by Mandy Baxter
He reached down and cradled her ass in his palms, lifting her until one leg straddled his waist. Emma’s skirt hiked up around her hips and his fingers found the bare skin of her ass. Worst. Angle. Ever. He regretted their current position because he was now obsessed with her soft skin and desperate to see the sexy underwear that bared her to him in the most torturous way possible. Landon firmly believed there should be a shrine somewhere dedicated to thongs. Emma gripped his shoulders and pressed her back into the wall, which, coincidentally, jutted her high, pert breasts closer to his face. Landon took the opportunity that presented itself and kissed the swell revealed by her deep plunging neckline.
This is wrong. This is so, so wrong.
But seriously, Landon couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about right or wrong when she thrust her hips against him, rubbing her nearly naked core against the erection straining against his fly in a way that made him ache to move the thin strip of fabric aside and bury himself inside of her and—
“McCabe, we’re moving in.”
The voice in his earpiece was as effective at cooling his lust as a dunk in a pool of ice cubes. It probably wouldn’t do much to advance his career if Morgan found him up here with Emma wrapped around him like a boa constrictor. How in the hell would he explain himself? I was just grilling her for information and she tripped and fell on my cock. Right. That’d work.
“Emma.” His voice was thick and lazy. He cleared his throat as he guided her leg from his hip. “Listen to me, I need you to go back down to the club. Don’t stop to talk to anyone. Blend in with the crowd, head for the exit, and go home. Do you understand?”
Emma’s brow knitted. She straightened her clothes as though ashamed, and Landon’s stomach bottomed out. He’d fucked up and she was suffering the emotional fallout because of it. Goddamn it. “What’s going on?” Her voice quavered and she refused to make eye contact.
How much should he tell her? She was a suspect in a crime, for shit’s sake, and it wasn’t as if she’d spilled the beans about the identity of the guy who’d grabbed her arm earlier in the night. Despite his rough treatment of her, Emma had protected his identity. Which not only stoked a raging fire of indignation in his gut, but further convinced Landon that she wasn’t an innocent party in her father’s escape. The last thing he needed right now was for Morgan to catch them together, though. He could deal with whatever she was hiding tomorrow. “Just do what I say, and don’t ask any questions. Go. Now.”
She finally met his gaze and her dark eyes glistened with emotion. It tore at Landon’s composure to know that he’d hurt her, which made him even angrier. He prided himself on his tough demeanor. Suspects did not get under his skin. Ever. And what had just happened between them went way beyond simple emotional manipulation. Without a word, she turned and ran for the door, her heels clicking with every step. She threw the door open and it bounced off the wall, rebounding with a slam to signal her exit. Landon exhaled a long, slow breath and slumped against the wall he’d moments ago pressed Emma up against, her body soft and warm against his.
Holy shit.
His limbs still shook from the adrenaline rush and Landon’s heart pumped in his chest as though he’d just rappelled from the top of Everest. Morgan’s chatter in his earpiece reminded him that he didn’t have time to sit and relive what had happened—or think about the consequences of his actions—and he reached back to flip the switch on his mic. This was still Morgan’s show, and Landon needed to keep his shit together before his invite was revoked. “Morgan, you copy?”
“What’s your twenty?” Morgan responded, sounding not a little annoyed. “What happened? I lost communications for a few minutes.”
“Malfunction, I think. I lost eyes on the target. I’m on the roof.”
When Morgan opened his mic, Landon heard the thump of the base and roar of the crowd inside the club. “We’re sweeping the interior now, no sign of her. Stay put.”
Gladly.
Landon braced his arms on his knees and dropped his head between his shoulders as he took several cleansing breaths to slow his racing heart. When his eyes drifted shut, his mind was assaulted with visions of Emma, her head thrown back on her shoulders, dark eyes heavily lidded and her mouth parted on a silent moan. His shoulders tingled, every contact point of her fingers seeming to sear his flesh with a permanent mark. Landon straightened his spine and knocked his head against the concrete wall behind him as though a concussion might banish the memory of her soft skin from his mind. Just thinking of the moment they’d shared caused his cock to grow hard and throb in his jeans. The evidence of his renewed arousal wasn’t exactly something he wanted his colleagues to see. Cool your jets, dude. Jesus, you’re not sixteen anymore.
Behind him, the door to the roof swung open and Morgan and his partner stepped out onto the roof. Great. Fucking awesome. “What in the hell’s going on, McCabe? Are you hurt?”
Landon imagined he might look a little dazed, what with banging his head against the wall and all. And he was sort of doubled over now, dragging in a few deep breaths of the cool night air in an effort to tame the raging erection that threatened not only to embarrass him, but to rat him out to Morgan. This was so much worse than your mom catching you jerking off to Playboy. And a hell of a lot harder to explain, too. Thank God he’d kept his damned pants on.
“Just winded,” Landon offered by way of an explanation. Wow, as if that weren’t the lamest excuse ever. “I thought I spotted Emma heading for the stairs and I followed.”
“But she isn’t up here?” Morgan responded, raising a dubious brow.
Yeah, it wasn’t even a passable excuse to Landon. “No. She might have used a back office exit or something.”
“Was she alone?” Morgan’s partner, Kevin, piped in. Up until now, Landon had wondered if the dude was mute.
“She was when I trailed her; I thought maybe she was meeting the male suspect up here.” At least that wasn’t a lie. If anything, Landon was determined to uncover the identity of the asshole with the grabby hands.
“Wait a sec,” Morgan said, pinning Landon with an accusing stare. “Male suspect? Why is now the first I’m hearing of this?”
Uh-oh. Landon had a lot of ’splaining to do. It was going to be a long goddamned night.
Emma slid into the passenger seat of Jeremy’s Mercedes amidst the flash of cameras and curious shouts that were incoherent to her racing mind. She knew that the pics would be all over the Internet the next morning. It wouldn’t be long after that before the local news picked up on her little outing, which would more than likely set Cesar’s temper off like a powder keg. So not good. She’d really screwed up tonight, and it was a testament to her poor decision-making skills that the problems with Cesar were becoming the least of her worries.
Had she really made out with Landon McCabe tonight while trying to climb him like a tree?
“You okay, Em?”
She turned to Jeremy and smiled. “Yeah, just tired.” Her fingertips brushed her lips, still warm and a little swollen from McCabe’s kisses. Damn, did that man ever know how to use his mouth. The memory heated her skin and caused her heart to race in her chest. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would have felt like to have that wet warmth on other, more sensitive parts of her body.
“Not to pry or anything, but what was up with that dude earlier?”
“What dude?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t noticed McCabe follow her up the stairs.
“You know who I’m talking about. The one who looked like an extra from Scarface.”
Of course he was talking about Cesar. It was unlikely anyone had seen McCabe follow her. Anyone but Cesar, that is. He watched her like a hawk and probably had a tally of every time she’d visited the bathroom. Which totally squicked her out. “Just a guy. Don’t worry about it, Jeremy.”
“Em, I don’t wanna sound like I’m telling you what to do, but if it has anything to do with your dad—”
“You don’t want to sound like it, but
you’re totally about to tell me what to do,” Emma said, cutting him off. “I know you’re concerned and I’m glad you’ve got my back, but really, I’m okay.” The last thing Emma needed was to get Jeremy involved in this business with Cesar. She’d messed up enough people’s lives already. No need to add to the tally. “He’s a little . . .”
“Pushy? Rude? Rough?” Jeremy ventured.
“Intense,” Emma said. “But I know how to manage him.”
“You’re not seeing him, are you?”
Emma almost laughed at Jeremy’s appalled tone. “No,” she said with a sad chuckle. “I’m not seeing him.”
“Good. Because if you were, I’d have to have a talk with him about how you deserve to be treated. And then with you about your questionable taste in men.”
Though Emma and Jeremy had dated once or twice a few years ago, they’d both decided that they could never be anything more than friends. And that was totally okay. Emma didn’t have many close friends—people she truly trusted—in her life and that made Jeremy worth more to her than a simple hookup. Which was exactly why she couldn’t drag him into this business with Cesar.
“So, I’ve got some time off. Preseason doesn’t start for another three weeks and my press tour was pushed back until next Friday. You wanna bounce and hang out at my place in Malibu for a while?”
Emma loved the beach and Jeremy’s suggestion was exactly what she needed right now. Too bad she couldn’t take him up on his offer. “I can’t. With the investigation going on, it would look suspicious if I left. I need to play it cool for a while so the Marshals office will back off.”
“I guess it would look sorta bad. But damn, Em, I wish they’d lay off. It’s not like you know anything.”
“Yeah.” Emma let the conversation die, unwilling to lie to Jeremy outright. And if anyone wished the marshals would lay off, it was her, except . . . if they did, it would mean that McCabe would go back to wherever he came from. After what had happened between them tonight, Emma wasn’t sure that was what she wanted. Sure, she’d kissed him to shut him up and to keep him from asking too many questions she couldn’t answer. But she’d never expected him to respond so enthusiastically. In fact, she’d expected nothing more than a cool rebuff from the hotshot deputy. Instead, what he’d given her had left Emma breathless and craving more. Damn you, McCabe.
She was so wrapped up in reliving tonight’s escapades, she didn’t even notice when Jeremy pulled into the underground parking garage of her building. As if she were waking up from the best dream ever, her mind and body conspired together to keep her in a relaxed state. Sweet Lord, the way McCabe’s fingers had felt against the bare skin of her ass had been nothing short of bliss. And she shuddered as she recalled the hard length of his erection pressing up against her as she straddled his hip.
“Do you want me to walk you up?”
But then, McCabe had simply pulled away without any explanation. His once-fiery demeanor replaced with something cold and indecipherable. A heavy lump of disappointment settled in Emma’s stomach as she remembered his commanding words. How his handsome face had hardened and made her feel so ashamed for throwing herself at him the way she had.
“Oh, God.”
Her embarrassed groan was answered by Jeremy’s large hand covering her own. He squeezed gently and his deep brown eyes were wide with concern. “What is it, Em?”
Oh, nothing much at all. I acted like a sex-deprived slut and jumped a federal cop on the roof tonight. My mother would be so proud if she were alive to see it. “Nothing, I’m just tired. I don’t need you to walk me up, I’ll be fine.”
He smiled. “You sure?”
Emma nodded. No need to admit that she didn’t think she’d ever be fine again.
“How ’bout we grab lunch next week? McCormick & Schmick’s?”
That ought to be fun with Cesar and the Marshals tracking her every move. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”
“I’m holding you to it,” Jeremy said with a wink. “Night, Em.”
He held out his fist and she bumped his knuckles with her own. “Night.”
Emma focused on the soft purr of the engine as Jeremy pulled out of the garage. She headed for the elevators, each step carefully placed. She counted them off in her mind—one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four—in an effort to center her thoughts and draw her focus from her current worries. And they were many. Too damned many for a woman her age, yet she was in too deep to do anything about it now.
Emma was the classic overthinker. For as long as she could remember, she obsessed, overanalyzed, turned things over again and again in her mind. And that obsessive brain of hers had caused her countless sleepless nights and not a few anxiety attacks when she was young. It took concentrated focus to redirect her thoughts. That’s why she counted her steps. If she didn’t preoccupy her brain with something new to obsess over, she’d drive herself crazy. When she was eighteen, and stressed to the point of an ulcer over her dad’s investigation, she’d used Deputy U.S. Marshal Landon McCabe as a distraction.
She’d only seen him a few times in the initial phase of her dad’s investigation, but that was all it had taken for her obsession with him to root firmly in her mind. Tall, with a lean swimmer’s build, and as blond and fair as she was dark. His smile had been snarky but infectious and when he was upset or concentrating really hard, the most adorable crease had cut into his brow. Then she’d realized that he was gunning for her dad. He’d quickly become the man she loved to hate, the gorgeous villain of her nightmares. And even though her dad insisted that she harbor no ill will toward the good men doing their jobs to uphold the law, she couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of animosity. Still, his good looks haunted her waking thoughts. More than once she’d used McCabe as a distraction from the crippling anxiety that weighed on her every time she thought of how alone she’d be if her father was convicted and sent to prison. She’d even tried to count each of his eyelashes once during a particularly hostile interview with her dad. His lashes were long and so dark. In the long run, it was impossible to count them and she found herself feeling jealous that God had given him such pretty lashes. What did men need great lashes for, anyway?
And now she was counting her own footsteps to the elevator to distract her from him. Funny how life worked out sometimes. If by funny, she meant crushing and humiliating. Emma’s phone vibrated in her back pocket and her heart leapt up into her throat. A quick glance at the caller ID confirmed her fears and she said a silent prayer before answering. “Hello?”
“Mija ?”
Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes at the sound of her father’s voice. “Dad!” Oh, thank God. “Dad, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Try not to worry. I need you to listen very closely to what I’m about to say, Emmalina. If you do what I tell you, everything will be fine. I promise.”
He’d promised her the same thing six years ago. And nothing had been fine since that day. But at this point, what choice did she have?
“Okay, Dad. I’m listening.”
Chapter Six
Landon didn’t feel any better this morning than he had when he went to bed last night. Which might’ve had something to do with the fact that he’d slept a grand total of fifty-two minutes the entire night. His head was still swimming with Emma’s intoxicating scent, floral with a sweet edge that made him hungry and horny at the same time. How fucked up was that?
“Here’s your harness. Sorry, but those are the rules, man.”
He looked at the guy behind the counter as if he’d only now noticed he was standing inside the indoor climbing facility. Landon needed to clear his head and he knew of no better way to focus his energy than a climb. And since he didn’t have time to drive out to the mountains, the indoor walls would have to do. Despite the fact that he wanted a free climb without the restraint of the harness, it looked as if he’d be forced to follow the rules if he wanted to use the facility. Rules shouldn’t have been a big deal for him. He was a deputy fuc
king U.S. marshal for shit’s sake. Rules were his business. So why, this morning, did he want to punch this guy in the face because of a rule?
Landon gave a derisive snort. Why? He could answer that question in two words: Emma Ruiz.
“Uh, sorry,” he said when the guy behind the counter gave him a dirty look. “Yeah, the harness is fine. No worries.”
“You’re going to need a belayer, too,” counter guy remarked. “Josh is out on the floor this morning. If he’s not helping someone else, you can snag him. Tall guy with shaggy brown hair. Over there.”
Landon looked to where the guy pointed and gave a nod. “I see him. Thanks.”
Really, the harness probably wasn’t a bad idea. As distracted as he was, he was as likely to fall as he was to make it to the top of the wall. A broken back would pretty much wrap up his month in a nice little bow. He took his credit card from the now disgruntled counter manager and headed into the main gym with the harness in one hand, his gym bag in the other. He found an empty public locker and grabbed his chalk bag before he stuffed his duffel inside and headed for the wall.
Landon slipped on the harness and secured the carabiner from his harness to the belay attached to a rope dangling from the ceiling. Josh, who definitely looked like he could use a haircut, caught sight of Landon and headed over. “’Sup, man,” he greeted Landon as he grabbed hold of the length of rope. “Ready to get your climb on?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Get his climb on? Josh must be new to the job. He had the eager-camp-counselor act down pat. Which made Landon wonder if Josh had experience with belaying anyone over the age of twelve. Shit, a free climb might have been safer than trusting a newb to manage the tension in his rope while he climbed. It was too late to worry about it now, he supposed. At any rate, maybe he’d be too worried about Josh’s belaying skills to think about last night. He’d take whatever distractions he could get at this point.
