the promise that she might return to his already leaking erection. “You like me that way.”
“You’re right.” His chin dipped with intention, and he reached out to snag her by the strings of her cotton shorts. “I like you this way too.”
And then, without giving her any preparation, he skillfully tugged her shorts and underwear down her legs and tossed her onto his bed. Amidst gusts of her laughter, she watched as he shucked his own shorts, his erection bobbing against his stomach, and climbed onto the bed.
Their skin kissed as he stretched his body out alongside hers. Her laughter faded, like the setting sun that now only touched the carpeted floor and left them in a blanket of blues and grays as evening fully set in.
Then, there were no spoken words. Her hands coasted down the landscape of his back; his skimmed the curves of her body, falling in at the waist and fanning out at the hips. She urged him on with barely coherent pleas for more, and he acquiesced in a perfect rhythm when his skillful fingers found the center of her pleasure a
nd pressed down.
Her lashes fluttered shut as she succumbed to the experience of being touched—dare she hoped, loved—by him.
He stopped, and her hips instinctively rose up off the mattress to coerce him into continuing. “Open your eyes, Shae.”
When she did as he bade, he added, “I want to see your expression when I make you come.” His middle finger found her entrance and entered, circling slowly until her heels were digging into the bed and her hands had fisted in the sheets. “I never want you to forget who makes you feel this way.”
He applied pressure to her clit with his thumb, and Shaelyn swore she saw shooting stars scramble across her vision. He never increased his rhythm, never picked up his speed. And, oh God, she knew intrinsically that he was staving off her orgasm until he was ready for her to hit that apex of pleasure. He added another finger, and still he maintained that leisurely pace that would ultimately, she knew, prove her undoing.
She yanked his head down and told him with angry, consuming kisses what she thought of his games. Still, she kept her eyes open. Despite the scarce light in the bedroom, his Destin-blue gaze held her captive.
By some small grace of God, his thumb began circling her clit faster, with just the right amount of pressure. His fingers curled in, hitting her in just the right spot. And then, just when her orgasm kicked off, he rolled away from her body to open the nightstand drawer and take out a condom. She heard the crinkling of the foil, before the bed dipped under his weight.
Silently, he pulled at her hips until she sat up. With a flat palm to her waist, he indicated for her to flip over onto all fours. His large frame came upon hers from behind. She felt the thick head of his cock at her opening before he entered her with one smooth stroke.
She uttered a curse, or maybe that harshly uttered word belonged to him. In the quiet of the room, that was only broken by her pleas for more and his rasped groans, it was difficult to tell where she ended and he began.
His hips pumped in that achingly slow rhythm that Shaelyn discovered she loved as much as she hated. Hated because it meant that he was in control of his body, his emotions, when she felt so disjointed, so needy. Loved because it slowed everything down, and allowed her to focus on their bodies moving in tandem: his fingers clenched down on her hips; his hard chest curved over her back like a shield; the slow slide of his cock, moving in and out, as though he was determined to make the moment last forever.
