by Nina Bruhns
God, she was so damn sweet. Sweet and fine, and everything a woman should be. He wanted to eat her up, devour her, until she was his completely.
Sliding her knees over his arms, he held her body closer, relishing her fingers digging into his shoulders and back. He murmured encouragement in her ear and was rewarded with a nip on the neck. He growled a few more explicit demands.
Her body turned molten in his hands, the heat gloving him ignited to liquid fire.
He plunged into her again and again, faster and faster. He talked her higher and higher, until finally his name tore from her lips. She shuddered in his arms, her body racked with waves of deep tremors.
He kept pounding, wanting her to experience every last sensation, pushing himself to the limit, bringing her quickly back to panting, moaning desire. Feeding his own aching need for her, for this, for her urgent response to his body’s possession.
“Stay with me, Angel,” he commanded when he felt the hot coil between his legs tighten beyond bearing. “Now,” he demanded, and he felt her body obey, just as he lost control of his own.
He exploded with thick, heated pleasure. A shock of fire streaked through him down to his toes and all the way back up to the roots of his hair. He buried himself deep inside her, as deep as physically possible. So deep, he thought surely he would disappear and never have to leave the blissful, enveloping cradle of her body.
God, how he wanted to stay like this, always. To feel nurtured and cherished, held in the loving arms of a woman who adored him.
This woman who adored him.
After several breathless minutes, their bodies calmed. Carefully he lowered her legs and wrapped his arms around her. “Incredible,” he murmured into her hair. “You are incredible.”
“No, you are,” she said on a sigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever walk again.”
He chuckled, his ego pleased with her praise. He loved this change in their relationship. It was good to know so unquestionably that she felt the same way he did, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
After long minutes of just holding each other, he nuzzled her neck. “Shall I carry you to bed?”
Her arms around his waist tightened for an instant, then loosened and she looked up. Before his eyes, her expression slowly went from warm, sated happiness to careful neutrality.
“Maybe just the bathtub?”
Her words hung heavy in air that was spiced with the scent of their lovemaking. He regarded her closely. What the hell? Did she really mean what he thought she meant?
He couldn’t believe this was happening—not this soon.
“You giving me the kiss-off, Mary Alice?” he asked quietly. “Seriously?”
Her fingers toyed with the black hairs on his chest, careful not to stray lower. “I, um...”
Anger suddenly swept over him. He grasped her arms. “What the fuck? Is this some kind of twisted revenge?”
She bit her bottom lip and looked away. “I thought this was the part where you walk away a happy man. No assumptions, right?” She shrugged. And still wouldn’t look at him.
His anger deflated, and he cursed inwardly his own monumental stupidity. Great strategy, Bridger. Just great.
“Oh, honey. It doesn’t have to be like that. I’d like to be together. I really would. I just don’t want you thinking it can be...”
“Permanent?”
He nodded, hating that it had to be this way. Wishing it were possible to try for more. There was nothing on earth he’d rather have than a chance to be with this perfect woman for always.
But there wasn’t. It was for her own good.
She exhaled. “Maybe it would be better if we both walked away now and pretended this never happened.”
His heart plummeted. “Just because I can’t promise you forever?”
A shadow of pain flashed through her eyes, and his heart went out to her. He knew damned well that wasn’t the reason, or at least the main reason. She was afraid to get involved with anyone—especially someone like him who would remind her every day of those she’d loved and lost in the past, and that she could so easily lose everything again.
And he also knew she was right. Had known it from the start. What just happened didn’t change a thing.
“You’re a cop, Bridge. You’re all wrong for me,” she said quietly.
Letting out a long breath, he took her in his arms and sank into the warm solace of her heavenly body. “I know,” he whispered, pain searing through his heart. “So, why do you feel so damned right for me?”
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Twenty-Eight
When Bridge stepped out of Mary Alice’s embrace and walked through the door, closing it quietly behind him, her anguish was complete. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d looked just as miserable leaving as she felt letting him go, she would have sunk to the floor and wept.
Damn, damn, damn. She’d gone and done it—exactly what she’d vowed would never happen again. She had given herself, her body...and her heart...to a man.
It wasn’t fair.
Her skin still tingled where it had touched his. Her breasts were imprinted with the sensation of his rough chest hair scraping over them. The flesh between her thighs echoed with the memory of his cock thrusting hard into her, bringing her to heights she hadn’t known existed. And her heart...it swelled with emotions long suppressed. Emotions she hadn’t wanted to feel, ever again.
She stepped into the shower and turned on the water, forcing herself to remember why she couldn’t take his hand and lead him to her bed, and welcome him into her body again and again.
Even if she got past her own fears, and his refusal to make commitments, she just couldn’t stand the constant uncertainty of life with a vice cop—whether for a hundred years or one year, or even just a week. His tame undercover assignment watching Watson wouldn’t last forever. What would she do when he was back out taking down drug dealers and gang members on the mean streets where she couldn’t keep him safe? He was with SIS—the most dangerous section of PPD—dealing daily with some of the most vicious criminals that existed. He could die at any minute, leaving her far worse off than she was now.
Like her father had, and her uncle.
Like the last man she’d loved.
No, it was better this way. Better to stop this doomed relationship right now, before it got started. They could be friends. Friends. Nothing more.
And her aching heart would just have to accept it.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Twenty-Nine
Breakfast the next morning was a conspiracy of forgetfulness. Mary Alice acted as though nothing had happened the night before. Bridge didn’t look too happy about it, but thankfully he went along with the pretense.
Bridge announced he’d wangled his replacement on the road crew, Officer Deane, into spending his Sunday afternoon off watching Watson for him.
“Let’s go to the Pasadena Policemen’s Street Fair this afternoon,” he said.
Mary Alice stared at him in consternation over her French toast. “No. I can’t.” The last thing she wanted was to face a park full of Jack’s and her father’s old buddies and fellow cops. Especially now. Especially on Bridge’s arm.
“It’ll do us both good to get out,” he urged.
She shook her head firmly. “No. Not there.”
“Give it a shot. Maybe you’ll find you don’t hate cops so much, after all, and I’ll have a chance with you.”
She couldn’t help smiling at his cute, hopeful expression.
“Come on. You can do it. It’ll be fun.”
She looked down at her plate as her insides slowly knotted. Could she?
He smiled and nodded.
How could she refuse such a heartfelt plea? It was the least she could do to make amends after effectively kicking him out of her bed last night.
And, yeah. Maybe it was time she faced her demons.
Maybe it was time she put the unhappy past to rest.
Maybe it was t
ime to truly start that new life she’d been working toward for three long years.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Thirty
It was a gorgeous, hot day. One of those days when Southern California basked in the glory of its splendid weather. A light wind had blown the smog clear to Amboy, leaving the sparkling San Gabriel Mountains proud and tall as the rugged backdrop to the riot of skyscrapers, fragrant blossoming trees, and the usual colorful inhabitants.
Bridge looked particularly handsome in crisply pressed khakis and a jade-colored polo shirt. He offered her his arm when they approached Central Park, where the fair was being held. As she looped hers around it, she had to bite back a sigh. It was so comfortable being with Bridge. He made her feel pampered and nurtured. Safe. That he’d take care of her no matter what.
If only it were really so. But she knew the feeling was just a cruel illusion.
At the entrance, he stepped up to buy their tickets. She took one look at the table and eased behind him. The officer, Lieutenant Washington, sitting at the cash box had worked with her father.
“Bridge, old buddy! Good to see you. I hear the feds’ve got you working twenty-four hour shifts. That sucks.”
“Yeah, had to bribe Jason Deane to relieve me this afternoon so I could—”
“Mary Alice, is that you?” The lieutenant peered around Bridge. “I’ll be damned. Come here, girl, let me take a look at you.”
She fumbled for something to say, and Bridge slipped a supportive arm around her.
“Say, you aren’t with this old reprobate, are you?” Washington guffawed, then wagged a finger at Bridge. “You be good to her, you hear? None of your usual shenanigans. This is Seamus Flannery’s little girl.” He looked back at her, and she could see the memories flash through his eyes. “We still miss him down at the station, Mary Alice. He was a real good man.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled, wanting to turn around and run for home as fast as she could.
Bridge accepted their tickets, making some comment about taking care of her, then led her into the maze of booths and attractions. She stopped to take a couple of deep breaths.
“You okay?”
She nodded, looking around. “I’d forgotten there would be so many uniforms.” They were everywhere in the crowd—hundreds it seemed. Blue, gray, khaki, of every rank and jurisdiction in four counties. “I haven’t seen this many since—”
Turning quickly so he wouldn’t see the sudden glaze of tears in her eyes, she folded her arms tight across her midriff. “So, which way first?” She raised her chin, determined not to fall apart, and scanned the booths. “Oh, look! The hat lady.”
Grateful for something that might genuinely distract her, she grabbed Bridge’s hand and tugged him over to a stall brimming with every type of second-hand hat imaginable.
“I always used to stop by and pick up a few hats for the kids’ dress-up corner.” Back before—
“Well, hi, love! Long time no see.”
Delighted to see Mrs. Daniels who ran the booth, Mary Alice purged the bad memories from her mind and chatted for several minutes. Off to one side, Bridge entertained them by trying on every hat he could reach—men’s and women’s. He’d drawn quite a crowd before running out of examples, and everyone was in stitches.
“You are such a ham!” she said with a laugh as they walked away, yanking the brim of his newly purchased Panama hat down over his eyes. “Have you ever considered a career as a stand-up comedian?”
“Would it make you like me any better?”
She gave him a wry look. “Bridge, it would be downright dangerous for me to like you any better. That’s the whole problem.”
“I don’t see this as a problem,” he said teasingly.
She rolled her eyes.
“We could have a fast and shallow, but deeply satisfying”—he waggled his eyebrows—“relationship. Until you walk out on me for a stable, boring accountant. Everyone’s happy. Right?”
“Has anybody ever told you that you have a one-track mind?”
“Frequently. It’s one of my more endearing—”
“Traits, right.”
He chuckled. “In the end I always get my man. Or in this case, woman. It’s why I’m such a good—”
“Cop?”
He winced. “Oops.”
“Mary Alice?”
She whirled at a familiar voice, and her heart lodged in her throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell.”
Mrs. Maxwell smiled broadly. “I thought that was you. How are you, my dear?”
In a million years, Mary Alice wouldn’t have thought she’d run into Jack’s parents here. When his mother gave her a long hug, Mary Alice could barely keep from shaking with emotion. She accepted another hug from Jack’s dad. “I’m okay. How are you both?”
“We’re doing well. Work on the anti-handgun bill is going great. I think we’ll win this next round.” The Maxwells had poured their tremendous grief over their only son’s death into efforts to change the gun laws.
Mary Alice still felt horribly guilty every time she saw them. She hadn’t kept up their friendship. Seeing them had only reminded her of her loss...and she was sure that was even more true for them.
“I’m so glad,” she said. “You are doing such good things out there for society, and all I do is worry about my roses.”
Mrs. Maxwell patted her arm. “That’s not true, dear, and you know it. Every day at school you teach those kids in your class how to solve differences using words instead of fists—or guns. That’s more important and far more effective than any gun law could possibly be.”
Mary Alice bowed her head, then remembered Bridge and introduced him. When they looked slightly taken aback, he rescued her once again.
“Mary Alice is helping me with a case I’m working on.”
Mrs. Maxwell quickly recovered, and looked from him to her. “Well, Mary Alice, it was wonderful to see you,” she said with a wistful smile. “I’m so glad you are finally getting out. I know Jack would never have wanted you to hide yourself away like you’ve been doing.”
Jack’s parents kissed her cheek and said their good-byes.
And suddenly, she knew his mother was right. Jack had been her best friend, her fiancé, but deep down she knew he would have totally disapproved of the lengths she’d gone to keep her heart safe, and taken her Master List and torn it up into little pieces. He would be the first one to tell her to get over it, and get on with her life.
She knew that.
She just didn’t know if she could ever actually do it.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Thirty-One
“Nice couple.” Bridge said as they walked away. He turned and watched Mary Alice carefully. So far, she’d been holding up fairly well, but he’d seen clearly that this last encounter had thrown her for a loop.
“They really are. We sort of helped each other through the early days, after...”
“Didn’t the Department give you someone to talk to?”
She took a breath and shrugged. “I didn’t need a shrink. I just needed a hug every once in a while.”
She looked like she could use a hug right now. He wanted to take her in his arms and give her the comfort she needed. Not a good idea. She needed more than simple comfort. She needed far more than he was able to give.
“Come on,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Let’s look at some more booths.”
They wandered around, and Bridge couldn’t believe the number of people who came up to her, saying a few words about how good it was to see her again, or how great a guy Jack or her dad had been. By late afternoon she was looking a little shell-shocked. He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by bringing her here.
“How about a treat before we go home? Do you like Cactus Cooler floats?”
For the first time since the hat booth, her face broke into a broad grin. “Are you kidding me right now? Damn, I haven’t had one of those in years.”
“That settles it, then.”
Alt
hough they’d never caught on out in the big world, the concoction of pineapple-orange soda and sherbet was a favorite at the fair, sold exclusively in the food booth run by the Sierra Madre Fire Department.
“What kind of sherbet would you like in it?” the firefighter doing the scooping asked her.
“Rainbow. Definitely rainbow.”
Bridge waggled his brows. “Oh, you brazen thing, you.”
She grinned. “Only when I’m with you, bad boy.”
He smiled, and caught himself just in time, before he impulsively slung an arm around her and gave her a big kiss. It was a constant struggle, not reaching out to her. Pulling her close. Kissing the hurt and sadness from her eyes. Trying to put a smile on her pretty face.
They settled at a wobbly table and dug in. A few minutes later, several young police officers piled around a table right behind them and started discussing a recent shooting that had occurred in their district. Mary Alice paled when one described the way the victim had been left in an alley to bleed to death.
“Let’s go, okay?” Bridge suggested quickly. “We can stop at the Fisherman for some shrimp and I’ll barbecue them for dinner.”
Wordlessly, she rose and followed him.
When they arrived home, he conferred for several minutes with Officer Deane about the activity at Watson’s place. Together, they filled out the log, then he walked Deane out to the front porch.
“How’s it going on the road crew?”
“No worries, Bridge.”
“Good. Thanks for filling in for me today. I appreciate it.”
The young man cast a meaningful glance back through the door, where Mary Alice had settled on the sofa. “Tough assignment, eh?”
Bridge gave him a stony look. “Don’t even think it, rookie.”
“Sure, Bridge, whatever you say.”
The man’s face as he jogged down the steps said plainer than words that he found the idea of Russell Bridger staying in the same house with a beautiful woman and one bed, but not touching her, to be patently absurd.
