by Nina Bruhns
She'd just settled down on the couch with a bowl of pre-dinner lime sherbet and a good book when a knock came at the front door. A friend or neighbor dropping by to say hi, no doubt. Sierra Madre was one of the safest towns in the country, so she didn't hesitate to open the door wide.
Regret came instantly.
It was him!
“Oh!”
Shocked, she felt the book tumble to the floor. The sherbet bowl started to slip from her fingers as she stepped back and stumbled over the rug.
In a flash, he reached out and grabbed the bowl with one hand and her waist with the other, reeling her tight up against him. She regained her footing but was thrown way off balance in another, much more elemental way. His tall, hard body pressed intimately into hers.
Wow, he felt good.
She looked up into his eyes, and was instantly captured by the invitation she saw in his hot, searing gaze.
She couldn't move.
Thankfully, he could. He released her waist and wordlessly offered her the bowl. Forcing a hand up, she took it with shaky fingers.
Slowly, he raised his thumb to his mouth and licked off a dollop of sherbet that had stuck to it. She swallowed along with him.
Holy crap.
His gaze wandered down her body, then up again. “Ma'am.”
Sizzling hot awareness zinged from the top of her head all the way to her toes. And her verbal skills regressed to the level of her toddlers. She doubted she could utter a single coherent sentence if her life depended on it.
She just stood there like an idiot, flushed and suddenly freezing, clutching the bowl in both hands.
“You get my note?” he asked, his dark eyes searching hers.
Huh? He was standing so close she could feel the heat from his skin. Or maybe it was from her own cheeks.
“Um...n—” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Note?”
He turned slightly and jerked his chin toward her car. “About the driveway being blocked tomorrow morning?”
“Oh.” Duh. She nodded dazedly. “Yeah. I...um...I got home late.”
His lips tilted in a knowing smile. “So I noticed.”
Her mental capacity gradually started trickling back. The note. Which meant he must be— “Russell Bridger?”
The smile widened. “My friends call me Bridge.” He looked at her expectantly.
Relief hit her, and she retreated another step. “You came all the way back to show me where to park my car, Mr. Bridger?”
“Bridge. Miss...?”
“Miss?” She blinked. “Flannery. Mary Alice Flannery.” God, could she sound like a bigger dolt?
He shifted on his feet a little. “Well, Miss Flannery, we start work pretty early, and I wouldn't want to have to wake you up from a sound sleep tomorrow morning just to move your car.”
His gaze raked over her, making her wonder what he would like to wake her up for. The traitorous thought crept into her mind that it might be interesting to find out.
“That's very nice of you, Mr. Bridger.”
“If you've got the keys, I'd be happy to move it for you.”
She stared at him. “Now?”
“No charge.” He gave her a devilish grin and her heart did a backward two-and-a-half with a twist, and landed somewhere in the vicinity of his feet.
“Um. Okay. Thanks.” After several seconds of staring at each other, she shook her mind into gear. “Oh. Of course. I'll get the keys.”
After all, what harm was there in letting him move her car? It wasn’t as if he was here to ask her to dinner. Or...anything else.
Right?
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Six
Bridge's amusement drifted to rapture as he watched Mary Alice Flannery turn and walk into the house. Her hips swayed gracefully, the soft wisp of a dress she wore clung to every curve like a glove on a windy day. Damp tendrils of strawberry blond formed a halo about her head and bare shoulders. It was a sight that could make a grown man get down on his knees and beg.
He took a deep breath, diving nose first into the lingering scent of strawberries. With a moan, he slashed his fingers through his short-cropped hair.
Damn, she was sexy.
He could tell she was attracted to him. She had an adorably transparent reaction to his flirtatious teasing. As though she didn’t usually let herself respond to a man's sexual advances, but couldn't help herself around him. Hell, it was enough to inflate a man's ego.
Among other things.
His plan was to coax information out of her about Watson. But the sight of her ripe, sensual body had Bridge instantly thinking of other pursuits. What he wanted to coax out of her now had nothing to do with her neighbor's comings and goings and everything to do with her own.
Oh, baby. He wanted to look down on her long, silky hair going all over his pillow, and to taste the sweet promise of her full lips coming to his. To watch her going over the edge, and to make her call his name, coming in his arms.
Get a grip, Bridger.
Mary Alice wasn't the type of woman to be interested in a casual toss in the sack with a jaded vice cop. And that was all he had to offer. He wanted her, absolutely. But on his terms. Which meant short term.
No strings, no attachments, no regrets.
He was a cop. His job came first, and he didn't want a sweet woman sitting at home alone, worrying about his safety, wearing herself down with the stress of fearing the worst every time he was five minutes late coming home. Slowly wasting away with the nerves and anxiety of being married to a man who put his life on the line every day.
As his mom had done.
Nope. That scene was so not for him. Bridge had made his mother a promise, and he meant to keep it. For his own sake, as much as for the women he was protecting by leaving them be.
Watching pretty Mary Alice float toward him in that flimsy excuse for a dress, he straightened his shoulders and plastered on his most charming smile. He took the car keys from her and strode purposefully to the SUV in the driveway.
Business, Bridger. Remember, this is strictly business.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Seven
Mary Alice stepped outside the house and gripped the porch rail. Nervously, she watched Bridge amble down the driveway and slide behind the wheel of her SUV. What had gotten into her? Nearly swooning at the man’s feet.
Unfortunately, she knew exactly what had gotten into her. Her face heated just thinking about it.
He parked her car a bit down the winding street in a shallow cutout scooped into the hillside. She hugged her arms across her breasts, acutely aware of their hard tips through the satin fabric of the old slip. The way his gaze had stroked over the smooth silhouette of her body had made her feel as if she’d been standing there naked. Which she practically was. She hadn’t bothered with a bra or panties after her shower, because of the heat.
Steadfastly ignoring the goose bumps on her arms, she forced herself to smile as he strolled back through the front gate. He paused at one of the rose bushes along the adjoining picket fence. “Damask?”
Surprised, she nodded, then walked down the front steps to join him. “Kazanlik.”
He raised a brow. “I’m impressed.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “So am I.”
He tossed her a lopsided grin and lifted a shoulder. “My mom had roses.”
“Had?” She saw something raw flash through his eyes, and instantly regretted her nosy question.
“She passed on years ago,” he said, his smile returning. “But her roses live on. I do what I can, but I’m afraid Dad sorely neglects them. Too bad. They’re beautiful.”
She touched a delicate flower with the tip of her finger, admiring the lush pink petals. “Yes, they are. What a lovely legacy she left for you.”
His gaze lingered for a moment on her, then jumped to the next rose bush down the row. “And this would be Maiden’s Blush, I presume?”
The man was full of surprises. “Mr. Bridger, you
put me to shame.”
“Bridge, please. How’s that?”
“Before I bought this house I might have been able to tell you this was a rose, but that would be about all.”
He chuckled, moved past her, and stooped to smell a yellow blossom further along the fence. “Growing up, I spent a lot of time pulling weeds with Mom. Couldn’t help picking up a thing or two besides crabgrass.”
She watched him bend over and sniff another, his eyes crinkling in enjoyment. What a man of contrasts! She tipped her head and studied his starkly masculine body. His broad shoulders all but eclipsed the rose bush he squatted next to, the muscles in his thighs and backside were pleasingly contoured under his snug jeans. She thought she detected a hint of some Native ancestor in the tough ranginess in his body and his sharp facial features.
He looked up and caught her staring.
She snapped her mouth shut. Her heartbeat kicked up and her cheeks flamed, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away to save her life.
Holding her prisoner with those endlessly deep eyes, he slowly straightened and took a step toward her. “Have dinner with me?”
Shock made her take a step back. “D-dinner?”
He glanced at his watch, his expression at once boyishly innocent. “It’s getting late, and I owe you for that bowl of sherbet. It’s probably well beyond salvage by now. That wasn’t dessert, was it?”
She almost choked. “Well, kind of.”
“Ah. You’ve eaten already.” He looked endearingly crushed.
Embarrassed, she gazed down at her bare feet, toeing a leaf from the grass into the flower bed. “No. I like to eat dessert first.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Is that a streak of the rebel in our prim and proper Miss Flannery?”
She lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m not.”
“Rebellious?”
“Prim and proper.”
His mouth split into a saucy grin and he reached out and tapped the end of her nose with a finger. “I’m delighted to hear that.” He led the way back toward the house with a lazy, confident gait. “Go slip on some sexy shoes, and let’s find us a couple of steaks.”
Mortified, she hurried after him, rubbing her nose. “Mr. Bridger, I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t,” he said, still chuckling. He propped himself against the column holding up the peaked porch roof. He winked. “Shoes.”
She honestly didn’t remember accepting his invitation, but was too busy putting out the fires in her blood from that wink to notice. In a daze she mounted the steps and reached for the screen door.
“And Miss Flannery,” he called in a low voice.
She peeked over her shoulder, brushing her hair aside to look at him. “Yes?”
His eyes glittered like black jewels under a slash of dark brow. “Don’t even think about changing that dress.”
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Eight
The screen door smacked behind the delectable Miss Flannery, leaving Bridge grinning into the twilight. This was going way better than expected. Catching her with her hair down, both literally and figuratively, had surely tumbled her to him faster than any smooth line he could possibly have come up with. And kept things nicely uncomplicated.
Now, if he could just keep his mind on business long enough to ferret out some useful information on her neighbor.
When she came out five minutes later, he nearly groaned in disappointment. Back to the old Mary Alice. Her hair was high on her head in her usual hands-off bun, and she’d encased that gorgeous, slinky dress in a boxy jacket made from some stiff, scratchy-looking material.
He took her key and locked the door for her, giving it a hard push to double-check it was secure. Ah, well. He really shouldn’t be noticing her dress, anyway.
He still wanted to rip off the jacket and yank the pins from that monstrosity confining her pretty red curls...but it was kind of nice that she put up a little resistance to the idea. More than nice. In fact, it made him feel something he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember.
Anticipation.
Returning her key, his palm brushed hers. It was warm and soft, like her smile, and sent a stroke of longing through his whole body.
What would it feel like to have her soft hands warm him all over?
He smacked himself mentally and waited while she deposited the key in her tiny handbag, then settled her purse strap neatly on her shoulder.
Sticking to business was proving to be a real pain.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
He walked her to his truck and opened the door. He took her arm and she turned to climb up into the cab. But instead of helping her up, he tugged her gently into his arms. She stared wide-eyed at his lips as he lowered them slowly to hers.
Soft as the sigh that escaped her, he settled his mouth on hers. Unhurried and undemanding, he allowed himself to savor the feel of her moist lips moving lightly under his. When he reached the corner of her mouth, he flicked his tongue over the seam. Her body trembled in response.
He groaned and, for a split second, desire threatened to claw through his restraint.
God damn it.
He pulled away.
A strand of hair spilled from her neat bun and feathered down her temple. Rooted to the spot, she gazed up at him, confusion running riot over her face.
Fucking hell. Now what had he gone and done?
Winding the stray lock of her hair between his fingers, he concentrated on not thinking about how good she’d tasted, and instead on coming up with an acceptable excuse for kissing her.
In the end, he resorted to the tried and true. “Just thought we’d get that over with.”
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Nine
What had just happened? Mary Alice’s lips still tingled where Bridge’s had traveled over them.
Was this the way the dreams had started?
“Now we can relax and not be distracted all evening thinking about it,” he said.
“About...?” Her tongue went to the corner of her mouth and caught a taste of him.
“Our first kiss.”
“Oh.” Her mind snagged hard on the word first. “I...” Wow. “I guess that’s...sensible.”
Sensible?
Sensible? Who was she kidding? She’d count herself fortunate if she’d be able to think a single lucid thought all night, after that kiss.
“Wanna go for a second?”
She came to with a start and backed away. “I don’t think—” She caught the amusement in his face. “You’re teasing me.”
He reached out and touched the collar of her jacket, running his fingers down the lapel. “Do you mind?”
She let out a breath in consternation. “Not nearly as much as I should.” She tipped her head in mock reproof, feeling oddly comfortable with a man she’d known less than an hour. Maybe there was something to that kiss theory, after all. “I fear you’re a rake, Russell Bridger.”
“A rake?” He grinned. “You mean one of those long, hard things with—”
“No!” He was misbehaving badly, but she couldn’t help grinning. “I mean a rogue and a rascal, the kind of man my mama is always warning me about.”
With a devilish laugh, he swept her up off the ground. “Lucky for me you never listen to your mama.”
“And you would know that how?” She squeaked as his strong hands deposited her on the bench seat of the truck.
“Care to deny it, Ms. Dessert-Before-Dinner?” Barely suppressing her laughter, she gave him her most indignant face and straightened her dress primly. “I most certainly do. I’ll have you know she thinks I’m a perfect angel.”
A slow, easy smile slid across his face. “Can’t argue with that.”
The truck door slammed and she could almost feel her halo slip.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Ten
The restaurant Bridge chose was a rambling log affair with a spangled sign boasting of the best steaks, ribs, and live countr
y music west of San Bernardino. She’d heard about The Blue Palomino often from Nancy when her friend would come to work the next morning with a big smile, sore feet, and a slight drawl. Mary Alice wasn’t sure where the drawl came from, but she was feeling slightly alarmed at the prospect of finding out.
“You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” Bridge asked.
She snapped out of her thoughts and shook her head at him over the menu. Before she had a chance to say a word he’d ordered for both of them—deluxe combo platters and salad bar, along with two goldfish bowl-sized margaritas.
“Salt?” he asked, his only uncertainty about the order.
She shook her head again, and regarded him with curiosity after the waiter had left. “Do you always order your date’s meal?”
He looked up, and smiled blandly. “Always.”
“What if she doesn’t like what you pick for her?”
“I make it my business to know what she likes.”
She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her laced fingers. “How?”
He leaned back in his seat and accepted his margarita—with salt—from the waiter. He took a sip. “Are you really interested, or are you only after ammunition to blast me with for being a hopelessly old-fashioned male chauvinist?”
She arched a brow. “Both?”
He chuckled. “Forget it, Angel. I’m not about to load both barrels and hand over the shotgun. You’ll just have to tell me how I do.”
“Well, I have to admit, you’re doing pretty well so far. I love margaritas.” She lifted her glass and frowned, wondering why it seemed to dwarf her completely while his fairly disappeared into the geography of his large hands and broad chest.
He waved his hand dismissively. “A giveaway.”
“Oh?”
“Your lime sherbet.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Does anything ever get by you?”
