by Maggie Way
She regarded him with dark mistrust. Smart girl.
“I have your panties with me. Would you like them back now or shall I hold onto them for later?”
She choked on a chip.
“You were in such a hurry to get dressed, you must’ve forgotten all about them.”
Her kissable mouth moved with little pinches and odd twitches while she struggled to find and form words. Insults she wished to hurl at him, most likely.
Except she didn’t.
In a flash of movement, she bounded from the booth. He shifted his weight to block her retreat and startled Tootsie Pop-brown eyes flew to his face.
He braced for her retribution. Would it be a cool dressing-down or a fiery tongue-lashing? He hoped the latter.
Instead, her expression crumpled and she shoved her way past him.
Disappointment and something like regret sliced through him. He turned in the direction she fled.
“Hey.”
Luke looked down at Noah’s hand clamped on his arm.
“Are you two going to be able to play nice?” Worry shimmered in Noah’s dark eyes.
“No worries, brother.” A practiced smile twisted Luke’s lips. “I always play nice.”
Chapter Six
Emily banged through the back door and burst into the parking lot. A wall of humidity smacked into her. Clouds had rolled in with the night and a light, warm mist kissed her skin.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
She knew he’d followed her even before she whirled on him. “Wh-why did y-y-you do that?”
“Tell me why you don’t like me.”
“I didn’t start this, y-y-y-you did. Y-you’ve hated m-me from the b-beginning.”
His hard expression splintered. “That’s not true.”
“It is.” She loathed the ring of anguish in her voice. “Why are y-you so against m-m-m-me?”
His hand came up and she shrunk back.
Green eyes locked on to hers, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he showed her his palms.
She sucked large a gulp of air into her lungs while her fingers grappled for the pendant around her neck.
With a soft, soothing sound, he slipped closer. “I’m sorry.”
His hand slid beneath the curtain of her hair and she tilted her head toward his touch. He kneaded her nape.
Rain began to fall in a steady patter and the wet seeped into her clothes. Soon, her muscles eased under his warm caress.
“I am not against you.” He spoke softly next to her ear.
“Y-you pulled me over three times in four days.”
A lock of his dark hair, now heavy with dampness, fell across his forehead. “I was curious about you. So I made up reasons to pull you over and talk to you.”
Shock siphoned the stinging frustration from her and she peered to his eyes, searching for the truth of his words. The intensity in their green depths pulled her in and swept her out to sea.
Many long moments passed before she was able to unscramble any words. “W-will you stop?”
“Yes. I promise.” He untangled his hand from under her hair. “Is that it? Is that why you don’t like me?”
At the hitch of vulnerability in his voice, her heart constricted. She shook her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
She startled at the desperate ring in his tone.
“Please.” He took a measured step back. “I want to know.”
Her gaze fell to his throat. “Sometimes… you m-m-make me feel…”
“What? What do I make you feel?”
Her hand flitted over her collarbone. “Sometimes y-you make me feel s-stupid.”
A slash of devastation that ripped across his face. “My God, Emily. How could you think that?”
“Y-you’re always laughing at m-m-me.”
A curse slipped from his lips and he shoved a hand through his wet hair so that it stood on end. “It’s just… teasing. I’m so sorry.”
She’d never seen him so serious. So distressed. A bone-deep weariness clung to the area around his eyes, and the feeling struck her that she was seeing him for the first time. The real Luke.
His shoes scraped across gravel when he moved closer once more. “Please believe me when I say I’ve thought a lot of things about you, but stupid was never one of them. Not even close.”
His words shone like a light, banishing the shadow of pain from her heart.
“I b-b-believe you.”
A breath shuddered through him. “Thank you.”
She licked her dry lips. “Wh-what other thoughts?”
A wrinkle puckered between his eyebrows.
“Y-you said you’ve had a lot of thoughts… about me. Wh-what other thoughts?”
With a sardonic smile, he dropped his head and studied the ground. “You don’t want to know about those.”
“I do.” The words burst from her. “I really do.”
His gaze roamed over her face, and heated. “They’re bad thoughts.”
“Bad thoughts?”
“Downright wicked.”
A bevy of butterflies tickled her stomach. “Wicked?”
His eyelids grew heavy. “If I told you, you’d have more than enough reasons to hate me.”
“Hate you?”
“Why are you repeating everything I say?”
She gave another shake of her head. “I d-don’t know.” The lie fell easily from her lips.
It was a habit. A trick she’d learned early on to help her speak clear, stutter-free words, or to buy herself time when the words wouldn’t come.
But she didn’t want to talk about her childhood coping mechanisms. “I don’t think I would hate y-you.”
An odd mix of confusion and resolve played across his features. “I can’t stop thinking about you—picturing you—” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Naked.”
Heat swept through her, but she quickly snuffed the pleasant lick of fire. “Y-you’re teasing m-me now?”
His perfect features softened. “No, Emily, I’m not teasing you now.” His fingertips brushed across her cheek. “I wish I were.”
Molten liquid spread from the tips of his fingers on her skin to her belly.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and his lips parted.
She slanted toward his warmth. Large raindrops plopped on her face when she lifted her mouth up to his.
He bent his head low and her heart thrashed against her breastbone.
Then his lips brushed hers in a feather-light kiss.
She held herself still, unsure what to do. He nibbled her bottom lip, taking soft little tastes of her, and her world tilted with a dizzying swoop. To steady herself, she clutched his shoulders.
With a gentle nudge, his tongue explored, and when she opened for him, he licked inside.
Before Luke, she’d kissed exactly one man. Those kisses, from her college boyfriend, Joshua, were soft and warm and neat. They were nice kisses, if a little stiff and awkward.
What Luke Nolan’s mouth was doing to hers could not be described as nice. Or awkward. It was naughty, but tender. Part apology and part promise. With each caress of his tongue, a riptide of emotion whipped through her.
Her heart banged against her breastbone, and despite her inexperience, she took her first, tentative taste of him with her tongue. A moan slipped from her at the delicious thrill of it.
The kiss changed and his mouth moved over hers with a possessiveness that sent her heart soaring.
She didn’t understand what was happening to her, or why Luke Nolan was kissing her. He didn’t like her, and truth be told, she didn’t like him all that much either. Except she really, really liked what his mouth was doing to hers.
How did one simple kiss make her forget everything that had come before it? Or maybe she just didn’t care. As long as he kept kissing her like he’d die without her, she’d be content if he hated her for all eternity.
His large hand on the curve of her hip
inched higher and slipped beneath the hem of her blouse. His warm, calloused palm smoothed up her side. She arched toward his touch.
He made a sound at the back of his throat and cupped her breast. She nearly cried out with surprise, and joy, and a desperate plea for more. The pad of his thumb skimmed across her nipple and arousal spiraled through her. She pulled his tongue into her mouth, swallowing his moan.
Up until that moment, kissing, like sex, had confused her. Sometimes it was nice, but mostly it was just awkward, and by the time it was all said and done, she was left wondering what the hubbub was all about.
With Luke, there was no room to wonder, or to think at all. Hunger seared her and she grasped at him, wanting to crawl inside of him, or on top of him. She’d have gone with him as far as he’d have taken her, all the way to the end if that’s what he’d wanted.
But on a ragged gasp, he broke the kiss. He cupped her head in his shaking hands and pressed his forehead to hers. They didn’t speak, but only breathed together.
It was the most special kiss of her life. The most special, intimate moment with a man that she’d ever experienced.
So naturally, he had to ruin it.
He pulled back and looked down at her. Confusion, or pain, furrowed his brow and he blinked several times until the pucker smoothed away.
Then she watched, with a sinking heart, as smug satisfaction chased the heat from his face. “So, how do you like me now?”
The haze of her arousal evaporated. Had their kiss been a joke to him? Just an escalation to this ridiculous game they were playing? She couldn’t believe that, but neither could she think clearly enough to recall and dissect all that’d been said between them in the lead up to that kiss.
Rather than let him see how his words stung, she arranged her features into her best imitation of bored disinterest. “You’re a p-pretty good kisser, I guess.”
His easy smile suffered a crack. “I’m a great kisser.”
She lifted one shoulder. “You’re all right.”
She took a moment to enjoy his look of outrage before brushing by him. “Next time, try a little less tongue. Y-you were getting kind of sloppy there towards the end.”
He turned with her. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”
“That’s because I couldn’t speak w-with your tongue down my throat.”
“That kiss was better than all right, Emily, and you know it.”
Ignoring how the way he said her name turned her insides to liquid, she chuckled. “If that’s what you want to believe, I won’t burst your bubble.”
Damn him, he laughed. Not with cruelty, but almost as if he was enjoying this… this… whatever this was they were doing.
“No vibrator is going to kiss you like that.”
Her jaw clenched tight, she faced him fully.
His expression turned expectant, hopeful even. Yep, he was definitely enjoying this. Who did he think she was? One of his brazen bombshells?
She met his gaze squarely and spoke with a strength and clarity she’d only ever imagined. “Your date must be wondering where you are.”
A fierce scowl twisted the features of his too-beautiful face. She left him staring after her.
Chapter Seven
His name was Max Foley.
“M-M-Max Foley.” Emily felt his name on her tongue. “M-Max. M-Max.”
Her first guest, he’d reside in a tiny corner of her heart until the end of her days.
Also, he was the perfect distraction from the memory of Luke’s hungry green gaze devouring her naked body or his hot mouth on hers—was it only three days ago?
She had no idea how they’d gone from arguing to kissing and back to arguing in only a matter of minutes. The whiplash left her sore and aching.
She should’ve known better than to dally with someone like him. Though oh-so-tempting, Luke Nolan was a billion light years out of her league. She’d known it the first moment she laid eyes on his too-beautiful face a year ago. Pleasant to look at, but not for her.
Okay, pleasant was a bit of an understatement. Seriously, who looked like that? So perfectly perfect and symmetrical? He shone bright like the sun, and lingering too long in his presence only guaranteed her a blistering sunburn.
As she readied the home’s largest bedroom, which boasted a fireplace with a carved wood mantel and a balcony with a panoramic view of Lake Michigan, she continued to practice enunciating Max’s name, and other phrases she’d likely need to speak to him.
She flung open the balcony doors to let in the summer air and performed a quick sweep of the room to remove dust and provide fresh linens. In the garden off the kitchen, she’d gathered a bouquet of buttery yellow ranunculus and purple phlox, and arranged them in a white pitcher, which she left on the bedside table.
Downstairs, she removed a package of premade cookie dough from the refrigerator and arranged clumps of dough on a cookie sheet while the oven preheated. Cookies baking, she moved to the living room at the front of the house.
“M-Max. Max. Max.”
Sunlight streamed in through the oversized windows running across the front of the house. She fluffed the pillows on the overstuffed cotton sofa and coordinating armchairs, and kneeled before the whitewashed wooden coffee table to arrange the stack of Michigan-themed picture books she’d found in the home’s library.
She bent to retrieve her dust rag when, with a thunderous crash, the front window exploded.
She dropped to her stomach on the floor and slung her arms over her head as a spray of glass rained down on her. Huddled on her knees, she peeked out from under her arms as a rock the size of a softball rolled to a stop a mere six inches from her face.
Luke tugged a T-shirt over his head and zipped the fly of his blue jeans. Running late to meet up with Noah and Shea, he shoved his police uniform into his bag and headed for the station’s locker room exit.
A headache throbbed between his eyes, no doubt caused by the inner battle he waged against not only the dark memories, but now, too, the memory of the taste of Emily bursting on his tongue.
It was just a kiss, he told himself. Yet again.
But holy fuck, what a kiss. It was as if he’d been living with an eternal cold, which had rendered all food tasteless and odorless, and one small dose of Emily Cole had healed him. Flavor had erupted back into his life, and right about then, he’d felt it.
The pull of her heart.
It’d been unmistakable. Undeniable. And, well shit, it’d messed with his already messed up head. He didn’t go around collecting women’s hearts, let alone giving his away. Not anymore.
Years before, he’d learned his lesson the hard way, but truthfully, he shouldn’t have had to. He’d watched love destroy his dad. The man had been madly in love with Luke’s mother, and when she died, he drowned in the grief. Love made him weak and he’d spiraled out of control, ultimately succumbing to the twisted coding of his DNA.
Luke couldn’t let that happen to him. He couldn’t afford to fall in love with a woman. Especially now, with the torments from That Day constantly badgering him. Exhausting him. Weakening him. He had to stay vigilant. He had to keep his self-control.
At his computer, he logged out, capping off another red-letter day, the highlight being a domestic disturbance call at the Millers’ residence. When Luke had arrived at the couple’s home, the missus was en route to the hospital, having been beaten unconscious by the mister again. He arrested the husband, but hours later when the wife came to, she refused to press charges and he was forced to let the bastard go.
At his desk, Sloane held the phone to his ear. “What’s the address?” He scribbled on a pad of paper.
Luke didn’t like Justin Sloane. Hadn’t liked him from the first moment he’d met him when he hired in to the island department a few months ago. It’d been apparent from the very beginning that Sloane, the son of a judge, wore the uniform more to bolster his fragile ego than to serve the ideals of justice and order. Didn’t help he was hired to replace
Anthony.
“We’ll send someone over to take a look.” Sloane banged the receiver into its cradle. “Sh-sh-shit, that was painful.”
Luke stilled. “What’s up?”
Sloane scratched his forehead with the eraser tip. “Just a broken-out window and a freaked-out homeowner.” He reached for the dispatch radio. “I’m gonna put Newberry on it.”
Luke sidled closer to Sloane’s desk, close enough to make out the street name of the address he’d written down. “You know what, I’ll take this one.” He kept his tone casual, in contrast to his thundering heart.
Sloane paused with his hand on the radio and regarded Luke with narrowed eyes. “Newberry can handle it.”
“I worked a vandalism case last month.” Luke rolled his shoulders. “Maybe there’s a connection. I should check it out, just to be sure.”
Sloane tore the sheet with Emily’s address from the notepad and handed it over. Luke snagged it and headed for the exit.
“Start with the neighbors,” Sloane called after him. “I bet one of them has a ten-year-old missing his baseball.”
Luke raised a hand. “I’ll do that.”
“H-h-have f-f-f-fun.”
He stumbled to a stop. His hands balled into fists, and then slowly, he turned. “You think that’s funny?”
The greasy smile slid from Sloane’s lips. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Luke’s teeth ached with the effort to hold himself back.
What was he doing? He didn’t have time for Sloane.
Emily needed him.
Shards of broken glass sparkled in the sunlight as Emily dragged the broom across the hardwood floor and swept another pile of fragments into a dustpan. The sheer curtains danced in the breeze flowing freely through the fractured hole in the window.
A crunch of gravel carried to her from outside and she straightened to see the white SUV with dark green lettering roll to stop in front of the house. The engine fell quiet and Luke bounded from the car.
