Down & Dirty: Romantic Suspense Series (Dirty Deeds Book 3)

by AJ Nuest

  Maybe he should turn in his badge while he was at it. Some top-notch detective he made. In less time than it had taken him to process the damage Tanner had sustained in that fire, every preconceived notion scrambling through his head had been shot straight to shit.

  Sparing a glance toward the bleached landscape outside the front window, he dipped a nod and strode toward the fireplace, lowering to his haunches and banking the fire before adding a few extra logs for good measure.

  She’d proven him wrong. In so many ways, he’d lost count. From the very beginning, he should’ve realized there was more behind her insistence she head up Trey’s case than some stupid campaign to show everyone she was qualified to handle the job.

  She was stronger than that. Smarter and more complicated. After the years he’d dedicated to working narcotics, he should’ve known she had solid reasons for ignoring his warnings other than just trying to piss him off.

  “…it’s amazing to me what lengths people will go to at the thought of losing someone…”

  The two of them were more alike than he could’ve ever imagined, and whatever she was doing to him, the effects were causing a serious problem he couldn’t shake.

  Every time he got within eyeshot of her, the connections in his brain misfired. He did things. Said things he normally wouldn’t say. He acted on impulse instead of backing off from her like he should.

  Given the way she’d infiltrated his bloodstream, steering clear of her until he could think his way through the mess they were in was gonna be harder than recoding his own DNA.

  The shower started in the bathroom, and he jacked to his feet, shooting a scowl toward the only—and hangin’ wide open—door he’d installed in the twelve-hundred-foot cabin.

  No, dammit. At the very least, she should’ve pushed the knob closed. At best, setting the lock would’ve been the smarter move. Didn’t she have any idea what the visual of her being wet and naked in the shower could do to a guy? Good Christ, he was halfway to hard at the thought.

  He cocked a brow. But she’d known. The moment he’d finished taping her up and their eyes had met, the way her nails had dug into his shoulder as she’d studied his face. Every mistake he’d ever made had been hers for the taking.

  She’d picked up on his grief. On his torment over how he’d flapped his gums too much in the past. She’d picked up on it even as she’d set it aside.

  For her to turn around and strip down with that door hanging open as if she hadn’t cracked him open like an egg meant she was up to something. And if he had to guess, it was no good. The woman didn’t have the smallest clue the trouble she was asking for in setting that invitation on the table. Especially after the way he’d all but devoured her at the wedding, and even more so when it came to that soul-wrenching kiss he’d laid on her in the kitchen.

  Snatching his cell from under the chair, he crammed it in his back pocket and headed straight for where he’d dumped her bags near the mat. He swore to high holy Christ, there wasn’t a person alive who knew how to make his teeth grind the way she did. The last thing he needed was her getting some screwy idea about walking out of there wrapped in a towel. Or, worse yet, wearing nothing at all.

  Emotionally, she already had him stepping out of formation to be bound and gagged. Maintaining what little physical distance remained between them was the last line of defense that he had.

  His socks hit the cool texture of the slate tiles, and he pulled up short by the linen closet, leaning to the side for a quick shot at the frosted glass running the length of the tub.

  Fuck. Even with the foggy view, the semi packed in front of his boxer briefs ran out of space.

  Head tipped back, arms lifted to run her fingers through her hair, she stood under the spray as a layer of foam caressed her sweet ass, the scent of her warm skin assaulting his senses as steam rolled through the air.

  Damn, he’d forgotten she smelled like an island paradise. The way he wanted to bathe in it. Forget who he was for two miserable seconds so he could drink her in.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, stomach tightening against a groan. But that didn’t do squat for stopping a wide array of pornographic images from hitting his brain, all of which ended with him sinking to his knees behind that glass so he could bring her to orgasm with his tongue.

  Time to get out of here. Before he did something he couldn’t take back. She might’ve made promises she was determined to keep but, goddamn it, so had he.

  Buckles jingled as he dumped her bags on the toilet lid. Another glance to the right, and he loudly cleared his throat. But if she heard him, the woman did not so much as flinch.

  Yep. He crossed his arms. She’d done this on purpose. Hey, why not torture him on his trek into hell? “You cover that bullet hole before climbing under the water?”

  She sputtered. “You wanna come in here and check?”

  He smacked a tight grip on the doorknob. The little shit.

  Retreating from the room, he swung the hinges closed, fingers cranked tight enough his knuckles creaked as he flexed and stretched his hand. The night was half over and all signs pointed to him suffering right up ʼtil dawn. Then the next day and the next, however long it took her to realize that baiting him was the wrong move.

  He never should’ve brought her here. Raking his hand through his hair, he turned and crossed the living room for the bedroom. Had he been given a chance to think through the consequences, he would’ve opted to take her someplace way less secluded.

  Yes, he was happy the weather was doing a decent job of masking their location. With the heavy snowfall, it was pretty much guaranteed no one was getting close without the use of a salt truck and plow. But this cabin was his sanctuary. The one place he’d always been able to calm the demons and clear his head. Given his current string of bad luck, it’d be the spring thaw before they got out.

  A duration like that, and he’d cave. The thought of her slick and needy underneath him was too damn tempting to dismiss. Tugging his phone from his back pocket, he strode past the fireplace and lunged up the two small steps on the right.

  Toppling the starter domino in that effect was a non-option. He wasn’t about to lead Tanner on or imply by his actions that forever was anything more than a mirage. After the losses he’d suffered, he knew firsthand life held too much risk. If this seduction scenario was meant to imply she wanted a future with him, he’d rather just man-up and insist she find someone else to fight with right now.

  Sliding open the closet, he grabbed a clean stack of sheets off the shelf. A couple blankets, some pillows and a green-and-pink patchwork quilt that had once belonged to his mother, and he piled everything on top of the bed.

  Bottom line was, he’d told her the truth when he’d said she was important, and he still wasn’t completely convinced she understood how much.

  The way she’d opened up to him. The level of trust she’d offered in sharing something so painful and private. Hell, those qualities alone put her well outside his league.

  She was special. To him, she represented a world of possibilities he hadn’t earned and would never have. Home, hearth, family… Those things meant everything to her. Just as they’d once meant everything to him. And while he’d already destroyed his chances at salvaging those hopes for the future, he was also smart enough to recognize she had not.

  She was fighting the good fight. Not only for her, but for her brother and sisters, as well. He wasn’t about to screw that up by pretending he was anywhere close to being worthy of everything she had to give.

  A glance down at his phone, and he expelled a harsh breath as the screensaver of her mile-long legs popped up, ankles crossed and her feet sporting those come-n-get-ʼem red heels. Jesus, he should’ve had his head examined. Saving that to his cell was nothing but a brutal reminder of how much he craved her toned, naked thighs cinched around his waist.

  Eighteen some-odd texts and twelve voice mails waited near the bottom right-hand corner, and he muttered a curse over how most, if not
all of them, were probably from Captain D’Avella.

  He owed her a call. At the very least, so she could start to unravel who could and couldn’t be trusted at the precinct, and so she knew that he was okay. His unexplained absence on the heels of announcing Vaheed Shahzar might be in town probably had her prepping to call in a K-9 unit to sniff out where he’d been.

  Tapping the app, he scrolled through his messages, a frown tightening his brow as he swiped down then back up. What the hell? They were all from the sexy, blue-eyed minx who’d decided to test his endurance by getting suds up in his shower. Everything from a curt we need to talk, to an irate grow a set and call me back already, to her panicked this isn’t funny anymore and I’m worried sick.

  Shit. He scratched at the two-day’s worth of bristle on his cheek. Then again, if she’d disappeared without any word about where she’d gone off to, he couldn’t say he would’ve reacted any better. Tearing down walls came to mind. Right index finger a little too trigger happy.

  Setting his phone on the nightstand, he tapped his voicemail and hit speaker, navigating the room to outfit the bed as her messages played, one after the next.

  Same as her texts, the first few were concise. Professional. Impersonal in a way that had him downright annoyed at her frosty tone. About the halfway mark, she got pissed, and he grunted as he tucked in the blankets, her tongue growing more and more caustic as she threatened to take him apart in ways he was pretty damn sure had never been invented.

  The couple that followed were apologetic, and he was right back to the same enamel-wearing grind his jaw performed whenever sadness laced her voice. The last thing the woman needed to be was sorry. He crammed the pillows into the cases and chucked them toward the birch bark headboard on the bed. If not for her, it was anyone’s guess how long the beatings would’ve continued. For shit’s sake, move that bullet hole two inches left, and she could’ve easily died or been paralyzed trying to get him out.

  The last voice mail clicked over, and he paused as her soggy sigh hitched from his phone. Aw, dammit. Now what?

  “I went to the precinct. Just thought you should know. I left a message and waited over an hour, but you never came out. Your doorman and I are now on a first-name basis. Again, just thought you should know. But, Ben…”

  A weighted pause. Another hitch in her throat, and he lowered his chin to drag his thumb and index finger over the grit lining the inside of his lids. Good Christ, the woman had a way about her that consistently leveled him to the ground.

  “I need to see your face. If you wanna yell at me or tell me to mind my own business, that’s fine, I just need to hear your voice.” Some rustling against the mouthpiece, and he tipped his head back as a crisp, clear visual of her wiping a set of tears from her cheeks snapped to attention in his brain. “I’m heading for the manor. If you can’t meet me there, please call me back, okay? I miss you.” She exhaled. “I need to see your face.”

  Goddamn it. Propping his hands on his hips, he pursed his lips to blow every ounce of oxygen in his lungs toward the ceiling. Talk about proving a point. She never should’ve had to worry about a sad sack of shit like him. He was a complete asshole for putting her through that.

  The jangling thump of her leather saddlebags met the wooden floor, and he pivoted to find her standing a foot or so from the steps. Her glossy hair was so sleek it shined a blue-black. A clingy white A-shirt was molded to her tight nipples and a pair of red boy shorts gloved her ass.

  Knee to the gut. He slumped. Why didn’t she just march up in front of him and take him down with a swift knee to his gut right now?

  Lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug, she nodded toward the nightstand. “I see you got my messages.” She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I sorta flipped out when I couldn’t find you. Probably should’ve given you a heads up, huh?”

  And just like that, all the bullshit he’d fed himself about not being the right guy or standing aside for the sake of duty and honor flew out of his head quicker than a jet fighter tore a sonic boom through the sky.

  There was only her. Exactly like every other time she got close, there was always and, Jesus—forever—only her.

  Fisting his hands, he fought the urge to back her against the wall and take her hard and fast right where she stood. She hadn’t simply been worried about him. She’d been every bit as panicked as he got whenever he imagined the hell of losing her.

  “I gotta say, I never pegged you as the pink floral type.” A small smile curved her lips as she neared the bed and ran her fingertips over his mom’s quilt, cheeks pale, her skin translucent enough a hint of blue veins showed underneath. “I was expecting green army blankets and those metal cots from a barracks.”

  But it was the purple shadows under her eyes that really notched his Adam’s apple in a chokehold. That luggage didn’t belong there, and neither did the weighted exhaustion that seemed to be riding her shoulders with more wear and tear than an armored tank. Not that he was surprised she’d hit the wall. Up nearly two full nights in a row, and so had he.

  He boosted his chin. “When’s the last time you slept?”

  Her focus skipped to the open grate behind him, and he pivoted to scan the concrete mantel he’d affixed to the brick, thinking it’d be a nice touch after he’d knocked out the back side of the fireplace to make sure the bedroom had heat.

  He checked the screen was in place and then mentally kicked his own ass for being such an inconsiderate dick. “You want me to put the fire out?”

  The temp would plummet, but he had plenty of blankets, and he didn’t want her tossing and turning over some needless concern the cabin might go up in flames. Hell, he’d wrap her in his arms to keep her warm, if need be.

  “No, that’s okay.” Her soft chuckle seemed off and, for some weird reason, didn’t sit so well in his gut. Not that she seemed nervous exactly, just…different.

  Maybe he should douse the fire, regardless. Christ knew, with the way she had his blood set to simmer, he wouldn’t need it. And yep, there he went again. The running tally of all the ways he could keep her busy under the blankets just surpassed the hundred-plus mark in his head.

  His cock thickened and pulsed, and he delivered another hard kick to his own ass before crossing behind her to pull back the sheet. Dammit, he should’ve held his breath. That fruity, coconut-infused scent she wore was enough to have him popping the buttons on his fly.

  He fisted the blankets against the urge to yank her to his hips and bury his face in her neck. Slip his hand inside the waistband of those sexy shorts and tap his thumb along the slippery folds waiting just out of reach.

  She needed to rest. Recharge for a while. The past forty-eight had cranked both of them through the wringer, and he shouldn’t be messing with ideas that would bring her nothing but a Grade A dose of hurt.

  She sat and stretched her legs along the mattress, arms in the air and shoulders rearranging the pillows as he tucked her in. “I actually conquered my fear of fire by walking over hot coals in an ashram in India. Pretty sure if I was meant to burn to death, it would’ve happened by now.”

  He froze mid-tuck, snapping his gaze to hers. But it was the resulting detonation that blew apart everything he thought he’d known about her which lowered his knee to the floor.

  How in the hell did she expect him to process that bomb?

  “Fire was the first one on the list.” She grimaced. “For obvious reasons.”

  There was a list? He slanted away from her. Then swiped his hand down his face and back through his hair even as he came to grips with where this conversation was headed.

  It was just one more thing. Frustration worked the muscles in his jaw as that gut-fisting story she’d told him in the bathroom tore through muscle and tendon to penetrate the marrow of his bones. Another fucked-up battle they had in common he never would’ve guessed or seen coming.

  She’d walked away from life. From reality. Once she’d woken up in the hospital to find her family had been split up with
out any say-so on her part, siblings sent off to God only knew where, she’d checked out of there and she’d never looked back.

  The strategy was familiar to him in ways beyond defining. But where he’d had the army, she’d been sixteen and on her own. And since she hadn’t joined Dirty Deeds until twelve months ago, that made a seven-year gap she’d yet to fill.

  Wherever those lost years had taken her, whatever she’d done to deal with the heartache and grief, he didn’t doubt for one second she’d had a purpose. Tanner Jones wasn’t the type to sit around on her thumbs.

  Crossing his arms, he planted his elbows on the side of the bed. A frown drew her brows together, and the same unsettling hesitation he’d picked up a minute ago leaked into her gaze as he studied her pretty face.

  The thing he couldn’t figure was how he’d always been able to spot a soldier ten paces off. For everything she’d been up against, she’d hidden the signs really well.

  Or maybe the issue was a lot simpler. Unlike him, she’d won whatever war she’d been waging with her “list,” while his was a dog-eared skirmish with the past that never seemed to end.

  “Is it done?” He squinted. “This list you got. You check off all the boxes?”

  She shifted her eyes back and forth as if she’d expected him to come at her from a different angle. A place of anger, if he had to guess. “For now, yeah.”

  All right, then. That worked well enough for him…for now.

  Releasing his arms, he pushed to his feet, but was stopped short turning for the door as she grabbed his wrist mid-swing.

  “That’s it? You’re not gonna yell at me or start stomping around?” She sat forward. “Wait, where are you going?”

  Jesus, women were a difficult knot to untangle. “To shower.”