Burnout (NYPD Blue & Gold)

by Tee O'Fallon

  Rose shook her head. “I’ll tell Leo he has to postpone his plans. There’s no other way. Ginny’s a good kid. She’ll get over it.”

  “They’re both good kids.” Cassie glanced to the back door where Leo was signing the produce man’s invoice. “I wouldn’t dream of asking him to cancel. Don’t worry about it.”

  Rose gave her a wan smile. “I’m sorry. I’d help you, honestly I would, but I can’t cook to save my ever-lovin’ life. When I had my place in the city, do you know what I made for dinner every night?”

  “What?”

  “Reservations.” Rose let out a bitter laugh, but her forehead was still creased in concern.

  “It’s okay,” Cassie said. “Just make me a list of what you want prepared.”

  “Oh, thank you, sweetie.” Rose threw her arms around her and gave her a tight hug. She pulled away, adding, “I’ll pay you extra for this. It’s about the only thing I can do to make up for killing your plans. That, and apologize to Mike for you.”

  “No need.” Cassie shoved another batch of toast into the oven. “It’s for a good cause, and I have no intention of accepting any money. Plus, I owe Mike a favor.”

  “That’s true.” Rose snickered. “To make up for trying to poison him. A fair trade if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t,” Cassie said.

  Rose laughed. “You know that snobby Chef Pierre insisted I pay him overtime for this. I don’t think that man had one ounce of goodwill in his plump, arrogant body. You’re as honest as they come.”

  If you only knew.

  When Rose disappeared into the dining area, Cassie braced her hands on the table. How would the town react when they learned how dishonest she’d been? How would Mike react?

  No matter the outcome, her decision was made. As soon as the La Femme case was tied up, she was done with her old life. Done with police work.

  Cassie pulled the last of the dozen sheet cakes from the oven and glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Seven-fifteen and no word from Mike.

  The scents of warm vanilla and almond extracts filled the kitchen as she set the cake pans onto a cooling rack. She headed to the walk-in refrigerator and hauled out several bins of whole chickens.

  She’d left two messages for Mike at the station, the second one including a detailed explanation as to why she had to cancel their date. His dispatcher informed her Mike was tied up with business all day but assured her he’d get the messages as soon as he returned to the office.

  Then she’d called Dom to update him about her newly acquired hometown fame. To say her partner had not been pleased was an understatement of biblical—no, make that cosmic—proportions. After enduring his tirade about not waiting for a hostage negotiator, he subjected her to a lengthy lecture about putting her life more in danger than it already was. She cringed at how Gray would take the news. Her brother would be even less forgiving than her partner. Since Gray outranked her, he might even order her to pack up and get out of town. And she would, as soon as Chuck returned.

  Cassie dropped a chicken onto the butcher-block table and began whacking it into pieces with a cleaver, all the while reviewing the update her partner had provided.

  Unexpectedly, the financial lookups on Manici and La Femme were linked to a bank in the Cayman Islands. Dom had cursed about what a colossal bitch it would be getting detailed information on that account since the Cayman banking system protected their clients’ privacy more than the Swiss.

  In no time, Cassie had cut enough legs, thighs, and breasts to keep Mike’s table in balsamic-glazed chicken for the entire picnic. By the time she finished browning and baking it all, she ought to be done by…oh, midnight or so.

  She dropped the cleaver into a plastic bin of sudsy warm water that splashed all over her shirt. “Crap.”

  “Got your message,” came a deep voice from behind her.

  Cassie spun to see Mike with his shoulder hitched against the doorjamb and holding the biggest bouquet of lilacs she’d ever seen. Fluffy purple blooms cascaded over his tanned arm.

  There it was again—those butterflies in her belly. Blood shot to all the important parts of her body, including those that hadn’t experienced a man’s touch in ages.

  Light gray slacks outlined Mike’s long legs. A dark blue button-down, short-sleeved dress shirt tapered from his broad shoulders to where he’d tucked it into his belted slacks. Slacks that did incredible things to his perfectly carved hips and thighs.

  Cassie smoothed her wrinkled plum-colored T-shirt with her hands, dismally aware of the food stains that spotted her clothes from head to toe.

  “These are for you.” An adorable, boyish grin crept to his face as he handed her the lilacs.

  “Thank you.” She smiled and held the bouquet to her nose, inhaling the deep, unique floral scent. “My favorite flower. How did you know?”

  He leaned in close and inhaled what she knew to be her lilac-scented perfume. She loved it so much she dabbed a bit at her neck every day, even before work. Tingles skittered up her neck and down her back.

  “Hmm.” Mike twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers. “Must be my keen investigative sense. You always smell like lilacs. So does your bedroom.” He looked at her from hungry, heavy-lidded eyes, an intimate reminder of where last night hadn’t gone.

  And where tonight wasn’t going, either.

  “Let me put these in some water.” She went to the sink and found a vase on an overhead shelf and began filling it. “Sorry about canceling.” She dropped the flowers into the vase and set it on the adjacent counter. “Chuck had to go out of town on a family emergency and Leo has his first big date with Ginny tonight, so—”

  “So…” Mike said, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling the back of her neck. “You’re pulling an all-nighter cooking alone for my PBA table tomorrow.”

  Cassie turned in his arms to see the beginnings of a bold, seductive smile on his mouth. She slid her hands along his upper arms beneath his shirtsleeves. Rock-hard biceps rippled as her fingers glided over his taut skin. And he smelled so, so good.

  She sighed heavily. “I don’t think I’ll be done here until late. Very late.”

  “Is that why you have such a worried look on your beautiful face?”

  “Beautiful?” She laughed. “Hardly. I’m filthy, sweaty, and I need a long shower to clean away the stains and smells from cooking all day.”

  “Yes, definitely beautiful.” Mike flashed a gorgeous white smile, and those butterflies in her belly fluttered faster, more like hummingbirds. “And you don’t need a shower to smell good to me.” He nuzzled her neck again, and when he dropped a hot, wet kiss just below her ear, Cassie’s knees nearly buckled.

  “C’mon.” He chucked her under the chin and pulled her toward the stove. “We have a lot of cooking to do.”

  “We?”

  He turned so abruptly she slammed into the solid wall of his chest. “We,” he repeated. “I’m helping. That way you can finish sooner and maybe we can grab a late bite.” He leaned down to nip at her lower lip.

  Cassie looked up into his smoldering gaze, and his mouth came down hard, capturing hers in a breathless kiss that left her entire body quivering. She lifted her arms, intending to link her hands around his neck, when he released her.

  “Tell me what you want me to do,” he said, leaving her wanting to tear off his clothes and jump him right there on the prep table.

  Ten minutes later, she was flabbergasted to see Mike expertly wielding paring knives, large chopping knives, sautéing vegetables, and browning meat and chicken with the ease and efficiency of someone who’d spent his entire life working in a restaurant.

  “You’ve been holding out on me.” Cassie shot him an accusing look as she pulled several large aluminum pans from the oven. Smells of sausage, peppers and onions, and balsamic-glazed roast chicken rose from the steaming, bubbling pans.

  “How so?”

  “You’ve obviously spent a little time in a kitchen before.
”

  A slow, sensual smile turned his lips upward, and Cassie’s heart somersaulted like a pancake being flipped on a hot grill. She suddenly forgot how tired and achy her feet were from standing for more than sixteen hours straight.

  “Come on.” She pointed a set of long silver tongs at him. “I can be as effective at interrogation as you are, so you might as well fess up.”

  He laughed in that deep, sexy bass she’d come to love. “My parents own an Irish pub in Manhattan. My siblings and I spent more time growing up there than we did in our house. We started out bussing tables then moved up to prepping and cooking. Summers during college we spent at the pub.”

  Cassie’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. She couldn’t have been more shocked if Mike had said he’d been a circus clown.

  He grabbed a set of tongs and transferred the browned chicken to one of several aluminum pans. “But that’s tavern food, nothing as fancy as what you do. You have a real talent.”

  Cassie shook her head, still trying to digest this completely new side of Mike. And, unlike most cops she knew, they still hadn’t talked about his job all night.

  “So how many thugs do you arrest every month?” She raised her eyebrows and waited.

  Mike shrugged. “Don’t keep track.”

  “Really?” A cop who didn’t tally his own arrests? “Don’t cops carve a notch into their belts every time they bust someone?”

  He laughed. “Who told you that?”

  “I think I read it in Cosmopolitan. No…” she paused, pretending to be deep in thought, “…maybe it was Vanity Fair. It was an article about men who equate their professional exploits with the size of their manhood and sexual stamina.”

  Mike grinned. “You worried since I don’t have a hundred notches on my belt I won’t”—he lowered his gaze to his crotch, then raised his eyes back to hers—“measure up?”

  “Oh, my heavens.” Cassie put her hand to her chest, stifling a laugh. “I didn’t mean to imply that article applied to you, specifically. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken.” The hot, sensual look he gave her left no doubt in Cassie’s mind that size and stamina were most definitely not a problem for Mike. “In defense of my ego, Jimmy and I made a lot of arrests when we first got here, but things have been quiet for years.” He pointed the spatula he held in her direction. “That is until you got here and all hell broke loose.” He shook his head and turned back to the grill.

  “Yeah.” She grimaced and began icing one of the cooled sheet cakes. “Sorry about that, Chief.”

  “No problem,” he said over his shoulder. “Things were getting a little boring around here, and the new guys need the experience.”

  “In that case, I’m glad to have contributed in some small way to their on-the-job training.”

  Two hours later, Cassie dropped the last piece of chicken into a pan.

  “If I had to do this alone,” she said, “my feet would be screaming in agony in the morning. As it is, they are anyway.”

  “Then I suggest,” Mike said as he carried a pan to the refrigerator, “that we finish up so I can give you the best foot massage you’ve ever had.”

  “You’ve got a deal.” She raced to crimp lids on the remaining pans of chicken and sausage.

  After the food had been stowed in the refrigerator, Cassie sat on a stool while Mike’s strong hands kneaded and worked the sore, achy muscles in her arches. “Mmmm.” She closed her eyes, enjoying the riotous, tingling sensations in her feet. “You are truly gifted.”

  His hands stilled, and she opened her eyes and followed his line of sight. Her nipples jutted sharply against the plum fabric of her T-shirt. His sculpted jaw tensed, and his throat worked as he cleared it. The smoldering look he gave her was so powerful her breath caught in her throat.

  “Cassie.” His voice was thick, husky, laden with the heat of desire hovering in the air.

  “What?” she whispered. The way her heart slammed against her ribs, she could barely hear her own voice.

  “Your place or mine?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Come here.” Mike locked the door to Cassie’s house behind them.

  The low timbre of his command sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine. She was wound so tightly from anticipation, she could barely breathe.

  Mike held out his hand, a movement that molded his blue dress shirt to his powerful shoulder. Glare from the fluorescent ceiling lights reflected off his eyes, casting them in a turbulent midnight blue.

  When Cassie slid her hand into his, he tugged her closer and without breaking eye contact put her hand to his lips. Starting with her pinkie, he kissed every one of her fingers. By the time he progressed to her thumb, her hand trembled. If the way her body responded was any indication of what the night had in store, it promised to be one hell of a hot night.

  Raven lay down next to the refrigerator and made what sounded like a dissatisfied hmpf at having her nightly walk cut short.

  Sorry, girl. I have needs, too.

  Mike began kissing each of her fingers again in reverse order. When he reached her middle finger, he slipped it slowly into his mouth. When he began sucking on it like a Popsicle, Cassie nearly choked. His mouth was hot, wet, teasing as he slid his tongue up and down and around the length of her finger from the tip of her nail to the base of her hand.

  “Where’d you learn that?” she asked on a sigh.

  With her finger still in his mouth, Mike laughed, sending vibrations through Cassie’s finger to her toes.

  He slipped his mouth from her slicked finger. “I’m a highly trained professional.”

  “I can see that,” she whispered. “And feel it.”

  The color of Mike’s eyes turned darker, more evidence of the passionate storm brewing in those azure depths. With an animalistic groan he hauled her against his chest and covered her mouth with his. He slanted his lips across hers, angling her head for deeper access as he probed with his tongue. He tasted minty and earthy at the same time.

  Heat radiated from his body like an industrial oven, seeping through her clothes and skin directly into her blood. Cassie dug her fingers into Mike’s back, resisting the urge to claw through his silky shirt to get to his firm flesh.

  With their lips and tongues fused, he pressed his erection against her lower belly, thrusting with the same rhythm of his tongue in her mouth. She surged her hips forward, straining to increase the contact of his hard body against the entrance to her core.

  Mike pulled her hands from his back and gripped both her wrists in one of his hands, holding them over her head. Her breasts jutted against her T-shirt, her nipples grazing his chest until they pebbled. He teased her by skimming his free hand over the incredibly sensitive peaks with soft, feathering touches.

  “Mike, please.” Cassie let her head fall back, astounded at the way her words sounded like a pathetic plea.

  “Please what?” His deep, throaty voice was more a command than a question.

  “You know damn well what. If you don’t put your mouth on me, I’ll die.”

  “Baby, anything you want.” He grasped her breast and bit her nipple gently through her T-shirt. He plucked with his teeth until the bud turned harder than a diamond.

  More.

  Cassie strained to free her hands from Mike’s grip. Her chest rose and fell from the effort, shoving her tight, aching nipple deeper into his mouth.

  “Easy there, wildcat.” Mike chuckled as she twisted to free herself.

  “I don’t want it easy.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He released her wrists and in one fluid motion, yanked her shirt up and over her head, then flung it against the wall. He unclasped her bra, and the next thing she knew, that, too, slithered down the wall. Cold air from the air-conditioning vent blew over her nipples, puckering them harder, making her shiver with delight.

  The corners of Mike’s mouth lifted, and he uttered an undecipherable, thoroughly male sound. He cupped her breasts, squeezing lightly, ma
ssaging them until Cassie wanted to scream from the sheer pleasure of his touch.

  “Your breasts are perfect,” he murmured, then grasped her buttocks and set her on the counter. Stainless-steel sugar and flour bins rattled as they were shoved to the side.

  Mike bent his head and pulled her bare nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, rolling her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Cassie held his head tighter to her breast, sifting her fingers through his dark, close-cropped hair. When he caught her nipple firmly between his teeth, she cried out.

  Oh, God. More, more, more.

  The sounds of his lips and tongue sucking and licking her bare flesh drove Cassie to let out a high-pitched moan. Mike’s large hands caressed her breasts, nipples, and belly in erotic little circles, driving closer and closer to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers delved progressively lower, below her waistband, then sliding over her now hot, wet panties. The sweet ache between her thighs built and built to a throbbing crescendo.

  What would he feel like inside her?

  Strong. Thick. Powerful.

  Her muscles turned to molten lava, barely able to hold her upright. She slid her hands to his back, trying to pull the shirt from his waistband. “Too many clothes.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He brushed her hands away and pulled her off the counter. One flick of his finger and the button on her jeans popped open. He tugged her zipper down and yanked her pants, along with her panties, to her ankles. She toed off her shoes and kicked them aside.

  Raven let out a woof.

  “Sorry, girl.” She must have hit Raven with one of her shoes.

  Her socks came next, and Mike helped her out of her pants. The kitchen tile was cool beneath her bare feet. He pushed her against the counter until the edge pressed into her bare backside. Mike cupped her face, his thumbs gentle as he skimmed her cheeks. His eyes burned hotter and bluer than the tip of a welder’s flame.

  “You are so, so bad. A cop with a naughty side.”