by Jo Leigh
“That joke’s getting pretty old, Detective,” Liam said. “Maybe you could give it a rest, huh?” He put his hand on the small of her back, and this time he was more firm about getting her to move, when all he really wanted to do was pull her in his arms. Jesus, the way she’d defended him…she was amazing.
She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak. He watched her gather herself, calmly and perfectly. Her eyes were still full of fire, but she was every inch a class act. She turned a smile on Liam. “I’m famished, what say we go get our lunch.”
“There’s a great Italian place near here.”
With a toss of her dark curls, she took his arm. They made their way out of the bull pen and the precinct without another word.
He stopped when he felt a tug on his sleeve, but the spitfire who’d stood up to a man twice her age had vanished. Now she stared up at Liam with so much concern in her eyes, in her whole demeanor, he felt completely at a loss.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what? You were awesome in there. I told you. Ricci’s an ass.”
She shook her head. “I’m not sorry about him. He’s a complete putz. I’m sorry for coming here wearing…well, not wearing very much. I can’t believe how reckless it was. Anything could have happened. I could have humiliated you. ”
“Nothing bad happened.”
“I didn’t know about the meme. The last thing I’d ever want to do is give those idiots more reason to treat you like a joke.”
“The only thing you did was make them jealous as hell,” he said, guiding her away from the crowded sidewalk and closer to the building.
“Oh, yeah, they’re jealous, all right,” she said. “You’re hot, smart, good at your job, probably the best detective in the whole borough, maybe the whole city. They should be jealous.”
He looked into her earnest dark eyes and felt a tightening somewhere in his gut. “What am I going to do with you?” he murmured.
“I know,” she said, looking miserable. “I’m a disaster. I’ve embarrassed good friends before. People I really care about. By not thinking. I get a crazy idea stuck in my head, and I’m like a bull in a china shop.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “As usual, you’ve got me all hot and bothered. I can’t stop thinking about what’s under that coat.”
“Don’t be nice about this, Liam. It was clear you didn’t want me to come to the precinct, and I’ve proven you right.” She opened her purse and pulled out his trading card. “Here’s what you’ve been after. You deserve someone who’ll listen to you.”
But she had listened. And her fierce defense of him had knocked some sense into his hard head. He took the card, dropped it back into her purse, then kissed her, right in front of the precinct and anyone who cared to watch.
Chapter Seven
Aubrey hoped Liam didn’t mind her borrowing his shirt. It was a white Oxford, one of several he had in his neat closet. Poking around in his bedroom without him being home was…weird
Instead of the quickie she’d hoped for, he’d given her his apartment key.
Not for keeps. He only had the one. They’d almost finished their shared penne arrabiata when he’d asked if she thought she could work at his place until he got home. Before she had a chance to answer, he took the key off the fob as if it was no big deal, even though she’d made such a mess of things at the station. Amazing. Wonderful. Unprecedented.
Naturally, she hadn’t worked at all. Mostly because she’d gone straight from the restaurant to her apartment, picked up some very important items, debated changing into something sensible, but decided that would make her feel even more idiotic for showing up at the precinct like a hired stripper. Then she’d taxied to his place, where she opened his door with a flourish. Sadly, no one had been there to see.
Now she’d taken off the boots and the coat, but still wore her undies and corset with his white dress shirt covering the ensemble. It wasn’t a complete indulgence. She’d had to put on something. His radiator wasn’t quite up to the cold, although her nervous excitement was keeping her warm enough.
She took the pre–Christmas Eve Eve/thank-you-for-being-my-muse surprise she’d brought for him out of a large Pottery Barn bag and put it onto his coffee table.
There were magazines in the way, so she put them on top of his bookcase. She looked at the small Christmas tree she’d made with Styrofoam, cupcake liners and novelty tape, all on a sturdy wooden stand.
It worked. It made this place feel festive. She should have gotten tiny little lights, but time hadn’t been her friend. Getting the tape for the garland had been a miracle this close to the holiday.
Her grin faded as she wondered if he’d think her surprise was as nifty as she did. They hadn’t talked about the holidays except in reference to the window display. She had no idea if he celebrated. Or maybe he took Christmas really seriously, and then he’d try to act sweet but she’d see right through him and end up feeling terrible.
She’d seen Dumpsters in the alley. It wasn’t too late to chuck the stupid thing out. Although, there was no indication that he belonged to another religion. And she had no reason to think he was anti-Christmas.
She turned around, looked at the bed where they’d done so many interesting things to each other. Liam was cool. He’d like the idea even if he didn’t like the gift itself. After all, he liked her. He trusted her enough to give her his key. Hell, he hadn’t even taken back his trading card.
Catching sight of herself in his full-length mirror, she slouched provocatively against his bedroom door frame, one hand raised, the other near her mouth, where she touched her bottom lip with one finger. Something wasn’t quite—ah, the right knee had to bend so her hip stuck out and the shirt parted just enough to show a tantalizing hint of corset.
To take a selfie or not. That was the question. Not posing, no, but maybe one with the tree? She could have it printed, put it in a frame for him. A memento of their time together.
She’d take one of him, too. With or without the tree. Several, in fact. Although she doubted she’d ever forget her one and only muse. Despite the oncoming storm of her deadline and increasing pressure to live up to Yvonne’s expectations, she wanted to remember him. How he made her feel. This—Her phone rang. She grabbed it so fast it didn’t ring twice. Seeing his name on her caller ID made her giddy. “Hi.”
“I’m on my way. Three minutes.”
“You left early.”
“Damn straight,” he said. “I could barely think.”
“I know what you mean.”
“No new ideas?”
“Not about the window design.”
He moaned, and she wondered if the cabdriver heard him. “Two minutes.”
“Do you want anything when you get here? A drink?”
“You. I want to see under that damn coat.”
She sighed. “I guess that means I should put it back on.”
“Good,” he said. “Wait, what?”
“Nothing.”
“What are you wearing, Aubrey?”
“I’ll show you. After.”
“You’re trying to kill me.”
“That would spoil all my plans.” She walked over to the couch, crossing her fingers that he’d like what she’d brought him. Both the tree and the corset.
“We’re turning onto my street.”
“You have your money ready?”
“Everything about me is ready.”
“Can’t wait.”
She heard him talk to the cabbie, then the door slam. Laughing and excited, she hung up, then draped his stern Oxford shirt, complete with rolled-up cuffs, over the edge of the couch. Then she shoved her feet into her boots, donned the trench coat and heard the doorknob turn as she buckled the belt.
He almost knocked her over in his rush to come inside, but she was saved at the last second by a kiss that made falling redundant. When Liam finally moved far enough away for her to undo the coat, she was determined
to make it so sexy he’d come in his pants. But somewhere between the bump and the grind, he looked at her as if she was so much more than lingerie and chutzpah.
For a second, maybe two, she hated their bargain. How could she ever have thought of him as something temporary? He wasn’t like that. He was meant for a real woman, not a flighty, impulsive girl. Then he bit his lower lip and she dropped the coat.
By the time he’d looked up at her face again, she’d forgotten about the bargain. Let this be what it was.
He’d never catch his breath again. Panting forever would be inconvenient, but he’d deal with it if it meant more mind-boggling sex. They hadn’t made it past the couch. In the end, it was her thong, not the corset, that had done him in. Well, what was under the thong.
Since he’d last seen her naked, she’d made a change. Aubrey had been neatly trimmed all over, which he liked. Especially the fact that it made her pubic hair look like an arrow. It still did, but her labia were now as smooth as her inner thigh. Only softer.
When he’d gotten her on the couch, he’d discovered a little wet spot on her panties. To say it got him hot didn’t cover half of it. He’d licked her until the silk had been wet, clinging. By the time he’d finally pushed the cloth to the side and entered her, they’d both been gasping— “Oh, shit.”
He looked down at her, nestled against his chest, her head resting in the nook of his shoulder. Still strapped in her corset. “Let me—” he said, holding her shoulders until he could wriggle to his feet.
Her face was too flushed and she was practically wheezing. He helped her turn and fumbled with the laces as he freed her.
“Thank God.” She inhaled hugely. “Next time,” she said between deep breaths, “we take the corset off first.”
The marks down her back made him wince and feel guilty for getting carried away…and for finding the sight arousing. She would look incredible tied to a four-poster. His cock twitched, which was remarkable considering how hard he’d just come. Kissing the pink indentions made him feel a little less pervy. As if Aubrey would mind. They’d already had sex in her office, on virtually every surface in his apartment, and then there’d been the hand job in the cab that time. Nope, she wouldn’t blink if he brought out, say, four silk scarves. Of course, he’d have to buy a four-poster bed first. Or find the right hotel.
A shiver ran down his back, but it was as much to do with the cold as his thoughts. “Come on,” he said, taking her hands. “Let’s get you out of those boots and into my bed.”
She smiled. Moved her gaze pointedly to the coffee table.
“Oh. That’s a Christmas tree.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is that garland…?” He bent down to look at it more carefully. “Crime scene tape?”
“Blue and white, for the NYPD.”
Liam looked at her, then at the most unusual, yet most extraordinary tree he’d ever seen. “How did I not see this? It’s great. I love it.”
She stood, kissed him on the cheek. “You’re welcome.”
Wrapping his arms around her very naked and rapidly cooling body, he pulled her close. “To be honest, there could have been an elephant riding a bicycle in here, and I wouldn’t have noticed. That corset. Wow. And what’s under the corset, even better.”
“Very well put. Now let’s get into bed before the chill works its way past my knees.
Once under the covers, they slid into the warm familiarity of how they fit together. His arm under her neck, her leg across his thigh, her curls patted down so they tickled the underside of his chin instead of his mouth. They sighed in unison, as if it had been rehearsed.
“Liam?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s the story with that ‘ridiculous’ stuff?”
The high he’d been floating on since he’d walked in the door sunk like a stone. “Nothing.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said, tensing against him. “Forget I mentioned it.”
“No, I’m sorry. That was a knee-jerk reaction.” Part of him wanted to keep the humiliation as private as possible, but on the other hand, it was Aubrey. “I want to tell you.”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t, which is fine,” she said, her warm palm moving over his chest to rest above his heart.
“Last year someone took a picture of me while I was in uniform at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and the woman called me a ridiculously good-looking cop. It hit the internet. Ricci was right, it became a meme, a very viral meme. Most people have forgotten about it by now.”
“But not your fellow officers?”
“Nope.”
She leaned her head back to look at him. She didn’t look happy. “That sucks. I want to punch every one of them.”
He grinned, especially at her ferocious frown. If she had the chance, she’d follow through, he was sure of it. “Then I’d have to arrest you.”
“Hmm. I have wondered where you keep your handcuffs.”
Laughing, he ran his fingers through her hair, the urge to kiss her hitting him hard. But he also wanted her to rest up. They normally didn’t spend a lot of time just lying together. Most nights, he watched her work at the lingerie store, then they’d come back to his place and wear each other out. The morning alarm would blare too soon and send them into a frenzy until they went off to work.
Lately, she’d tried syncing their hours, but she still worked nights, too. Since he’d been her muse, she hadn’t taken any days off. The window consumed her. Until today. Today she’d come to see him, and while the visit to the bull pen had ended badly, he’d liked seeing her there. Despite Ricci’s big mouth.
But the quiet now, her drawing lazy circles on his chest, him rubbing her incredibly soft arm, made him feel more relaxed than he’d been in a long time.
It occurred to him that, seconds ago, he’d been wound up about the meme bullshit. In a sentence, she’d shrunk the perpetual thorn in his side to the size of a hangnail. He loved her for that, if nothing else.
Not love. That was stretching things, but… Discounting the sex, which was not an easy thing to do, he really enjoyed being with her. Even when she was laser focused on her sketches. He liked watching her hands as she made magic with nothing more than a blank paper and a pencil.
Did she realize that when she was adding shade to a draft she stuck out her tongue? Not far, just the tip. The side it peeked from depended on which side of the paper she was working on. That she began every new drawing with her eyebrows way up, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted? If it turned sour, her expression became either furious or disgusted, and she cussed so descriptively she could give lessons to his whole division. Only, she did it softly.
It was no use. He had to kiss her. What did she expect, lying there so beautiful and tempting? “Sorry,” he said, repositioning himself until they shared the bottom half of the only pillow left on the bed.
“Sorry for what?”
“Never mind. I’m not sorry at all.”
She had her eyebrows raised. Her cheeks grew pink as he watched. In fact, she looked just like she did when a new idea hit her.
He kissed her, slipping between her already-parted lips. She moaned and undulated against him as they tasted and licked and nibbled. Somehow, she was both languid and eager at the same time. All her movements slow except for her impatient tongue.
Pulling away, he brushed the curls from her face. “You still surprise me,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Very good.”
Caressing the side of his cheek, she said, “I don’t know if anyone’s told you this before, but, Detective Flynn, you’re dreamy.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Dreamy?”
“Huh. Surprised you again, didn’t I?”
Liam nodded as he kissed her.
His hand moved up her back. Slowly. His kiss deepened as he moved it to her nape where he stayed for a moment. His touch made her feel safe, even though she was in such a vulnerable
position. When he moved again, it was to sneak under her curls, his fingers spreading as they massaged her scalp.
She moaned, the sound swallowed. Shared.
A week ago she’d told him that if she won the lottery she never bought tickets for, she’d hire a full-time masseuse based solely on how well he gave head rubs. This wasn’t the first time he’d indulged her, but it was the most intimate, and she wasn’t sure why.
Maybe it was the slow-like-honey kisses that never quite stopped even when they had to breathe. Or his broken noises that sounded mostly like her name but sometimes like please.
It wasn’t that long ago they’d been at each other like rabid wolverines, and this was…not what they did. He’d been tender before, and teasing, and silly, and cavemanlike, and rugged, and fast, and hard. This was new. Like sinking into the warmest, most comforting bath in the world, only with a lot more touching and tingling.
She wanted to drown in his scent. His arms. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together she could feel his cock harden against the curve of her hip bone.
Her own touch was careful as she moved down his body with her lips. She lingered over the dimple above his ass, wanting to fill it with champagne and lick it out. But they had no champagne, and anyway, she wouldn’t have stopped these kisses. Not when they lit up all her good parts from the inside out.
Drowning didn’t seem to be optional.
One last functioning brain cell warned her that drowning might not be the best thing to do. But it was only the one cell and it was far too quiet. All she could hear was her own pulse. Their shared breaths.
She couldn’t even pretend to mind that he abandoned the scalp massage for parts down south. He’d let her know how much he liked her new coif. Now, as his gentle fingers brushed those naked lips, she had to admire her own cleverness. So much more sensation. It was as if she’d taken off a blanket.
His hips started moving faster. She reached for him, and, oh, God, he was hard. He pulled back to hiss as her hand tightened on his flesh. She almost stopped but he shifted to give her more room.
He surprised her by not thrusting again. Instead, he looked at her. Lips in a gentle upward curl, eyes soft even though they were dark and half-lidded with want. She tried to build a rhythm with her hand, but his stare, the tenderness in it, threw her off. He didn’t complain. Just moved easily into her grip.
