Stop in the Name of Love

by Nina Bruhns

  He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

  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.

  His job came first, and he didn’t want any woman to do battle with the nerves and anxiety of being with a man who put his life on the line every day.

  Like his mom.

  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.

  Chapter Seven

  Mary Alice stepped outside the house and gripped the porch rail nervously as 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—totally inappropriate thoughts. Her face heated just thinking about them.

  He parked her car in a shallow cutout scooped into the hillside a bit down the winding street. 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 her body moments ago 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 let her astonishment show. “So am I.” He wasn’t the type she’d expect to identify different types of roses.

  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 blossom, 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, and 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 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 salvaging 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.”

  His eyes widened and 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. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you didn’t,” he said, still chuckling. He propped himself against the column holding up the porch roof. He winked. “Shoes.”

  She honestly didn’t remember accepting his invitation, but she 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.”

  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 pick-up line he could possibly have come up with. And that 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 tucked into her usual hands-off up-do, 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 his unsubtle come-on. More than nice. In fact, it made him feel something he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember.

  Anticipation.

  Returning her key, he deliberately brushed his palm over 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.

  Nope. He just could not stop himself.

  Instead of helping her up, he tugged her gently into his arms. He needed to taste her. Now.

  She stared wide-eyed at his lips as he lowered them slowly toward her.

  Soft as the sigh that escaped her, he settled his mouth on hers. Unhurried and undemanding, he allowed him
self 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.

  For a split second, desire threatened to claw through his restraint.

  Goddamn 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 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. He winked, and said, “Just thought we’d get that over with.”

  Chapter Nine

  What had just happened?

  Mary Alice’s lips still tingled where Bridge’s had traveled over them. Her pulse skyrocketed. 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 middle word. “I…” Wow. “I guess that’s…sensible.”

  Sensible?

  Sensible? Who was she kidding? She’d count herself fortunate if she could 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 seriously misbehaving, 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.”

  Her mouth dropped open as the truck door slammed.

  Good lord. She could almost feel her halo slip.

  Chapter Ten

  The restaurant Bridge chose was a rambling rustic affair with a spangled sign boasting of the best steaks, ribs, and live country 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 a frown 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.”

  Mary Alice leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her laced fingers, undecided as to how annoyed she should be. “How?” she asked.

  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 gimme.”

  “Oh?”

  “Your lime sherbet.”

  She pursed her lips. Okay. Point to him. “Does anything ever get by you?”

  “Only if I let it.” He gave her a predatory look that made her insides shiver in delighted panic.

  For the first time in her life she felt singled out. Like a female cut from the herd for closer investigation by a dangerous male.

  Her late fiancé didn’t count, of course. She and Jack had practically grown up in each other’s pockets. And if anyone had done any singling out it had been her father. Jack had always been like a son to her dad. She’d loved Jack for his goodness and unflagging loyalty and how he’d always seemed to know how to make her smile. But, despite being a cop, Jack had been the least dangerous man she’d ever known.

  Not so, Russell Bridger. One look in those dark, beckoning eyes, and a woman knew she didn’t stand a chance against his bad boy appeal. Not that she would want anything he might be offering. She had her Master List all carefully planned, and starting a relationship was way down around number twenty-five. A one-night-stand? Not even on it.

  “Shall we get our salads?” he suggested.

  The buffet was huge, and with Bridge’s advice on the best selections, she loaded her plate with a sample of every imaginable concoction, from carrot salad to caviar. Then, as they ate, she told him of her job at the nursery school, and they laughed over stories about the antics of her kids.

  “Sounds like a great job,” he said, chuckling.

  “It is. I love it.”

  “But I’m wondering why some lucky guy hasn’t married you and given you a dozen kids of your own by now.”

  She toyed with her fork for a moment, testing the feelings his question aroused. Sadness. Regret. Still a little anger. But surprisingly, not the misery and longing she had felt for so long after Jack’s death. Those terrible emotions which had kept her alone and hiding out with just her job and her roses for company, steadfastly ticking off items on her Master List, for fear of repeating the hurt with someone else.

  “My fiancé was killed three years ago,” she said quietly.

  He winced. “Damn. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up something unpleasant.”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay. He was a police officer, gunned down in the line of duty. It was rough, but I’ve gotten through it.” She studied her fork. “In any case, I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  She glanced up, surprised. Had she spoken out loud? He had a puzzled look on his face, so she lifted a shoulder. “Loving a cop. Dating a cop. Ever looking at a cop again. Take your pick.”

  A stab of shock flashed through his eyes, but his expression was back in neutral so fast she thought she must have been mistaken.

  “A wise decision, I’m sure,” he said.

  She paused while the waiter exchanged empty salad plates for sizzling platters. “So, what about you?”

  “What about me?” He avoided eye contact as he dug into his meal.


  She almost laughed at his valiant attempt to hide his discomfort at the direction of their conversation. She was pretty sure this must be where most women Bridge dated got all starry-eyed about marriage and family and how he must surely want one. And where he ran for the hills. Little did he know, between the two of them she’d be running the fastest.

  Nabbing a grilled shrimp by the tail, she bit it off and savored the delicious tang. “Why don’t you have a wife and a dozen kids?” She paused, suddenly alarmed. Oh, shit. “Or maybe you do?”

  He held up both hands. “Nope. Not me. Not a wife and kids kind of guy.”

  Ah. There it was, just as predicted.

  She should be glad. Getting involved was definitely not what she wanted. She should be greatly relieved they were on the same page.

  So, where had that sudden stab of disappointment come from?

  “I see,” she said.

  He cut her a look, as if to gauge how she’d taken it. “I don’t have much to offer a family in the way of security. My job—” His words halted abruptly. Then he shrugged. “No woman should have to put up with my lifestyle.”

  “Construction?” she said dryly. “I’d think that would be fairly stable.”

  For a moment he looked nonplussed. Then he shrugged again. “I just hold the stop sign. No building skills involved. Not exactly recession-proof,” he finally said, turning back to his dinner.

  Could anyone really be that devoid of ambition? He didn’t exactly look like the typical California surfer dude…but looks could be deceiving, she supposed.

  “Why do you do it, then?” She waved a cherry tomato on her fork. “Holding up a stop sign doesn’t really seem like the kind of job a man of your intelligence would choose.” He was obviously no idiot, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him.

  “It’s sort of temporary,” he said around a mouthful of barbecued rib.

  She picked up her margarita. “Oh? Did you get laid off?”

  His eyes met hers, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Not recently.” He waggled his brows mischievously.

  She took a sip of her drink and shook a bemused finger at him. “I might have to get out the soap for that kind of talk, young man.”