Harlequin E Contemporary Romance Box Set Volume 2: Maid to CraveAll I HaveThe Last First DateLight My Fire

by Rebecca M. Avery

  “What?”

  He nodded, obviously pleased with the scheme playing out in his head. “The station is warm and dry. The coffee’s free too, if you’re not too fond of your stomach lining.”

  Fixated on his lips, she almost missed the words coming out of them. “Station?”

  The man had the good grace to grimace as he broke the bad news to her. “I’ll need you to make a statement about her confession.”

  Jessica shuddered. This was just supposed to be a quick run to the mini-mart. She didn’t want to get involved in whatever was going on with Officer Hottie and his dream date. She just wanted her damn car to start. The policies and procedures followed on every cop show she’d ever watched raced through her mind. She started grasping at straws. “I didn’t see her take it. Wouldn’t that be hearsay or something?”

  Her breath caught when he bent toward her, lowering his voice for her ears only. “I can’t leave you here. This neighborhood isn’t the greatest, and it’s New Year’s Eve. God only knows when you’ll be able to get a cab.”

  Her mind flashed to the provisions stashed in her car. She had everything—premixed margaritas and nacho cheese flavored chips. The makings for a fiesta were parked in her passenger seat. She could camp out there until the next Good Samaritan came along. The last thing she wanted to do was watch Klepto Kardashian wriggle her way back into Detective Do-Me’s good graces. Women like that got away with murder, while women like her nearly killed themselves just trying to stay afloat.

  But not anymore.

  There would be no more treading water or settling for good enough. Jessica had every intention of taking the new year by storm. After one last round of lime-flavored pity. “Listen, I don’t want to get involved….” The words were going to be her new mantra. She needed to start believing them now.

  “Just come with us, make a quick statement while you warm up, drink some awful coffee, and I’ll bring you back here to get your car moving just as soon as I can hand her over for processing.”

  For some unknown reason his cavalier attitude irked her. “Some boyfriend you are.”

  “I’m not her boyfriend,” he snapped. He tipped his face up to the heavens and the light caught the drops of moisture beading on his face and hair. Exhaling, he lowered his gaze to meet hers directly. “Ma’am, I am asking you to accompany me to the Third Precinct to make a brief statement concerning the confession Miss Brackle made a short time ago.”

  She let the ma’am bit slide and went straight to the meat of the matter. “Listen, Detective…”

  “Sheppard,” he supplied with a nod. “Lang Sheppard.”

  “Listen, Detective Sheppard—”

  He let out an exasperated huff. “Just get in the car. It’s cold and wet and my friggin’ eyelashes are starting to fuse together.” And what lashes they were, thick and dark, a velvet fringe framing those spectacular silver-gray eyes. “Please,” he added as an afterthought. “Don’t make me have to worry about you out here by yourself.”

  She forced a scoff but the sincerity in his tone tugged at her. “Surely whatshisname’s wife will let me use their phone while he’s gone.”

  He matched her scoff with a bark of bitter laughter. “No, she won’t. Elena is the hard-ass in this partnership. Max is a great big puppy dog compared to that woman.”

  “Why do you care?”

  The challenge tweaked the thread of his control. “Because I made the mistake of getting out of my goddamn car.” A little fissure of pleasure traveled through her when his temper flared. “Because I’m the idiot who left my house tonight,” he continued. “The moron who let his grandmother set him up with one of her canasta buddy’s granddaughters. Any of those good enough reasons for you?” He clapped his hands like a Vegas dealer then held them up to show he was clear. “You know what? Fine. Have it your way. Just give me your name and contact information in case these cockamamy charges don’t go away.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Cockamamy? Did you just say cockamamy?”

  He headed for the driver’s door. “Let me just get a pen.”

  Backseat Bimbette started babbling the moment he opened the door, but he ignored her. Intrigued, Jessica took a step closer, hoping to pick up a thread of the conversation. Seconds later, he backed his way out of the low-slung cockpit with a notepad and pen in hand and slammed the door again.

  “Name?”

  “Jessica Vickers.” The response came automatically, a knee-jerk reaction to the command in his tone more than the question itself.

  “Telephone? Home or cell, whichever is best.”

  She shot him a level look. “I’ve had men ask a little more nicely.”

  “I could arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

  “Bull.” She arched her eyebrows. “Besides, that seems a waste of paperwork when this sounds like an open-and-shut case.”

  “Get in the car.”

  He growled the order and returned her stare without flinching. The man didn’t back down and he didn’t blow anyone off. She liked that about him. Stepping off the curb, she let her fingertips trail through the wet slush gathering on the hood as she made her way to the passenger door. “You’re a hell of a gumshoe, Detective.”

  His lips twitched and he met her gaze across the roof of the car. His steely eyes warmed again. A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Where were you when I was looking for a date for New Year’s Eve?”

  She opened the car door. “As far away from any canasta club as I could get.”

  Chapter Three

  They rode in silence for two whole blocks before Jessica turned to peek over the back of the seat. “I like the sweet apple flavor better. Have you tried that?”

  The question set Lang off like a bottle rocket. “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to encourage her?”

  Jessica shot him an exasperated glance. “I didn’t send her into the store to steal a pack of gum, if that’s what you’re implying. I’m only offering my opinion. The sweet apple is so much better than the strawberry delight.”

  Shifting his attention from his perplexing passenger, he darted a glance at the rearview mirror. Kirsten stared back at him, stony-faced. “Why would you steal a pack of gum? I would have given you the money.”

  “I have my own money,” she snapped.

  “But you chose not to use it, or you could only afford the soda?”

  Instead of answering, she cracked the seal on the cap. His gaze flew back to the mirror in time to see pouty pink lips close around the mouth of the bottle. He grimaced as she took a greedy swig, and for one brief, happy moment, he envisioned wrapping his hands around his date’s throat.

  “I don’t get it,” Jessica said.

  A puzzled frown creased her forehead, but the display of consternation only enhanced her beauty. Those chiseled cheekbones reminded him of the no-nonsense glamour of an old-time Hollywood movie star. Without the fire-engine red lipstick and overplucked eyebrows. He slowed at a red light and took the opportunity to get a better look at her. Her eyes were either light brown or hazel; it was hard to get a good read on them in the amber glow of the streetlights. A fringe of wet bangs lay plastered against her forehead. She pushed them back, but the impatience of the gesture seemed to be turned inward rather than at the woman sulking in the backseat.

  “Why did you take the gum?” She laced the question with just enough sympathetic curiosity to make him think she might actually coax an honest answer from Kirsten. His foot remained hard on the brake even though the light turned green.

  Kirsten’s mouth tightened as if she were repressing the urge to speak, but she refused to meet Jessica’s eyes. Close, but no dice.

  Lang stepped on the gas, throwing both women back in their seats. Seconds passed with only the muted growl of the engine and the pitter-patter of ice bombarding the windshield to break the silence.

  Then Kirsten spoke. “I hate first dates.”

  He swallowed a string of curses before settling on a
simple, “You and me both.”

  Jessica’s damp hair shussshed against the nylon shell of her parka as her head swiveled between him and his date. The look she gave him caused him to bite down on his tongue. He tasted the metallic tang of blood just before Kirsten spoke.

  “I do it every time.”

  The soft-spoken admission was almost lost in the whisper of slush beneath his tires, but Jessica caught her drift. “Do what every time? Swipe something?”

  A laugh that was more of a cough drifted from the backseat. “Started in high school. Dom Rubizzo asked me to go to the homecoming game, and I…I couldn’t believe he asked me.”

  Lang glanced at the mirror. The telltale sparkle of tears sheened Kirsten’s eyes. He clamped down on the surge of sympathy welling up inside him but let up on the gas.

  “We stopped at a gas station on the way. I took a candy bar.” Her breathy laugh echoed, weak and bitter. “I’m not sure why. I had money. The funny thing was, I was so nervous about the date, but once I took that candy bar…”

  He pressed the brake despite the fact that the light glared green. He caught Jessica’s gaze for a split second before she shifted her attention back to Kirsten and gave a slow nod of understanding. “You weren’t so nervous after that.”

  Lang hooked a right and cruised toward the station house in a more sedate state. He glanced into the rearview mirror. Kirsten stared out the side window, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her thick eyelashes batting fast and furiously.

  “You know the reason why isn’t going to matter to Max,” he warned. It was better for her to have a clear picture of her chances of escaping the charge.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I just… Don’t tell my grandmother, okay?”

  He turned into the parking lot adjacent to the precinct. Max stood waiting for them beside his luxury sedan, smiling almost gleefully at the prospect of pressing charges against a screwed-up young woman for stealing a buck-fifty pack of chewing gum. Lang pulled into a spot and killed the engine. Meeting Kirsten’s worried eyes in the mirror, he inclined his head in silent assent then turned to Jessica.

  “I exaggerated with Max. I was hoping he’d back off, but of course he won’t. I’m hoping this won’t take too long. At least, not on our end.” He shot the little man shivering in the sleet-covered parking lot a wry smile. “I’ll type up the statements and we can sign them and leave them with booking. As long as we have your contact information we should be okay.”

  When she nodded, he looked at Kirsten. “Who do you want me to call for you?”

  “My roommate.”

  She rattled off a phone number and he scribbled it into the notebook he’d used to scrawl Jessica’s information earlier. It wasn’t the number he wanted, but one way or another he’d get it. Reaching for the door handle, he sucked in a deep breath. “Come on. The sooner we get this started, the sooner we can all go home and sleep through the rest of the year.”

  * * *

  Lang Sheppard was even better looking when he wasn’t shivering in the icy rain trying not to arrest his date for the evening. He was also a big, fat liar.

  Hours crept past as Kirsten and Max sat at two different desks answering questions, and Jessica spent time twiddling her thumbs. She tried making small talk with the female officer Lang had corralled into taking her statement, but the poor woman was obviously swamped with work. As was everyone else in the crowded room. And proving he was the ultimate team player, Detective Dreamboat jumped in with both feet.

  He sat at a desk facing the wall, typing on a computer decorated with a printout of a cereal box with his face emblazoned on the front. Someone had crossed out the brand name and inked DATER in heavy black lines. The gist of the joke wasn’t hard to absorb. The guy was definitely good-looking enough to be a player.

  “I’m guessing the Wheaties box is meant to imply Detective Sheppard is a serial dater.”

  Officer Perkins didn’t look up from the paperwork spread across her desk but hummed an affirmation. Framed photographs nestled beside her monitor. Two grinning, semi-toothless faces beamed, cowlicks standing at full attention, eyes sparkling with mischief. Secure in the assumption that Officer Perkins was a woman accustomed to multi-tasking, Jessica asked the stupid question she couldn’t shake.

  “So he dates a lot, huh?”

  The other woman snorted, but the enthusiasm in her nod spoke volumes. “I lost count back in February.” She jerked a nod toward the detective at the desk beside Lang’s. “I think Manny has a running tally.”

  Disappointment formed a pool in the very pit of her stomach and she dove in. Mantra or not, there were certain parts of her that very much wanted to get involved with him. And she couldn’t just blame her lady bits, either. Her sucker heart fell for the nice guy, knight-errant shtick like a ton of bricks.

  Every. Damn. Time.

  “Kind of a player, huh?”

  Her assessment caught Officer Perkins’s full and undivided attention. She raised her head. “No, not a player. Lang’s too good a guy to be a player.”

  As if sensing the direction of their conversation, the man in question gathered his belongings and left his desk. He stopped to say a few quick words to Kirsten then nodded to Max. He smiled at his co-workers, patting shoulders and murmuring good-byes as he passed. Without fail, his every effort was met with warmth and appreciation. Not only from the women, but the men, too.

  She narrowed her eyes, grasping at objectivity while she watched him weave his way through the crowded room. Loose-limbed and fluid, he carried himself like an athlete. He even paused to exchange the occasional high five with a couple of his fellow detectives. But while he came across as the ultimate man’s man, it wasn’t until he held his palm out for the harried young reception clerk’s slap that the secret of his success with the opposite sex became apparent. Not only did he have the looks and the car, but when he chose to smile rather than scowl, the man wielded enough charm to be the champion of the serial dating world.

  Lang Sheppard was a guy through and through. That was obviously the crux and key to his success. He was in full command of all the annoying confidence and inescapable allure inherent to the breed. Any guy half as hot as Lang would have women flocking to him based on his looks alone. Add in the easy charm, sincerity and disarming flashes of warmth, and those women would morph into lambs just bleating to be led to the slaughter.

  “Lang’s more of a searcher,” Officer Perkins concluded, jolting Jessica from her thoughts.

  “A searcher? What do you mean?”

  There was no time for clarification. The man in question turned his lethal smile on her as he came to a stop beside her. Jessica curled her toes into the soles of her shoes and bit her cheek.

  “Ready?”

  She would have him jump-start her car and then she’d take off as fast and as furious as possible. She was not about to allow her affections to be fleeced by another opportunistic wolf. Not now. Not ever. Clutching the sides of the parka, she ducked her head against the blast of cold December wind that whooshed through the door he held for her.

  When his expressive eyes dropped to her crossed arms, she shrugged. “Zipper’s broken.”

  “Ahh.”

  The single syllable rolled at the back of his throat. The purr of it both aroused and annoyed her. Head held high, she strode past him into the frigid night. The bitter wind did nothing to cool the flames licking at her cheeks. “It’s my mom’s coat. I just grabbed whatever was hanging on the hook by the door.”

  “I see.”

  His complacent acceptance of her wardrobe failures was too much to bear. She skidded to a stop at the edge of the ice-coated steps. “I have a really nice one. Coat, I mean. One that’s not the color of your dream girl’s bubble gum.”

  “Can we just get to the car?” Irritation roughed the edges of his voice. Despite his request, she drew up short. His ears and cheeks were pink from either wind or embarrassment. The tiny muscle at his jaw jumped.

 
; “Sure.”

  And just like that, the easy smile he flashed all over the station house was back. “I’ve already frozen and thawed out once tonight. I’m not really in the market for a case of pneumonia.”

  The sidewalks were slick. That was the only reason she let him take her arm. Not that his shiny leather dress shoes were going to provide better traction than the ancient sneakers she’d pulled from the jumble by the back door. She skidded a bit when they reached the car. He slid his hand from her elbow to her waist, his fingers biting into the satin puffs of down as he held her steady.

  “Okay?” he asked, reaching for the door handle.

  She nodded her thanks and dropped gratefully onto the smooth leather seat with a resigned sigh. “Thank you.”

  Seconds later, he slipped into the driver’s seat and stabbed at the ignition. She turned to study his profile as they crept from the lot. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. She liked that he didn’t break, but in all honesty, she wouldn’t have minded a little babbling chitchat. The oppressive silence reminded her of the thick pauses that peppered her parents’ conversations in the months leading up to their divorce. Marshaling her courage, she gathered every nosy, intrusive question she wanted to ask him and tried to put them into order. She had only a few minutes to absorb enough information about him to satisfy her curiosity and possibly fuel a few no-harm-no-foul fantasies. She wanted to make the most of them.

  “So…a detective. Homicide?”

  He waved her guesses away. “No, I’m not the kind of detective you see on TV shows.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “The defective kind?”

  Another quick glance in her direction registered a glimmer of a smile. “Fraud.”

  “You’re a fake detective?” When he guffawed, she grinned, feeling victorious. “Did you order your badge off the internet?”

  He nodded, the lopsided smile lifting the right side of his mouth before the left caught up. The effect was freaking adorable. “Yes, from Cops’R’Us.” He shot her a sideling glance. “Don’t tell my grandmother.”