by Fowler, Teri
Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2013 Teri Fowler
ISBN: 978-1-77130-614-0
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Karyn White
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ONE NIGHT IN HIS CUSTODY
Teri Fowler
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
She couldn't take her eyes off the uniform. A policeman's uniform. One with more than six feet of blond, heavily muscled male inside it. Olivia Fitzgerald allowed her gaze to travel over the constable's broad shoulders and down his long back to the place where his jacket hid his bum, and she heaved a little sigh. She would have liked to have seen his bum.
The sound of a high-pitched squeal beside her made Olivia turn around too fast and sent her already tipsy brain into a sickening spin. She was having trouble remembering why she'd agreed to come along on Stella's hen night. The indignity of having to wear the fairy costume—sparkly pink, flashing neon deely-boppers and all—had been bad enough. Now, half a dozen tequila slammers and countless shots of the syrupy sweet rocket fuel Stella had kept forcing on her, churned in Olivia's stomach. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself. Stella put her hands somewhere else.
“Do that again, and you'll be arrested,” the policeman said as he turned to face Stella, his attention rudely diverted from Karen, the very drunk middle-aged fairy slumped against the wall, to the younger and slightly less sozzled fairy who had just groped his arse. And then his gaze landed on Olivia.
“Liv?”
She squinted up into the copper's face, wondering how he knew her, her tummy clenching a little at the sound of his deep, authoritative voice. An image of him pressing her against the wall, his handcuffs around her wrists, and his body leaning into hers as he muttered her name, flashed into her mind. Since when had she been kinky for policemen?
“Michael? Is that you?”
Michael Williams had been smiling down at her until she'd spoken, but then a small frown creased his handsome brow and chased the humor from his face. “I see it didn't take you long to forget me.”
“I haven't forgotten you.” Olivia took a wonky step backwards and grabbed for his arm as he reached out to help her. “I just can't really see you properly. I've lost my steptacles.”
Michael reached up, plucked something from her hair and handed it to her. “Your 'steptacles' were on your head.”
“Sorry.” Olivia took the glasses from him and slid them up her nose. She'd been looking for those bloody things since she got some glitter in her eye and had been forced to take her contact lenses out. Able to see Michael clearly now, Olivia almost wanted to take them off again—that way, she wouldn't feel like shriveling under his disapproving, icy green stare. She puffed out her chest, and pulled herself up to her full five feet two, trying to look as composed as one could in a pink tutu. “I'm ... I'm a tittle lipsy...”
“You mean, a little tipsy?”
“Yeah.” She hiccupped and slapped her hand over her mouth. “Excuuuse me.”
A grin creased his cheek for a fleeting second, but then he got serious. Olivia wished he'd smile at her again. She'd always loved his smile. She'd loved him, too, a long time ago, but he hadn't loved her back.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Too much.”
“You don't say?” Michael grabbed her around the upper arm and tugged her away from her group of friends. “Don't you know how dangerous it is to get yourself in this condition? Especially in this town. It's full of students and rugby players who get drunk and stupid at the weekends—”
“Like the way you used to?”
He shrugged. “Okay, you got me. When I played rugby, I used to get drunk and stupid, too. But things are different now.”
“Maybe I fancy meeting a drunk rugby player. Isn't that how I met you?”
“And look how well that turned out.”
Olivia stared up at him, the cruelty of his words hitting her like a slap in the face. She adjusted her glasses, pushing them up the bridge of her nose as she blinked away the urge to cry, determined not to let him see he'd hurt her.
“Sorry. That was an idiotic thing to say. What I meant was, this town isn't as safe as it used to be.”
“Well maybe I don't want to be safe.” Olivia tossed back her hair in a gesture of defiance, sending herself into a sickening tailspin. After a dizzying few seconds, when the shops and the buildings surrounding them stopped whizzing through her line of vision like she was on a carousel, she found herself facing Michael again, her fingers clutching onto the fabric of his jacket.
Irritation blazed in his eyes for a fleeting second, but then he seemed to shrug it away. “Everybody except you and your friends has had the sense to go home.”
He turned at the sound of a police car approaching, raising a hand in acknowledgement as a colleague rolled down the window and asked if he was okay. Michael dismissed them with wave. “Yes, these ladies are done for the night.”
“Who says?”
Olivia had forgotten how bossy he could be at times. She struggled out of his grasp and shoved at his chest, but he didn't budge an inch and her effort did no more than send her sprawling across the pavement. Michael rushed to pick her up, and she was just reaching for his hands when a screeching banshee dressed like a fairy, or something just as terrifying, landed on his back.
Karen locked her arms around Michael's shoulders. “Leave my friend alone! You're only picking on her because she's black!”
Olivia tried to tell Karen that Michael wasn't like that ... that he didn't have a prejudiced bone in his body. But then Stella joined in, taking a wild swing and knocking Michael's helmet off his head just as he straightened up and shrugged Karen off his back as if she weighed no more than the fairy she was dressed as.
“That's it! You're nicked!” Michael's colleague appeared from what seemed like nowhere and dragged Stella off, pinning her against the police car as he handcuffed her. Michael grabbed Karen, leading her over towards his colleague, both of her wrists trapped in one of his hands as he groped at his belt and pulled out his own set of cuffs.
Liv got to her feet, the shock of what was happening not quite chasing away her jealousy at seeing Michael manhandle and handcuff Karen. Why didn't I think of knocking his hat off? His thighs were pressed against Karen's bum, his body leaning into hers as he held the loudly protesting woman against the car and used his free hand to talk into the radio at his collar.
Karen and Stella were bundled into the back of the car, and Olivia found it strange to watch their mouths working furiously but not be able to hear what they were saying through the closed windows. She turned, hoping the rest of the hen party might have some idea what in the hell they were all supposed to do now, but found she was the only one left. Everyone else had gone.
Michael tugged on her arm, dragging her attention away from the deserted street her friends had mostly likely disappeared down. “Get in a taxi and go home.”
“No! I want to go with my friends.”
“Well, you can't. They've been arrested. Go home.” Michael turned as if dismissing her, and began talking to the officer in the front passenger seat.
So that is it? He is just going to disappear again,
like he had before, without sparing me a thought?
“No!”
Her scream held all of the pent-up fury he'd denied her the right to vent when he'd left her without warning all those years ago. Olivia kicked off her shoes and scrambled onto the bonnet of the car, dodging Michael's grasping hands and the shouts of the people inside the vehicle.
Michael cast an anxious glance toward his boss. “Liv, please don't make me arrest you.”
She heaved herself onto the roof, kicking at Michael as he grabbed for her ankles. One of his hands wrapped around her shin, and she tried to weld her palms to the smooth metal of the car to help her resist Michael's strength, but to no avail. Olivia lost her grip as he reeled her in, his hands working their way up her legs using her ankles, knees, thighs and finally her hips. She gasped as his weight pressed her torso flat across the bonnet of the car, and Michael's hands closed around her waist. He hauled her body backwards to rest against his, adjusting his grip when she began to squirm and kick.
“Stop!” he hissed in her ear as he trapped her wrists in one of his hands and used the other to push her down on the car, like he had Karen. Olivia tried fight back, wiggling the only part of her body he didn't have under control. She thrust back with her hips, shoving her bum into his pelvis.
Her soft flesh met the hard planes of his groin with a satisfying thud, and she grinned in satisfaction when she heard him groan quietly and mutter a curse under his breath. Her smile slipped when he pushed back a moment later, and what could only be his truncheon, or something similarly as long and hard, pressed into the crease of her backside.
The sergeant rolled down the window of the squad car. “You want me to wait while I send another car round for her?”
Michael took a step back, pulling her with him and making her stand up. “This is a personal matter, Sarge. If it's okay with you, I'll just make sure she gets home.” He tugged on her arms again, probably too gently for anyone but her to know it, and the hard ridge in his pants brushed her buttocks once more. “Promise my sergeant that you're gonna behave yourself and he might take pity on you and let you go with a warning.”
“Criminal damage is a serious matter, young lady. Consider yourself lucky that you didn't do any real harm to my squad car, and that my constable is prepared to vouch for you.”
The sergeant frowned at her in the same way her father always had when she was naughty as a kid, and Olivia felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment. Up until recently, she'd been the personal assistant to the head of a multi-national corporation, for God's sake. What was she doing standing in the street, being restrained by one policeman while another chastised her for attacking his car?
“I'm really very sorry. I'll be good.” Her eyes started to sting, and for a dreadful moment, Olivia thought she might burst into tears. But they were forgotten a second later when Michael pressed against her again and leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“Do you promise to be a good girl?”
Olivia nodded vigorously, wondering at the slight edge to Michael's voice that made her feel he'd meant some other way entirely. She turned as he let her go. “I'm usually a good girl.”
Michael waved the squad car off, wrapping a large hand around her upper arm and turning her towards the pavement. “Too good for me.”
“That's not how it felt at the time.” Olivia sat on a bench, not because she wanted to, just because it happened to be behind her when she lost her balance. It seemed like the ideal time to put her shoes back on.
Michael pulled her to her feet when she was done. “Well, let's just say there's a lot you don't know about me, and leave it at that. This isn't the time or place for a serious discussion. And you're in no fit state to understand what I'd have to say. Now where do you live?”
“Down there.” She pointed in the general direction of the town's high street, feeling no need to tell him she lived in the row of period cottages just beyond the bend. Michael's brow creased again as he frowned at her once more.
“Why are you lying? If you've been living here since we split, I'm pretty sure I'd have seen you around.”
“I've only just moved back.”
“So where were you living before?” Michael gestured in the direction she'd pointed earlier and set off in long strides. Olivia almost had to break into a run to keep up with him.
“London.”
“Ah, that explains the drastic fashion makeover. You look great, by the way.”
“Yeah, right!” She tried to yank her tutu down a little, to cover more of her thighs. Olivia wished more than ever now that she'd insisted on wearing the flimsy wraparound shift she'd bought to wear to the hen night before Stella had informed her it was fancy dress. But it was probably for the best that she hadn't worn it because it might well have been ruined by the night's craziness. It had cost almost a month's wages and, like almost everything in her wardrobe, bore an exclusive designer label. Olivia had always been conscious of her lack of height, mostly because everyone she dealt with had a tendency to baby her due to the fact she was short. Designer clothes that made the most of her slight curves, paired with killer heels that added a few inches to her height, were her way of reminding everyone she was a grown up. And a damned sexy one at that ... or so she liked to think.
“So what brings you back to town?”
“That's a long story, and I don't have the energy to tell it.” She stopped to rest a palm against the wall, puffing a little from the effort of staying upright and walking fast. “Do you mind if we slow down a bit?”
“Sorry.”
Olivia fell into step beside him again, finding it much easier to walk and talk now he'd stopped marching her through the streets. Her stomach dropped at the realization that she should at least ask him about his personal life, and she tried to prepare herself for whatever the answer might be.
“So, what about you. Married? Kids?”
Michael shook his head. “No.”
“I find that hard to believe. A good looking guy like you, and a policeman at that, is still single after all these years?”
“Sad but true.”
“You must have a girlfriend at least?”
Michael shook his head. “Not in a long time. There's been nobody serious since ... well, ages.”
Olivia watched the flush spread over his cheeks and wondered what he'd stopped himself saying. He'd always kept his emotions buried deep inside, which is why she'd had the feeling she never really knew him. She'd never doubted he cared for her though, and the fact he'd always refused to have sex with her had hurt more than just her ego.
Her mum had suggested, after they'd split, that he might have been struggling with his sexuality. Olivia had dismissed it at the time, certain in her teenage heart that she would have known ... but now, she wasn't so sure. There was no way a guy as gorgeous as Michael would still be single after all this time.
“I've got to ask you something.”
“Okay.” He stopped walking, as if sensing the question she was about to ask him required his full attention.
“Are you gay?”
He stared down at her a moment, his green eyes almost hidden under the shadow of his helmet, although the streetlamp overhead cast just enough light that she could see him frown. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered. I mean, it would make sense. You're still single, against the odds, and you never wanted to ... have sex, with me.”
“Who said I didn't want to?”
“You acted that way.”
Michael sighed. “Stopping myself from doing it isn't the same as not wanting to.”
“It felt the same to me.”
He turned back towards her house and began to walk again. “That's the reason I ended it between us. I couldn't put a name to what I felt at the time, and it's taken years for me to understand it and to come to terms with it. But, take my word, I am not gay, and you were not the reason we split.”
Olivia grabbed his arm and tried to turn him around to face her. “Then
what was? Don't you think you owe me an explanation?”
“No, I don't. I told you what I knew to be true at the time. Anything that's happened since is nothing to do with you.”
Tact had never been one of Michael's strong suits, and Olivia was relieved to find that his blunt words did not hurt her as they had earlier. She felt strangely comfortable in his presence, despite the circumstances of their meeting and the topic of their conversation. His brusque manner just made her feel more connected to the Michael she once knew. And she had the same urge now as she'd always had—to rattle his reserve.
“So, don't you want to know whether I've got someone special in my life?”
“I would assume not. No self-respecting man would let his woman roam the streets drunk and alone at this time of the morning.”
Olivia groaned and raised her eyes skyward, reminded once more how old fashioned he could be. “Sorry to break it to you, but it's 2013. Women are allowed to drive and even carry their own money these days, Michael.”
“Sorry.”
“And it's a bit insulting that you assume I'm single. Just because you didn't want to fuck me you think it means nobody else does either.”
Where in the hell did that come from? Olivia was almost as surprised as Michael looked.
“Don't talk like that!”
“I can talk any damn way I want. Besides, it's true.”
Michael grabbed her wrist and spun her towards him. “Or maybe I just don't like thinking of you fucking someone else, has that occurred to you?”
Olivia tried to steady her voice, ignoring the way her body reacted instantly to his touch, and how insanely happy she was that she could still make him jealous. “Why would you care?”
She watched a muscle tick in his jaw and knew he was fighting for restraint. His nostrils flared as he let out a long, deep breath and let go of her, and Olivia knew he'd won the battle to control his emotions. “You're right. I don't care. I apologize for my outburst.”
