The break up with Fred had been painful. How had she not realized how little he respected her. Obviously, he wasn’t the right guy for her, but someone else would be. She allowed herself a small bit of regret Mr. Hunkalicious wouldn’t be there tonight.
* * * *
Sam had kept watch. Why, he didn’t know. He watched while she punched her pillow, while she curled up cuddling it to her breasts—lucky breasts. Time passed. He dozed off in his easy chair. Like the proverbial moth to a flame, he gravitated back to the window. She wore a dark bra and a thong.
Damn, a thong.
It wasn’t hard to fantasize lying right there in her bed stroking his cock while she pranced around in her underwear. He fantasized eyeballing the satiny elastic in her crack when she turned her back and teasingly bent over.
God.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them, he gaped as she pulled on a pair of tight black slacks over the God blessed thong and sat on the bed to slip her feet into stiletto boots. Damn, she’s going out. She grabbed a purse and disappeared.
A kind of voyeuristic, obsessive curiosity had him racing to clean himself off, shove his legs into dress pants, and slip on a black T-shirt. Grabbing his sport coat, he charged out the door of the Victorian in time to see her flouncing down the street.
The gods were on his side, because he waved down a cab right behind her and got out at the Diplomat East Hotel, right behind her. He blew a sigh of relief when she headed for the bar instead of the bank of elevators. At least she wasn’t going to a room. It wasn’t part of his fantasy for her to sleep with another man tonight.
I’m just curious. Who wouldn’t be after the show she’d put on?
She didn’t flicker an eyelash of recognition when he walked by her, hooked a stool at the opposite side of the U-shaped bar, and settled in to spy, um, observe. He’d also snagged a closer glance at her face. She looked soft. And hot. Dark hair and full, red-tinted lips emphasized her amazingly light eyes. He shifted uncomfortably on the barstool, easing the fullness of his cock against his zipper. Would she recognize him from the house? He’d seen her around, she must have seen him.
He nursed a beer, then another while watching her. She met up with several people, giving little finger-wiggling waves to the guys and quick air kisses to the girls. She laughed easily with the body builder bartender when she ordered a drink. Lots of women liked that type. Maybe she did.
Fuck!
Not that he wasn’t in shape, too. He’d been on the police force for five years and an undercover tactical officer for a little over one.
Between staring into his beer from time to time so he didn’t constantly stare at her, he brooded about how his life had gone so off kilter as to be stalking a woman in a bar. Guilt for his part in hurting his little brother, Petey, shadowed his life. It was why he’d become a cop. At eighteen, he’d stupidly, rashly beat up Petey’s dealer, who then got revenge by selling the drugs that put the teenager into a coma. The boy had lived, but left brain damaged, almost a grown man with the mind of an eight year old. He’d never told his family his part in it. Catching the bastard and putting him away was his mission in life.
He spotted her weaving toward him through the crowd. The guy trailing her swung her onto the dance floor. She had some hot moves. Really hot moves. The music slowed, and he wanted to be the one dancing with her. He imagined he wasn’t the only man here who wanted to hold that body. She’d feel good in his arms. His breath released in a whoosh. Finishing his beer, he stuck a finger in the air to signal the bartender for another one. Just as his drink arrived, she headed back to her table, grabbed her leather jacket, and left. Alone. What the hell? He tossed some bills on the bar and followed.
Sauntering down the street a half block behind her, he was glad she wasn’t with some other guy. He’d already seen her naked, but he wanted to see her in the flesh, in person. Head to head. Belly to belly. Sex to sex. He pictured her beneath him, her full breasts, nipples tight, his fingers spearing between her thighs into her juicy pussy. Sweat coated his upper lip, and he plunged his hands in his jacket pockets to reflexively pull the sides over to camouflage his hard-on. Of course, it was dark, and no one could see it.
He tailed her, slinking close to the buildings. She hadn’t spotted him, but you never knew what a suspect would do. That he thought of her as a criminal in order to rationalize his surveillance bothered him. Pathetic bastard. He needed a hobby.
Head bowed, concentrating on the justification of his activities, he almost missed her truncated scream. At the sound, he glanced up in time to see her being yanked into an alley. “Shit.” By the time he got there, he wasn’t sure who would be hurt more. On the ground, she kicked and flailed her fists and feet for all she was worth, her screams echoing off the brick walls. The mugger had gripped her sweater but couldn’t get a decent hold on her.
“Sonofabitch.” He hurtled onto the guy, grabbing him by the back of his jacket. Unless it became necessary, he didn’t want to draw the off-duty .38 snub nose clipped inside his waistband.
Before being toppled off, the mugger got in a vicious punch to her stomach.
Sam heard her retching, gagging sounds, but the asshole took advantage of his distraction to slug him right smack in the nose, knocking him flat.
“God damn it!” He saw lights, sparks of pain, and fought to stay conscious. The woman’s safety depended on him. Trying to stand, he got as far as his knees.
The mugger kicked him in the belly.
“Fuck.” He forced himself again to his feet.
The woman screeched and darted toward them.
The would-be robber apparently decided enough was enough, placed a hand on her chest, and pushed her back. Then he ran, disappearing out the mouth of the alley.
Sam stumbled to the street after him, but the guy vanished. No sign of him. Not even the sound of running feet.
SonofaGoddamnbitch!
Furious at being hammered, he must really be slipping to let some punk get the drop on him. Doubled over, his hands on his knees, he roughly sucked in air. He hurt but didn’t think anything had ruptured or broken. The guy wasn’t going to magically reappear, so he wiped blood and snot from his face with the back of his hand and retraced his steps.
“Are you okay?” She’d buckled down to the dirty ground of the narrow alley. He knelt at her side.
“Why were you following me?”
“And you’re welcome for saving your life.”
She glanced at him, her eyes wide in stark terror. Christ, the woman was in pain and obviously scared, and he was being bitchy.
She bit at her bottom lip, gulped for breath, and rolled to her side to hoist herself up.
He surged to his feet to offer her a hand, but she shrugged it off. This pitiful, battered woman, trying to get her feet under her to stand, was a far cry from the hot body he’d seen through her bedroom window.
He caught a glimpse of her thigh through a tear in her slacks. Shit. Ripped clothes and a heel on one of her boots had broken off, and he stood gawking and thinking about her naked.
“Come on. Let me help you up,” his voice raspy from his own pain. His emotions fluctuated from guilt that the guy got away to relief it was over.
This time she took his hand. He gripped her wrist to leverage her up.
The minute she made it upright, she doubled over. “Ahhghh.” She covered her mouth with her hand, stumbled over to the alley wall, and vomited against it.
He stood helplessly behind her, his hands outstretched toward her, watching to make sure she didn’t fall again. He didn’t know how else to help her, since vomiting was kind of a personal thing. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen a person ralph, and he swallowed convulsively—always had a hard time listening to these sounds—and ordered himself to wait. He braced her body with his, sliding his palms over her upper arms, holding her long hair out of the way.
He inspected the alley for anyone else who might be hiding out in the dark. In
the frigid air, the smell from a nearby dumpster made him gag, but at least garbage and broken glass wasn’t littering the ground. No one walked past the mouth of the alley. What if he hadn’t followed her from the bar?
Jesus, he didn’t want to think about that.
She put an arm out to brace herself against the brick wall and panted, her head drooping.
He couldn’t see her face but felt her narrow shoulders shivering. Shock, cold, and fear. He opened his jacket and pulled her in to shelter her with his warmth. Then to his surprise, he began to croon comfort words. He didn’t want to put his arms around her middle but felt an overwhelming need to protect her.
When it seemed her stomach had calmed enough, he steered her away from the vomit. Wrapping a palm around her nape, he urged her head against his chest. “Just rest a minute.” He widened his stance to pull her into the refuge of his body and held her loosely against him, smoothing the fingers of his other hand up and down her back.
She stiffened at first but, under his soft murmuring and gentle touches, she eventually sighed and relaxed. It occurred to him this was exactly where he wanted her except they were standing, and she was sick and in pain.
God, she felt good. Her cheek rested comfortably over his heart. Through their clothes he felt the soft cushions of her breasts on his chest. At six feet, he towered protectively over her. With a slight dip of his head, he could brush his lips over her temple, back and forth. Then he didn’t want to stop.
She balked. “What are you doing? I’ve just thrown up.” she stammered, flattening her hands on his chest, and weakly pushing him away.
He didn’t want to let her go. Sliding his hands up her back, he gently cupped her shoulders and pulled her against him again. The woman had just been attacked. He didn’t want her to think he’d finish the job.
“Why were you following me?” she asked again, her nose buried in his shirt. “And, yes, I do thank you for saving my life.”
“You’re shaking. Let’s get out of here and get you to the hospital.”
“No!”
“He punched you. You might have cracked ribs or ruptured something.”
“I don’t.” She took a deep breath to prove it to both of them. “I just want to go home.”
“Your head hit the pavement. Does it ache?”
“No.” She pulled out of his arms. “Just a little one.” She touched the back of her scalp and winced.
“Here, let me.” He gently probed, finding a walnut-sized lump high on her head.
She whimpered.
“You’ve got a bump here. Do you feel dizzy or nauseated any more?”
“No, no. I feel fine. Thank you, but I just want to go home.”
“I’ll take you. Do you have somewhere to go or someone to stay with you? You might have a concussion.” He snagged her purse off the ground and handed it to her. “At least he didn’t get this.”
“Thank you.” Clutching it tightly to her chest, she added, “I’m all right. I just want to get out of here.”
“Okay. You recognize me, don’t you? I live in the house next to yours. You’re safe with me. I just want to get you home.”
“Unh hunh.”
“My name’s Sam. Your name is Liz, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Liz, let’s go. We’ve overstayed our welcome in this alley.” He attempted an encouraging smile, slid his arm around her waist, and steered her toward the mouth of the alley. She hobbled on her one broken heel, which, since she didn’t seem to be too upset about it, he took to mean she felt worse off than she’d admit.
Chapter 4
Sam paid the cabbie and helped Liz out. At the door to her coach house, he said, “I’m coming in for a while to make sure you’re all right.” He reasoned that taking advantage of her shock and confusion to get inside was for her own good.
He reached in, patting along the wall until he found a light switch. A chandelier above the dining table flooded the space with light. He quickly surveyed the little house and noted the layout—galley kitchen and living room in front, three doorways in the back, and a spiral staircase spiraling up to a loft—then he shut the door and nudged her toward the couch.
She headed for the kitchen table instead and slumped into a chair. Her elbows on the table, she buried her face in her hands. She didn’t cry, but she wasn’t okay. He’d seen mugging victims before. You could never predict how they’d react. Shock didn’t have a timetable.
“Christ,” he muttered, moving swiftly toward her. He gently rested a hand on her shoulder and, as if he’d knocked her flat, she collapsed onto the table, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Kneeling at her side, he gently smoothed his hand in circles on her back. As an experienced cop, he should be professional and objective, but he wasn’t with her. It had been too close a call. “Liz, you’re safe now.” He needed to keep her in the here and now.
She tried to hide behind her hands, but he carefully uncovered her face. He brushed his thumb over the bruise on her jaw. A smile played at his mouth, her beauty obvious even with her eyelids drooping over mascara-smudged eyes, her hair kinking out in a mess, and her breath stinking of vomit.
“Don’t look at me. Please, go away,” she begged in a fragile voice.
“I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay.” He lightly stroked her shuddering shoulders. “Liz, would you like some water or hot tea?”
Her ravaged expression broke his heart. He hadn’t kept her from being attacked, but he’d do anything in his power to protect her now.
Hold up, there.
A cop doesn’t get personally involved with a victim. But this wasn’t just any anonymous victim. This was his neighbor. One he barely knew: yes. One he was attracted to? Hell, yes!
Nevertheless, the lines had blurred. He hadn’t been involved with a woman for a long time, and this one already hugely interested him. Of course, he doubted she’d appreciate his timing.
Make sure she’s all right. Stay with her for half an hour. Then leave. Going any further with this is a bad idea. A really bad idea.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and urging her to the couch. “Sit here while I get you some tea. You have tea, don’t you?”
She turned into his arms. For a moment, she melted against him, her hands resting on his chest. Heat radiated from her body through their clothes all the way to his skin. He tightened his arms and brushed his lips across her forehead like he had in the alley.
Shit!
He wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.
She glanced up at him. “Your lip’s cut.” She tentatively patted the abrasion. “I’m so sorry.”
Licking his lip, he caught the taste of her finger before she lowered her hand. The muscles in his shoulders tensed. He wished he had a quick and easy way to soothe the turmoil in her light eyes.
Slow. Slow. Be careful with her.
“I need to take a shower.” She changed the subject, her voice a raspy whisper. “You should go.”
She clutched his T-shirt, her fingers like claws. It sounded like she wanted him out, but her cheek resting on his chest sent a slightly different message. “Go ahead and shower,” he responded. “Do you have tea?”
Her eyes met his, and she nodded.
He’d never seen spellbinding silver gray eyes like hers before, and he lost his concentration for a moment.
“It’s…”
“Go ahead.” He forced his mind to the matter at hand. Tea. “I’ll find it. The kitchen isn’t that big.” He smiled and caressed her cheek with his finger.
Christ.
His eyes closed in pleasure at the perfection of her soft skin. He wanted to kiss her, and that was exactly what she didn’t need at this point. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. But he did nudge his nose into the shelter of her neck. She shivered. At least he thought it was her. It could have been him. She affected him, made him feel protective. His nature and job were to protect, so this shouldn’t be any different. But i
t was. He didn’t want to let her go.
“You can leave.”
“Not yet. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
She studied him for a long moment, probably gauging his trustworthiness.
He winked and grinned. “You can trust me.”
She licked her lips in a nervous gesture, frowned, and drew in a quick breath.
“Come on,” he cajoled. “When have I ever let you down? In all the time we’ve known each other?” He wanted her to smile.
Trying hard to slow down the rush of adrenalin pounding through his body after the fight in the alley, he realized he clasped her arms too tightly. “Go ahead.” He gently peeled her fingers off his shirt. “You’re safe now,” he said, conveying all the confidence he could muster and hoping she didn’t spot his hard-on.
She turned and headed for the bathroom. Tottering, she caught herself on the door jam and threw a befuddled look over her shoulder.
“Do you need any help?” He raised his eyebrows in a hopeful expression, a half smile quirking his lips. Her eyes widened in alarm, then narrowed in anger. Ashamed he’d asked the question, he said, “I’m sorry, Liz. Don’t worry. I’ll make the tea.”
She paused a few seconds more, her eyes searching his.
“It’s okay. Go ahead.”
Way to go, you stupid putz. Spook her even more.
She must have decided he wasn’t likely to rape her, because the door clicked shut. He waited until he heard the toilet flush and the shower spray start before he went to work finding tea bags and a teapot. Engrossed in his thoughts, he leaned on the counter waiting for the water to boil and absently surveyed her house.
He exhaled a sigh of—of what? Home. Her house felt like a home. His own apartment wasn’t a rat hole. He’d lived in those. Sparsely furnished by the landlord, he hadn’t taken the time to add anything. Dreary and drab, though, in comparison to hers.
Quinn, Jane Leopold - Undercover Lover (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 2
