“Take your time, honey,” he murmured, his drawl rough-edged and husky. “This isn’t a mission you have to complete. Just relax into it. And hey, you can enjoy this too, no law against that.”
That was hardly likely, since she wasn’t here to enjoy herself. Not that there was anything enjoyable about giving a lap dance to a complete ass.
Are you sure?
Ridiculous. Of course she was sure. Yes, the heat of his body and the feeling of his hard thighs beneath her were distracting, but that didn’t mean she liked it. And yes, he smelled good, and his smooth bare skin beneath her fingertips was—
No. God, no. She didn’t like it. Not at all. And that strange, insidious heat winding sneakily through her was only residual embarrassment. As were the fast beat of her heart and the catch in her breath.
Men didn’t have that effect on her. Not in the slightest.
Anyway, he wanted to get hard? Well, that’s what she’d do. Of course, she didn’t have much in the way of practical experience with getting a man hard, since men hadn’t exactly featured prominently in her life up until this point. But it couldn’t be that difficult. The guys she worked with were simple creatures, after all. Beer and sports and breasts seemed to be the extent of what they appreciated.
Ava shifted her hips again, another slow undulation, this time with a bit of a roll to it, concentrating on his face. Up close the scars were more noticeable—from a knife, it looked like, standing out white and ragged against his tanned skin. The one through his eyebrow pulled on one eye, while the ones on his left cheek drew down, long and thin, to his jaw. How did he get them? Who had given them to him?
She gave another roll, circling her hips, concentrating fiercely because she aimed to be the best at everything she did and this was no different. His features had always been blunt and not quite as purely handsome as Zane’s or darkly saturnine as Quinn’s. But they were compelling nonetheless. Or maybe it was the unusual color of his eyes, a true, deep turquoise. Blue caught on the cusp of becoming green.
“See something you like, honey?” The rich sound of his drawl drew something through her, a taut, burning thread.
What on earth are you doing?
The breath shivered in her throat as she ground her hips again, harder, and this time the metal handcuffs jangled, his shoulders flexing suddenly as if he was trying to pull his hands apart. Pure blue lit his gaze, a bright, clear spark that stole all the remaining breath in her lungs.
His breath hissed out sharply. “Holy fuck.”
She stopped, trembling slightly and not knowing why. “What? What did I do?”
“Christ.” His voice had gone even rougher, a growl that she felt strangely low down inside her.
“What’s wrong?” She shifted her hips again, earning her another hissing breath. And that’s when she felt it pressing against her thigh: the denim-covered length of a very impressive erection.
She blinked, stunned. Which was odd because this was exactly what she’d set out to do, wasn’t it?
You didn’t think you could do it. You didn’t think he’d be into you.
But it wasn’t her, was it? It was the situation. The friction. It wasn’t actually her.
Except he looked as shocked as she felt, almost as if he hadn’t been expecting it either.
There was a heavy, strange silence as they stared at each other, that fascinating blue spark glowing hot in his eyes.
Then a muscle jumped in his jaw and his mouth went hard. “Get the fuck off me,” he ordered. “This shit’s done.”
Chapter 3
Ava’s eyes widened, a flash of something that he thought might have been hurt going through them. Which was odd, all things considered. But he didn’t have time to think about it because then she was awkwardly climbing off his lap, her knee getting in the way and brushing against him, making every nerve ending he had light up and his hands jerk in the damn cuffs.
Fuck, he was an idiot. He’d pushed and he’d pushed because that’s what he always did, and now here he was, in the VIP room with the sheriff’s damn daughter in his lap, with a hard-on. A fucking hard-on.
That wasn’t supposed to happen, no matter what he’d told her.
Never in a million years would he ever have imagined getting hard for Ava St. George. For one, he’d known her since she was seven years old, and the last time he’d seen her—that one time they’d met when she was picking up a skip at the Duchess Bounty offices didn’t count—she’d been fourteen, so really, she was still a little kid in his head. For another, she was Ian St. George’s daughter, which automatically made her off-limits. Forever. And then there was the fact that she’d clearly grown up into the world’s most uptight cop.
But, shit…the way she’d been looking at him, her gaze focused on his face as if it was a book she didn’t know how to read but was desperate to. No one had looked at him like that since…Well, he couldn’t remember if anyone had ever looked at him that way at all. Certainly none of the women he slept with these days did. No, they just wanted the hard body and the danger of sleeping with an ex-con, which he was happy enough to provide, let’s be real.
Ava wasn’t interested in that, though. She’d been looking at him. Which should have freaked him out, but for some reason it hadn’t. Her forehead had creased in concentration, as if this was the most important thing she’d ever done, and her cheeks had been flushed the most adorable shade of pink. She’d looked fierce, intent, the way she had when he’d taught her to shoot years ago. But this time she’d been so warm, the dark material of her uniform pulling tight over a pair of beautifully rounded tits, and the movement of her hips had hit him just right…
Holy fuck, no. Just no. She was still a kid. Right?
She was standing in front of him, pulling fussily at her uniform, smoothing it down, and he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze from the movement of her hands, the curves of her tits and her hips, athletic and strong, but feminine with it.
No. She was definitely not a kid anymore. She was a woman, and his dick liked that. His dick liked that a lot, the stupid fuck.
“Well?” she demanded. “Was that acceptable?”
He looked up at her. How could she not know? Hadn’t she felt him? Jesus, she must have; it wasn’t like his penis was a subtle motherfucker. Then again, when she’d sent that bolt of lust straight up his spine, she’d been staring at him with concern. As if she’d hurt him. Then she’d asked him what she’d done wrong.
Something told him that Ava St. George hadn’t been with many men.
Like you need another reason not to go there.
Yeah, well, that kind of sealed the deal, didn’t it? And it wasn’t a surprise, not given how protective the sheriff was of her. A guy needed to have balls of steel if he wanted to take that shit on.
“It’ll do,” he said, not liking how rough his voice sounded. He’d missed his chance with Candy, but maybe there would be some other woman who was warm and willing. Who might be into dealing with his stupid cock.
Ava gave a sharp nod, as if that was that. “Good. Okay, so, about that list…”
Needled by her response for reasons he didn’t quite understand, Rush shifted on the couch, wincing as his dick pressed uncomfortably against his zipper.
Ava blinked, her gaze dipping for a split second.
Hell. He really shouldn’t be enjoying that. “List?” He gave her an innocent look, because he was an asshole and he had a reputation to uphold. “What list?”
She stiffened, her chin coming up, annoyance flashing in her gaze. “You have a list of criminal contacts, or at least that’s what I heard. I need to take a look at it.”
“Why?”
An exasperated look crossed her face. “Didn’t you listen? Like I told you downstairs, that’s confidential. All you need to know is that it’s related to this arms ring hunch I’m following.”
He had been listening. But if she wasn’t going to tell him why she needed to look at his list, then he wasn’t going to give it
to her. Hell, he wasn’t going to give it to her anyway. Not least because he had a feeling he knew exactly which arms ring she meant. Mainly because the lieutenant of the guy who headed it had been in the same cellblock as Rush.
No, he wasn’t going to give her any details about his contacts, because it was a goddamn powder keg. One spark and it would explode, and not in a fun way.
Rush rolled his shoulders, the metal of the cuffs biting into his wrists. Then he sighed. She was not going to be happy when he refused, that was for sure. Especially not after he’d made her give him that lap dance.
Jesus. He was never going to get these cuffs off, was he?
He leaned his head back against the couch, briefly debated stringing her along a bit longer just to irritate the hell out of her even more, then discarded the idea. Even though he was a fan of the go-big-or-go-home school of annoying the fuck out of people, he did have a line. Especially for possibly virginal old family friends.
“Sorry,” he said with some resignation. “Can’t do that, Ava.”
Her straight coppery brows drew together. “What do you mean, you can’t do that?”
“I can’t give you my list.”
Her frown became even more ferocious. “Why not? I gave you that stupid lap dance.”
Yeah, in retrospect that had been a big mistake. A very big mistake in a lot of different ways.
He let out another silent breath. Should he lie? Toss her a few names of some low-level petty gunrunners that shouldn’t get her into too much trouble? Or pretend he didn’t know anyone significant? Christ, no, he couldn’t do that, not when she obviously wasn’t going to tell him why she needed the info.
She’d been a funny kid way back when. Silent and staring at him with her big eyes. He’d thought she was shy at first, and a bit nervous and afraid. Yet he’d soon found out that it wasn’t shyness that made her so silent, it was grief. And once that grief had started to fade, he’d soon discovered she had the heart of a wildcat.
Maybe that wildcat was still there, carefully hidden under that uniform and the uptight, stern look on her face, and if it was, then giving her any information at all was a mistake. Because that shit was dangerous, and knowing Ava, it would only send her straight into it.
“Because I don’t know anyone,” he said eventually, lying through his teeth. “At least no one connected with any sort of arms dealing.”
She narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “That’s not what I heard. Word on the street is that you had a connection with some of the major players when you were in prison.”
“ ‘Word on the street,’ huh?” He didn’t bother to hide the mockery. As if a pretty little uniform like her knew anything about the fucking street. “Where did you hear that? From some kid pickpocket?”
Her mouth tightened. “You shared a cellblock with one of Jimmy Troy’s lieutenants, and I want some information about Troy.”
A shock ran through him at the sound of that name, but he said nothing. If he’d learned one thing in prison, it was when to keep his mouth shut. There were times and places to speak, and times and places when it was best not to say a fucking thing. Like now.
Jimmy Troy was not a subject he wanted to discuss with her. Not with anyone.
A stripe of color appeared across her cheekbones, a gold flame of anger burning in her eyes. “So you’re not going to say anything? You don’t know anything about him? Nothing at all?”
Oh, he knew plenty about Jimmy Troy. The guy was a major-league arms dealer who’d so far managed to evade the cops, no matter how hard they tried to catch him, and was currently masquerading as a wealthy businessman. Not that Rush was going to discuss Troy with her, no matter how much she begged him.
“Like I said,” he murmured insolently, “what the fuck has that got to do with you?”
Her jaw had gotten tight, her shoulders stiff. Yeah, she definitely didn’t like being questioned, that was for sure. “Perhaps I want to see him brought to justice. Perhaps I’m trying to stop a whole bunch of people from dying.”
Christ, if she was intent on getting herself mixed up in that bullshit, then he definitely wasn’t giving her anything. Besides, Jimmy Troy was his.
“I don’t care. I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She looked incensed. “So you’re happy to watch people—”
“You know what I think?” he interrupted, hard and flat. “I think this is about you and your daddy issues, not about stopping a whole bunch of people from dying. You want to prove yourself to your old man, am I right?” It wasn’t fair of him to bring her difficult relationship with her father into this, but hell, he had to distract her somehow, especially now that this conversation was going places he really didn’t want it to go to.
She went red. “Daddy issues? I don’t know where on earth you got that idea—”
“Honey, stick to parking violations or burglaries or whatever the fuck you’re supposed to be doing. And stay away from assholes like Jimmy Troy.”
Ava opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She looked away, inhaling deep and slow, as if she was trying to get a handle on her temper. Then she looked back, calmer now, but he knew that didn’t mean a thing, not when that fierce light still burned in her eyes.
He braced himself to be hauled to his feet and then dragged down to the precinct.
“Fine,” Ava said. “Thanks for your help.”
And before he could say a word, she turned on her heel and went out.
Rush blinked. “Hey,” he called out after her. “What about these fucking cuffs?”
—
Ava let the door of the VIP room slam shut as she shoved her anger as far down as it would go.
Rush’s refusal to help shouldn’t have been unexpected, especially considering how long it had been since she’d seen him. He’d had it tough for eight years and obviously had been changed by the experience. Still, though…she’d thought there’d be at least some part of the guy she’d once known inside him somewhere. Clearly she was wrong.
A man walked past her as she stalked down the hallway toward the stairs, giving her an appreciative glance. “Cop fantasy. Nice.”
She scowled, itching to book him for some ridiculous offense, which was just crazy. Especially when she realized she’d left her cuffs on Rush. God, she was an idiot. She couldn’t bear the thought of going back and getting them right now, though, so she satisfied herself with giving the guy a stern glance and carrying on, exiting the strip club as quickly as she could before making her way back through the streets to her patrol car.
Her partner, Mike, a long-suffering guy who’d been on the force a good twenty years and had no patience for newbies, gave her a look as she pulled open the door. “Where the hell have you been? Coffee take that long?”
Oh hell. “I couldn’t find a decent place that was open,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t ask too many other questions. She hadn’t told him about the tip-off, and she wasn’t going to either. Not until she had the confirmation that the info was good.
He had just opened his mouth to say something when the police radio crackled to life, announcing suspicious activity not far from where they were parked.
Mike sighed and grabbed the radio. “Coffee’ll have to wait,” he said to Ava. “Buckle up. We’ve got a job to do.”
Luckily, the rest of her shift was busy, so she didn’t have much time to dwell on Rush Redmond and his intense annoyingness. Yet the anger and frustration sat uncomfortably in her gut all the same, burning like a hot coal as she made her way home after her shift had ended.
She still lived with her dad in the white-painted Victorian house that her parents had bought when they were first married, and she noticed there was a light on in the front window. It meant her father was still up, probably reading and having a whisky in the living room. Waiting until she was home safe, in other words.
He’d been a very strict parent after her mother had died, never letting her go out after curfew, y
et she’d never rebelled against all the rules he’d imposed on her, even though they’d felt suffocating at times. She was aware he was just trying to protect her, the only way he knew how.
These days she was too old for curfews and rules, but he still watched over her. Like now, staying up until she was home.
Ava sighed as she made her way up the front stairs to the verandah that wrapped around the house, digging her keys out of her purse.
It was late and her father was going to be cranky the next day because he’d stayed up. Yet telling him not to worry about her was like telling her lungs not to keep expanding with every breath. And it didn’t help knowing that she was partly to blame for that. She’d been the one who’d insisted on being a cop, despite him forbidding it.
But really, with two cops in the family, what had her father expected her to do? Be a doctor like he’d wanted? Difficult when she didn’t have the grades or the drive for medicine. No, it had been police work all the way, and after her mother’s death, that had become even more important to her.
Unlocking the door, she stepped into the hallway, dropping her keys down onto the console table near the door before heading into the living room.
As expected, her father was sitting in the big leather armchair by the window, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, his attention on the book in his lap. A tumbler with a narrow finger of whisky sat on a side table at his elbow, the floor lamp behind the chair illuminating him in a puddle of soft yellow light.
Ava paused in the doorway, but he didn’t look up, and her heart squeezed tight in her chest as she realized he’d fallen asleep.
Quietly she put her purse down and reached for the blue throw that hung over the arm of the couch. Then she went over to his chair and spread it over his knees, trying not to wake him.
In the dim light of the room, he looked…fragile. A strange thing to think about her tall, strong, stern father. He’d always been such a powerful force in her life. Decisive. Strict. A stickler for the rules, for politeness. There had been nothing soft about him, nothing warm. The warmth had always come from her mother, and after she’d died…well, she hadn’t had warmth from anyone.
Take Me Harder Page 4
