by C. J. Pinard
“Well, thank the lawrd for pre-grated cheese,” I said, okay I think I slurred, in the most exaggerated Southern accent ever. I already had a slight one, or so I’d been told, but now I just flat-out sounded like my grand-mama from Mobile, Alabama. Bless her heart.
Hiccup.
I set the cheese on the counter and poured more bourbon into the ugly-ass green glass. Was this glass or plastic? I tapped my fingernail against it. Glass. I think. Cool. I grinned.
I slammed the liquid back and quickly placed the glass in the sink. No more. I need to stop.
The water continued to boil. Since I was already practically in her kitchen, I remembered Granny’s advice about spaghetti. So with a shrug, I used the spoon to carefully remove a noodle. I inspected it close up, then, with all my might, I chucked it against the wall behind the stove. It did stick, and I smiled in victory. My pasta was good and cooked.
I turned off the burners to both. As I was about to begin to look for a colander to drain the pasta, a voice made me jump.
“What are you doing?”
Blinking in surprise, I cocked my head to the side and smiled. “Cooking.”
“Why are you throwing pasta?” Duke asked, standing at the entryway to the kitchen looking way too delicious.
“Um?” What was I gonna say? Wait, what was the question?
Fuuuuck it. I’ll just ignore him. I picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the sauce. Wait, what was I doing? I need to drain the pasta. Did this kitchen even have a colander?
I didn’t know, so I just stirred the sauce some more. Suddenly, a warm hand gripped my arm, then spun me around. I was met with stormy blue eyes.
I giggled. “Hi, Cowboy.”
He narrowed those beautiful eyes at me. The dark lashes framing them were just too much. “I asked you a question.”
Furrowing my eyebrows, I said, “What was the question?”
I noticed the wooden spoon was still in my hand and was dripping sauce all over the floor. As if in slow motion, I looked at the drips, then the spoon, and without thinking, I brought it up to my mouth. My tongue snaked out and licked the sauce, from the base to the tip of the spoon while I stared unblinking at Duke, waiting for him to tell me what his question had been.
“Holy fuck,” I heard him whisper, his eyes now fixated on my mouth.
I was suddenly acutely aware of how his hard chest was almost pressed against mine. While one hand still held the spoon, the other reached up. My fingertips grazed his rock-hard pec under his T-shirt. My eyes flicked back up to his.
Before I could register what was happening, his mouth crashed down onto mine, his right arm snaking around my waist and then down to my ass, grabbing it with his strong hands, pushing my body into his.
Wait.
Duke was kissing me. What the hell? He’s not supposed to kiss me! He’s a jerk. I don’t like him. I bit his lip – hard. He pulled himself away from me, his thumb grazing his bottom lip.
“You bit me!” he said, incredulous.
“You kissed me!” I replied, as if I had to remind him.
He stared at me dumbfounded for a few seconds, then said, “You were licking… you were ignoring me when I asked… you were giggling… oh, my God. What the hell is that?”
He reached around me and picked up my bottle of bourbon, holding it up. “Where did you get this, Blondie?”
I shrugged and giggled.
Hiccup.
“My spaghetti’s burning,” was all I said.
Turning my back on him once again I began to rummage through the cabinets for something to drain the pasta in. I grinned as I located a colander and placed it in the sink. Before I could pick up the heavy pot of water and noodles, Duke spun me around and pinned me against the countertop. This time, he pressed his hard body into mine, while shoving the booze bottle into my face.
“Where. Did. You. Get. This?” he asked.
Jerking a thumb behind me at the cabinet in which I was now pressed against, I said with a grin, “In there. You want some?”
It didn’t go unnoticed by me that he was pressing a very hard member of his body against my belly. I kinda liked it though, and began to wonder what he was working with under those jeans.
He sighed and pushed off of me, scrubbing a hand over his beard and storming out of the kitchen with my bottle of contraband in his hand.
Damn him!
I continued to make the spaghetti, hoping the noodles were done.
Aside from the roaring of my blood in my ears, the kitchen was awfully quiet. After carefully draining the noodles, in which I’m shocked I did not spill, I let them cool in the sink and put my hands on my hips. Looking around the kitchen, I spotted a small transistor radio, complete with antenna, and smiled. This kitchen was looking more like my grandmother’s by the minute. I walked over to it and picked it up. It was plugged into the wall by a black cord and it took me a few seconds to figure out how to turn it on. It crackled to life and soon, Patsy Cline was crooning though the tiny scratchy speakers. I used the side dial to adjust the station and smiled at the old country song.
Humming along to I Fall To Pieces, I carefully began to mix the sauce with the noodles, layering them in a small dish with cheese.
Hiccup.
Still humming along to the song, I smiled at what had just happened. That Duke, not so tough, is he? I had showed him. He shouldn’t have kissed me, as much as I might have liked the temporary feel of his hot mouth on mine.
My fingers slid up to touch my lips where his had just been. The feel of his hand on my ass as it squeezed. Lord knows I have enough back there to grab. He definitely liked it, too. I smiled.
Once the spaghetti was mixed, I called out, “Spaghetti’s ready!” and then giggled at my little rhyme.
Seeing double, I fumbled around in the kitchen until I found some plates and set them on the counter. Still humming to another classic country song, I scooped some onto a plate, and groaned when it splattered on my shirt. Then I giggled when I realized I had already splattered sauce on me long ago while cooking.
Noticing Duke hadn’t shown, I yelled out again, “Spaghetti!” and sat at the small table after grabbing a fork.
I was starving. Forking some spaghetti into my mouth, I groaned at how delicious it was. I was proud of myself for improvising and totally slaying this meal. I then realized that the meal was almost gone. Why did I eat it alone?
Placing my plate in the sink, I went out to the small living room to see Duke sitting in front of the TV, watching some sort of sports. I leaned on the doorjamb between the kitchen and living room and said, “What, you have something against spaghetti?” Then I giggled.
Hiccup.
He turned to look at me and said, “No.” He then turned his face back to the TV.
Nodding, I said nothing more and went back into the kitchen. I spooned some the meal I’d worked so hard on to a plate and went into the fridge and grabbed a can of iced tea. I spied a large curio cabinet in the corner of the ancient kitchen and opened its old doors. They squealed on unoiled hinges and I looked inside. There was a medium-sized sterling silver serving platter and I suppressed a giggle as I removed it. It wasn’t as dusty as I thought it would be but I wiped it down anyway with a dishtowel.
Placing the plate, a napkin, knife and fork on top of it, and the can of tea on it, I carried it out on one hand like back in my college waitressing days and walked out to the living room. Honestly, I was surprised I didn’t drop the damn thing. I was still sorta seeing double.
Smiling, I stood right in front of him, blocking the TV. His eyes slowly traveled from my stomach, up my chest, neck, lips, then to my eyes. “You’re blocking my view.”
Since I was already being a brat, I decided to lay it on thicker. Turning my head around to glance at the TV, I turned back around and said, “Oh, but this view is so much better. So much deliciousness.”
His eyes went wide momentarily, and I had to bite back a laugh as I slowly leaned forward and placed the t
ray on his lap. He grabbed it because he had to, and then I stood up. “A peace offering for biting you.”
Grunting in response, he said nothing else, and picked up the fork and began twirling spaghetti around on it.
I walked away, satisfied with myself for some reason, and yelled out, “You’re welcome.”
“You have sauce all over your shirt.”
Laughing from the kitchen, I pulled it off over my head and with a few dramatic twirls, I tossed it into the living room and snorted when it smacked him in the back of the head and landed on the sofa cushion behind him.
Chapter 15
Duke
I reached behind my head and pulled the assaultive fabric around to inspect it. Her white T-shirt, splattered with red sauce but smelling deliciously like her, was gripped in my fist. Resisting the urge to put it up to my nose and really inhale it, I tossed it aside and continued eating.
Damn, she could make a mean spaghetti!
Wait. She just took her shirt off. That must mean she’s shirtless in the kitchen. I inhaled my food faster than I should have, scraping the plate until it was gone. I never left food on my plate. Not ever.
I got up to put it in the sink, because I was a gentleman like that, and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw her at the sink washing dishes. The jeans she wore hugged that curvaceous ass of hers, and she had nothing but a white bra on. Her back muscles clenched as her hands worked on the dishes in a sink full of suds. Dammit, why did she have to drink? I had the sudden urge to touch her. I wanted to put my hands on her waist and run them up and down and feel her soft skin.
Real professional, Duke, I chided myself with a shake of my head.
But really, how was I supposed to remain professional? I was a 28-year-old dude who, admittedly, hadn’t had sex in weeks. Okay it had been months. I think.
Adjusting myself behind my pants, I walked over to her and decided since I was so bored, I was going to have some fun with her. Placing myself up behind her but not touching her, I leaned down and whispered into the side of her face, “Do you need any help?”
She didn’t flinch. She must have been expecting me. She shook her head slowly. “I think I can handle dishes, Special Agent.”
Grabbing her shirt, which was hanging out of the pocket of my jeans, I slipped part of it into the small gap at the back of her jeans where, if I pulled them down just a little, I’d be able to make out exactly what kind of tattoo she had stamped there on her lower back. Instead, I shoved the shirt in it, and let it dangle over her very fine ass.
She gasped a little, then giggled, then hiccupped.
Arching an eyebrow, I stood next to her at the sink and said, “I hope there are no sharp utensils in there.”
Rayanne shook her head and said, “Just a pot, a skillet, and a wooden spoon, two forks and two plates.”
My fingers twitched. They wanted to touch the bare skin on her back. Her hair was short, so I could see her bare neck and it was taunting me to touch it. I wanted to kiss it, lick it.
Fuck…
“You can dry,” she suddenly said, bending over and pulling a dish towel from the cabinet near her knees where she stood. She tossed it behind her and I caught it. She still hadn’t turned around, even when I’d shoved her shirt into the back of her jeans.
I tossed the towel over my shoulder but stayed behind her. I couldn’t take this anymore. My fingers skated up the smooth planes of her back and I slid one finger under her bra strap and stretched the material as I swung my finger back and forth underneath it, caressing her soft skin.
She shuddered, and I smiled.
“Dry the dishes, Cowboy,” she whispered.
“No,” I said back.
She stopped washing and slowly turned around and looked up at me, her warm, honey-colored eyes skating back and forth between mine. “What are you doing?”
“Punishing you for disobeying me,” I replied, trying not to grin.
Her eyes momentarily widened in surprise, but I felt her body lean in to mine, as if on its own. “I didn’t disobey you.”
I nodded, my hand now lying flat against her bare belly, my other hand squeezing her waist. “You did. I said no alcohol.”
Her eyebrows furrowed, then she shook her head. “No, you said you wouldn’t buy me any wine at the store. There’s a difference.”
“You have a sassy mouth.”
“Then why don’t you shut me up?” she whispered.
For the second time tonight, I leaned down and pressed my lips against hers. She didn’t bite me this time, instead, she crushed her chest against mine, and wrapped one leg around my backside as I lifted her onto the counter and kissed her. My tongue snaked into her mouth and hers mingled with mine. She tasted sinful. I could feel the heat radiating from between her legs as I ground my hips into her open thighs. I wanted to rip off her bra, then her pants, in that order, and plunge into her. Damn she was making me crazy.
Her soapy wet fingers slithered up my shoulder, across my neck, then into my beard. She lightly scratched my face with her fingernails, and if I thought I was hard before, I now think my dick could probably drill through wood, if it had to.
It was painful.
“Damn, woman. We should not be doing this,” I said when I broke away from her mouth to lick and suck at her neck.
“I know. Especially right now,” she replied, breathless.
“Why’s that?” I murmured.
“Because it’s not a good time of… “ She put her mouth back on mine.
I was trying to figure out what she was saying but my head was swimming with all the lusty thoughts of what I was going to do after I ripped her clothes off.
Wait a second. Weren’t we at the store to buy… feminine products? Gah. I pulled away from her and said, “I need to get out of here.”
I adjusted myself behind my zipper and practically flew out the back door, slamming it behind me. The cool Virginia night air hit me like a slap to the face and I sucked in a huge lungful of it to clear my head. I breathed in, then out, then in again, my hands on my knees as I tried to get a grip. I reached up and massaged my leg. The cold air had sent instant pain shooting through it.
What in the freaking hell was wrong with me? This was so unprofessional. Even though this was my first WPD assignment, I still knew better than to get with a vic like this. It was just lust, I told myself. I didn’t even really like her that much.
But what about her did I not like? Sassy? Yes. So what? It wasn’t like she was being a total bitch. Considering what she was going through, having been ripped from her life and regular routine, I thought she was handling it quite well. Well, aside from her sneaking the booze. I laughed to myself; I probably would have done the same thing if I’d have found it.
I looked up to see a small circle of a clearing, the tall trees surrounding me on both sides. The forest was eerily quiet, and the light from an almost-full moon shone overhead. Pulling my dip can from my back pocket, I slid it open as I walked – limped –and yanked a pinch, shoving it into my bottom lip. Sighing, I looked down at the can and shook my head. I really should kick this nasty habit.
It was better than smoking… a small voice said.
But was it? I didn’t think so, and knew I needed to wean off my nicotine addiction.
After this can is empty…
My thoughts drifted back to Rayanne. I couldn’t deny the physical attraction that was there. But was there something more? I couldn’t entertain that thought. It was my duty to protect her at all costs – it was my job. This was me paying my penance for fucking up on the job. Even though I still thought two out of the three “excessive force” charges were bullshit. One, I’d take the heat for. I’d lost my temper. The other two deserved what they got.
I heard a branch break behind me and my gun was out of its holster and in my fist faster than I could blink. With both arms locked in front of me, my silver H&K pistol glinted in the moonlight at the subject standing in front of me.
Rayanne g
asped and put her hands up in surrender. Biting her lip, she said, “Don’t shoot.”
Shaking my head, I re-holstered the pistol at my hip and snapped it in. “You scared the shit outta me, woman.”
She visibly breathed a sigh of relief and came toward me slowly, wearing her jeans and the shirt I’d put into the back of them earlier. She’d put it back on and I sort of wished she would have left it off.
I stood stock-still as she came toward me, my hand still digging into my leg to stay the pain there. She came up to me and stopped within inches of me, but not touching me. Her eyes searched my face with an unreadable expression on hers, then they traveled down to my thigh, and her brow furrowed.
“Don’t you have any medication for that?” she asked quietly.
I shook my head. “Nah. I just deal with it.”
I watched as she leaned down, getting on her knees, the leaves crunching under her weight. With both hands, she slowly edged them down my thigh, stopping at my scar. Even though she couldn’t see it through my pants, she seemed to know right where it was. With slow, gentle strokes, she massaged it, and it felt like absolute heaven. With no control, I groaned in the back of my throat.
She looked up at me. “There’s no harm in a little medication to take the edge off, Duke. Pain isn’t normal. It means something’s wrong.”
I shook my head. “Sometimes pain is the only thing I have to remind me I’m still alive and can still feel. I need it.”
With her eyebrows furrowed, she stood up, her hand still on my leg as she gently grasped my left hand in hers. “No, you don’t. I can’t help but think if you weren’t in pain all the time, you might be….” she bit her lip, “nicer?”
I snorted, but didn’t pull away from her. “What are you talking about? I’m perfectly nice.” I flashed her my teeth, but I couldn’t really feel the rest of my face twist into a smile.
“You’re like a dog with a thorn stuck in its paw. All grumpy and growly. When we are done with this assignment, I want you to go to the doctor and see if they can help you.”
