[When SEALs Come Home 04] - Heated

by Anne Marsh

  She turned her lights on, and he gunned the bike’s motor, bending low over the handlebars to coax every last ounce of speed from the engine. One of these days, she’d have to arrest him for evading an officer of the law. She grabbed her radio.

  “This is Hernandez. I’m pulling over a male on a motorcycle.”

  “Again?” Laughter from the dispatcher on the other end flooded the airwaves. They both knew there was only one speedster in Strong who matched that description. “That man’s going to need a frequent-flyer card if he keeps this up.”

  “It could be someone different.” Several of the smoke jumpers on the Strong jump team owned bikes, and none of them drove slowly. It was possible.

  “Is it?”

  She laughed. “No. Of course not.”

  Everything about Joey Carter was impossible, right down to his mighty fine butt currently disappearing down the highway in front of her. He leaned up on the seat, low over the handlebars as he negotiated a turn, and she’d bet every dollar in her nonexistent 401(k) that he was whooping encouragement to his bike, that too-sexy grin of his plastered across his face. A smarter woman would have let him fly on past her speed trap. Unfortunately, as an officer of the law, she couldn’t allow his blatant needling to go unchecked. They both knew he could slow down, just like they both knew he didn’t want to.

  She wondered what he did want.

  Besides speed, speed, and more speed, of course. If ever a man was running from something or someone, it was Joey.

  She checked her speed gun as she pulled out behind him. Yep. She’d clocked him at one hundred miles per hour in a forty zone, a speed that, for him, practically counted as standing still. Maybe the guy never slept, because every time she saw him, he was either going one hundred miles per hour or his hands were flying every bit as fast, fixing stuff.

  “I’ve got a ticket with his name on it,” she said into her radio.

  “Honey, you should fill out a book of them. He doesn’t stop.”

  More laughter filled the airwaves as the dispatcher signed off. Possibly, the other woman’s comments contained another level of innuendo. Gals talked, and the smoke jumper team was legendary, both in the field and in bed. It shouldn’t have mattered to her if Joey’s name was bandied about as the hottest date in Strong. He wasn’t hers, and she certainly hadn’t staked a claim, but she wasn’t dead. Of course she was curious. Her real problem was that the entire town of Strong kept eyeing them. From her neighbors to the guys at the office, everyone else had decided that she and Joey were a couple-to-be and that Joey’s endless stream of speeding tickets was some kind of twisted courtship. Romantic gossip like that could sink her new career. She’d been there and done that at her last job, and she wasn’t making that mistake again.

  Joey finally signaled he was pulling over. Right. Like using his turn signal mitigated his burning up the highway. She wanted to smack him. He flashed her a grin she couldn’t miss as he coasted to a halt and waited for her to pull in behind him. She didn’t have time for this. She should be hunting down criminals. Breaking up an illegal pot grow. Filling out paperwork at her desk. Even that last might be less frustrating than chasing after Joey.

  Getting out of her car, she slammed the door shut behind her and marched toward her nemesis. Write a ticket. Retreat to her car. Wait for him to stroll into the office waving (yet another) check. See? Easy-peasy. Except that there was nothing easy about the way he straddled the motorcycle, his hands relaxed on his thighs where she could see them. The closer she got, the stronger that tug between them. Tug, sexual chemistry, good old-fashioned lust... the label didn’t matter much. If she’d been putting together her top ten list of favorite things, Joey would have been sitting pretty in the number one spot.

  Joey filled out his T-shirt well, although she had no idea how he could ride all over the mountainside without a jacket in February. His arms were sun-bronzed from the time he spent outdoors, and a dark, Celtic-looking tattoo swirled around his forearm. She’d have liked to ask him where he’d gotten the ink and why, but that was a personal question and therefore off-limits. She’d crossed enough lines last weekend. Buzzed short with military precision, his hair looked like it had grown out the night of Will Donegan’s funeral. The dark strands were almost long enough to tangle her fingers in if she was in that kind of a mood. Which she absolutely shouldn’t be.

  Ever.

  Wanting a piece of Joey was like wanting a doughnut (or six) when she was on a diet. She could want, but eating was strictly off-limits. Wow. Eating Joey Carter. The mental image made her inner thighs tingle. Which was wrong, wrong, wrong. Joey was out of her league. Plus she was an officer of the law in real life and not wearing a costume in some kinky bondage fantasy, which made lusting after the man downright unethical.

  He turned his head and watched her close the remaining distance between them, his stare never moving from her face. She had no idea what he saw, but he definitely liked to stare at her. Probably just to make her uncomfortable, because Joey was all about teasing and pushing boundaries. Still, he had gorgeous eyes himself, and she wasn’t looking away. He was like a cat or a wild animal. Give him an inch, show just the smallest hint of weakness, and he’d pounce. He was all fun and games on the surface, but underneath he hid someone wilder. Fiercer. She had no problem imagining him in his SEALs days, breaking down doors and storming enemy compounds. A small smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. He was amused. The idiot. He liked making her chase him all over kingdom come.

  “Off the bike,” she snapped.

  He gave her another lazy grin. “Mia mine. Someone’s in a feisty mood today.”

  “Is everything a game to you? And the name’s not Mia.” That wasn’t fair, but he irritated her as much as he turned her on, and only one of those emotions was intentional on his part. Plus she remembered holding him in her patrol car while the big, strong SEAL broke down. It was okay to cry. Tears weren’t her favorite thing—okay, she hated them with a passion—but sometimes getting the emotions out did make you feel better. For instance, Joey looked great right now, like Will Donegan’s death was the last thing on his mind.

  “Pretty much.” His smile was one hundred percent bad boy, the zing shooting straight to her stomach and lower. It’s been so long, her lady parts begged. One taste? Damn it. She’d been here, done the guy, and gotten the postcard before. Her high school sweetheart had been a multivolume set of bad news. He’d been every bit as wild and bad as Joey...and he’d effectively ended her law enforcement career in Los Angeles before she’d ever really gotten started. No consorting with convicted felons was an ironclad rule, and breaking it had gotten her an invitation to write her letter of resignation. She’d turned in the letter, turned in her badge and turned over a new leaf. No more bad boys. She knew what the price tag was on a hot naughty now.

  “Deputy Sheriff.” Joey’s mischievous drawl recalled her to the present. She was staring at the poor man and drooling. Which was his fault for being so good-looking. “You planning on frisking me?”

  He was a hot fudge sundae after a week of clean eating. Chocolate to her flaxseed. Or some other boring, really good for you, but tasteless health food.

  “You wish,” she said shortly, not surprised when he nodded enthusiastically. Joey loved to push her buttons, and he’d figured out early on that over-the-top flirtation made her see red. Probably, if she was being honest with herself, because no small part of her wished he meant every word. Joey was a sweet-talker, and she’d been alone for too long.

  “You’re not going to ticket me?” He actually looked disappointed.

  “Change of pace. Today I get to arrest you.” Too bad for him. He’d pissed her off, so she was escalating matters. She motioned for him to get off the bike again.

  He blinked, like he actually hadn’t considered the possibility that she’d follow through. He got off the bike, though, so score one for her.

  “What’s the charge?”

  “Criminal recklessness. Driv
ing with your head up your butt.”

  He made a show of pretending to consider her words. “I’m pretty sure that’s not an arrestable offense.”

  It should be. Of course, then she’d have to arrest half the drivers she passed on the highway, and she’d be working overtime seven days a week, but it would be satisfying.

  Very satisfying.

  “Statute 23103. Part A. A person who drives a vehicle upon a highway in willful or wanton disregard for the safety of persons or property is guilty of reckless driving.”

  He deliberately scanned the empty highway. “We’re the only two people out here, honey. Did I endanger you?”

  He had no idea.

  “You count.” The words sounded dragged out of her, which spoiled the effect. She really didn’t want to see him getting hurt or killed on the road. The world would be a sadder, quieter place without Joey in it.

  “You don’t want to see me hurt.” He tested the word, sounding surprised.

  Did he think her job was only about enforcing the rules? Because then he was dead wrong. She’d chosen law enforcement because she wanted to keep people safe, and that included hard-headed, stubborn, too-sexy smoke jumpers.

  “You can’t keep doing this. You’re going to kill yourself.” And she’d be the person called out to pick up the pieces. Somehow, she thought he’d understand that being the last guy in, the one who had to hit cleanup, wasn’t easy or fun. Frankly, most days it sucked. It wasn’t like baseball, where the final man at bat nailed the ball and brought in the winning run.

  He swung his leg over the bike and stood up. “I think we might have just had a relationship breakthrough.”

  She motioned him over to her car. “Hands on the hood. Legs apart. You have any weapons I should know about?”

  He grinned at her again and ambled over to the car. When he braced his hands on her hood, however, she went right back to staring at him and drooling because, sweet baby Jesus, she wasn’t supposed to find the move sexy. He had big, capable hands to go with the rest of his gorgeous body, and she couldn’t help imagining better, sexier things he could be doing with his fingers.

  Stupid. Sex, no matter how great, wasn’t worth her career.

  Joey craned his head to look at her where she stood rooted on the spot. “I’m not complaining, but I’m not sure you have the legal right to pat me down, honey.”

  Oh, she did. The amusement in his voice put her feet in motion, if only because she wanted to show him who was in charge here. “I have reasonable suspicion that you’re armed, so I get to pat you down. Hands on your head.”

  “You need to decide what you want.”

  Oh, she knew what she wanted. When he complied, she gripped his wrists firmly and moved behind him. Perfect. Instead of hot sex, she got to execute a textbook pat down. He stood there, relaxed and confident, and somehow he was still in charge of their encounter, even though she was the one with the badge and he was the rule breaker. His humoring her pissed her off. Joey Carter thought everything was a game, but he was wrong.

  She slid a foot between his, gently kicking his legs a little further apart, and he made a choked noise. “I had no idea you liked it rough, sweetheart.”

  “Honey is not an option. Sweetheart is not an option.”

  She ran her hands down his arms and sides. He felt hot and hard, both admirable qualities, but this wasn’t the way she’d fantasized about touching Joey Carter—and, yeah, she’d fantasized—but she wasn’t thinking about that. Really.

  “You want to list my options for me?” He suggested. “Since I seem to be so confused?”

  “You have two options.” She let go of his wrists and squatted down. The move put her on eye level with his butt, which was no hardship. “Deputy. Or, if you’re feeling wordy, Deputy Sheriff Hernandez.”

  He said something too gruff to make out. Whatever. She skimmed her hand lightly over his back pockets. He felt every bit as hard and muscled as her view had promised. Wow. She needed to arrest him more often. No. Scratch that. She needed to stay professional. A sexual harassment complaint wasn’t one of her goals for the week.

  “Any weapons I need to know about?”

  “I have a switchblade in my right boot,” he said after a long beat. She sensed he’d almost said something flirtatious instead, but had refrained. Apparently, he really didn’t have a death wish.

  She reached down to explore the top of his boot, and the position put her face inches from his crotch. She hastily plucked the blade out and opened it up.

  “I have a small blade,” he said woefully.

  “And you can count your lucky stars that you do.” Anything over two inches and he’d have been looking at another misdemeanor charge.

  He didn’t seem upset as she read him his rights and cuffed his hands. Nope. He grinned at her the whole time, like this was one big joke. She had no idea what it would take to put a serious look on his face. Nuclear explosion? Zombie apocalypse? Trying to understand Joey made her head hurt.

  When she went to put him into the backseat of her car, however, he twisted his head to look at her. “You can thank me later.”

  “For?” She put a hand on his head to keep him from hitting the roof and guided him down onto the seat. He had absolutely no idea what he did to her, and it was tempting to shove him into that seat. And then possibly forget that he was there for an hour or six. She could go find a Starbucks with a drive-through, take the scenic route back to Strong. Being professional sucked sometimes.

  “Giving you an excuse to go fast.”

  “You need to slow down and do something more productive with your grief. See a counselor. Read a self-help book. Binge eat.”

  He grinned at her, a slow, sleepy grin that made her think about bedroom things. “I think you like me. That means I get to keep you.”

  Slamming the door was marginally satisfying. Of course she liked him. She didn’t drive around the county hating people. She just didn’t like like him. Which made her sound like a twelve-year-old girl, darn it.

  She slid into the driver’s seat. The only thing going on here was that she didn’t like watching him—literally—drive himself into an early grave. He was trying to outrun his demons, and she could have told him that never worked. Demons had always chased her faster than she could run.

  ***

  Joey stared at the back of Mercedes’ head through the bulletproof glass separating the criminally inclined from the morally upright. It was no surprise which side he was on. She’d twisted her dark hair up in some kind of complicated braid, leaving her neck exposed. He had no idea how she got the thing to stay put since he couldn’t see any visible signs of support. Small tendrils of hair had escaped, however, and he itched to play with those curls.

  Parking his butt in the backseat of the patrol car with his hands cuffed behind his back should have been awkward as hell. He’d certainly earned it—he’d been pushing his luck burning up the highway for weeks now—but he’d always figured that the point of punishment was that it sucked.

  And yet the only part of today’s scenario that bothered him was that Mercy had held him while he fell apart over burying Will. Two weeks—or a fucking millennium—wasn’t enough time to get over his embarrassment. His man card needed revoking, because he didn’t break down. Ever. He was a soldier. A SEAL.

  And... he knew how to pick his battles. When to retreat. When to forge ahead. There was no fighting his attraction to the woman in the front seat.

  He studied the back of her head as she put the car into drive and headed toward Strong. She didn’t look particularly happy with him right now, which made sense. He’d forced her to chase him down the highway at unsafe speeds, and he sensed that his companion was all about playing it safe. She liked rules, and she definitely knew how to behave. He’d been flirting outrageously with her for weeks, but that had been a game. A fun game, but not something he’d expected would lead anywhere like a date. Sex. A relationship.

  Hell.

  When had he
started thinking about Deputy Sheriff Hernandez and relationships in the same sentence? He stared at her braid some more, but not surprisingly, her hair didn’t have any answers for him.

  “Stop boring holes in the back of my head,” she said, not taking her eyes off the road. She drove like she did everything else, smoothly and confidently, sticking to the speed limit.

  He leaned forward. He liked her. They were both adults. Maybe he was overthinking this thing. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

  She flashed him that curious half smile of hers in the rearview mirror. “I’m not disagreeing with you.”

  He shouldn’t be flattered that she sounded surprised.

  “Are you free this weekend? I’d like to take you out.” There. He sounded like he was fifty if he was a day, but the question was asked.

  Her eyes widened, meeting his in the rearview mirror. “You can’t ask an officer of the law out on a date.”

  “I can. I open my mouth and say: Mercedes Hernandez, would you like to have a beer with me?” He thought for a moment. “Except you’re not a beer person. I’d have to think of something else for you.”

  “Right.” She drove silently for another mile, until she visibly lost the battle with her curiosity. It was good to know he still had that much. “What kind of date do you think I am? No. Wait.” She closed her eyes briefly, and that was another victory, because he wouldn’t have thought a sea tank chewing its way out of the ocean and onto the beach could have taken her eyes off the road.

  “That sounds bad,” she said. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Too late,” he said cheerfully. “You’ve given me ideas. You definitely have to go out with me now.”

  She glared at him. “The only thing I have to do is drop you off at a holding cell.”

  “Details.” He shrugged. Uncle Sam had taught him a half dozen ways to get out of the cuffs she’d put on him. He didn’t have to stay where she’d put him. In fact, if Rio learned of this, escaping would seem like the wiser strategy. “You know you’re dying to ask.”

  “Don’t mess with an officer of the law. It gets you arrested.”