Courting the Cop

by Coleen Kwan

  She folded her arms, lifted her chin. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint the both of you, but we’re not picking up anything tonight.”

  Now he wasn’t feeling large or pretty. “Come on. We’re both adults. We know what’s going on here.”

  A fresh flush rose in her cheeks. “Okay, I admit you have a certain scruffy je ne sais quoi, but I’ve already told you I’m not interested in being another notch on your bedpost.”

  “It’s so sexy when you speak in French.”

  “Brody!” she huffed, static energy lifting strands of her hair.

  Every cell in his body ached for her. He’d never felt this way over any woman, and he was sure it wasn’t just because she was holding out on him. Even if she wouldn’t let him ravish her senseless on her store counter, he still ached to be with her. He wanted to hold her in his arms, to cradle her into his body, to feel her heart thudding in time with his. His need for her felt fathomless. And slightly scary.

  He couldn’t stop himself stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Look, I know things are happening too quickly for you,” he murmured, hoping he sounded more persuasive. “But we both know sticking to first base isn’t working out for us.”

  “Which is why we shouldn’t start anything.” With a sigh, she moved out of his reach, but not before he registered how for a few seconds she’d nestled her cheek against his fingers. “I’m sorry, Brody. I shouldn’t have led you on over there.” She waved at the counter where moments ago he’d been positioned between her legs. “It’s my fault. I don’t blame you. You’re probably just behaving the way you normally do.”

  “Gee. Well, thanks. Didn’t realize I was such a knuckle-dragger.”

  She sucked on her lower lip. “I didn’t mean that. I meant—damn, I meant you’re used to women who aren’t like me.” She heaved out a sigh as if admitting defeat.

  Brody wasn’t ready to admit defeat, but pushing the point wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

  “Believe me, Abigail, there is no woman on earth like you.”

  She frowned at him. “I don’t know how to take that.”

  “Take it as a compliment, because that’s how I meant it.”

  Her eyes softened to milky pools of blue, and it cost him everything not to crush his mouth against hers.

  “Thank you.” She smiled tentatively at him, as if unsure how to handle compliments from him.

  He couldn’t not touch her, or he would fry. Angling forward, he pressed his lips to her forehead for a brief second. “You’re welcome,” he muttered, and he turned and left the store before he could do any more damage.

  Chapter Seven

  “So, I hear you’ve been getting some nookie on the shop counter, hmm?”

  Abigail avoided Luna’s eyes and concentrated on her chimichurri tofu. It was inevitable that word had got out about her and Brody being caught pretzeling in the store.

  “Nobody got any nookie,” she muttered. “And definitely not on the shop counter.”

  “Oh.” Luna chewed on her mouthful of millet loaf. “That’s a shame. I thought you and Brody were, you know, going hot and heavy.”

  Hot and heavy? Warmth rose in Abigail’s neck as she thought how hot and heavy Brody got her. Luna hadn’t seen her and Brody together, so she must have been hearing Sophia’s highly embroidered tales.

  “You shouldn’t believe everything Sophia tells you,” Abigail said. “Brody and I are”—she cleared her throat—“taking things slowly.”

  Luna tilted her head to one side to appraise her. She was currently deep in midterm papers and assignments, which was why she hadn’t been at the store lately, but she and Abigail were catching up over dinner at Luna’s favorite vegetarian restaurant. Abigail was glad to be away from her apartment and store, but Luna wasn’t helping much in taking her thoughts away from Brody.

  “I’m glad you’ve got Brody,” Luna said. “He’s fun. He’ll take your mind off the store and the neighborhood problems.”

  Yes, Brody had definitely proved a distraction, one that was too big for her own good.

  “It’s good to see you’re over Robert,” Luna added.

  Abigail was about to eat another slice of tofu, but the mention of Robert’s name made her lower her fork. She waited for the familiar pang that his memory had always invoked, but this time it was barely perceptible. She was getting over him, at last. Thank heavens. She’d wasted too much energy angsting over the man who’d broken her heart.

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m over him.”

  Later, as she caught the bus home, she wondered if Robert ever thought about her. He should, she imagined. She’d been his research assistant for more than two years, and his lover for a year. He’d talked about their future together, talked about the cottage on the lake where he would take her one day. One day when he was free. Bastard. Did he remember those plans he’d made, the plans that had included her? Part of her hoped so, hoped he wasn’t as devious and manipulative as his actions had proven. But part of her told her she was too gullible, that she was trying to make excuses for him even now. The fact was, Robert had never intended to divorce his wife to be with Abigail, and she’d done the right thing breaking it off with him, no matter how much it had hurt.

  The bus dropped her off a couple of blocks away from her home, and she hugged her coat around her as she headed into the raw night. It was just after nine thirty, and on a cold Wednesday night there weren’t many people on the streets. Her boots clicked on the sidewalk as she passed familiar stores, most of them shut.

  The minimart up ahead was one of the few stores still open, its neon signs lighting up the sidewalk. As she neared it, a shout came from inside, and a dark figure dashed out and started running away. A heavyset store clerk came huffing out of the minimart and yelled after the disappearing figure. “You son of a bitch, you come back here!”

  Abigail ran up to the store clerk. “What happened?”

  “That Spike punk did a grab ’n run right in front of me!”

  “Spike? You sure it was him?” Abigail stared after the skinny male pelting down the sidewalk.

  “Yeah. He’s hit my shop before.”

  Spike, the leader of the teenage gang, the scourge of the neighborhood. Hitching her bag under her arm, Abigail took off after him.

  A car cruising down the street suddenly shot ahead of her. Tires screeching, it pulled to a halt near the end of the block, and a big guy jumped out and hounded after the shoplifter. Abigail’s heart leaped into her mouth. That tall, athletic figure could only belong to one man—Brody.

  As she ran toward them, Brody tackled the skinny figure and brought him crashing to the ground, landing solidly on top. Even from a distance Abigail heard the wincing thud of flesh meeting flesh.

  “Brody!” she heard herself cry out.

  Why was she shrieking like that? Brody looked like he had the situation under control. He was bent over the thief, his knee resting heavily on his back while he twisted the guy’s arms into some kind of lock.

  “Oh, Brody.” She pressed a hand to her chest, breathless and not just from her running. “You caught him. You caught Spike.”

  “You got the number for the local police station?” Brody asked her, all brisk professionalism. She nodded, pulling her cell phone from her coat pocket and bringing up the preprogrammed number. “Let me talk to them.”

  He dragged the groaning thief to his feet and hauled him against the wall. With Brody’s hands occupied keeping the captive in a wristlock, Abigail held the phone up to his face for him to talk. He spoke rapidly. She realized his need for haste. The store clerk was huffing and puffing toward them, and Brody didn’t want him to suspect he was a police officer.

  “Hey, those’re some moves you’ve got there,” the store clerk said as he reached them. “You a MMA fighter or something?”

  “I’ve done so
me martial arts before,” Brody said easily. “The police will be here soon to take this guy away. You’ll have to hang around and tell them what happened.”

  “For sure I’ll do that. I’m sick of these punks ripping me off.” The store clerk shook his fist at the shoplifter. “You’re the worst of ’em, Spike.”

  The runty guy spat over his shoulder. “Hey, fatso, maybe if you didn’t stuff your face all day you’d be able to keep up with me.” He twisted the other way and smirked at Abigail. “Hey there, sweet thing. What’s your name? I’d let you catch me any day.”

  Brody shook him roughly. “Shut your mouth, fuckface.”

  The guy whined, and the store clerk yelled some more. Fortunately a cruiser had pulled up, and two patrol officers jumped out to deal with the problem. After handing over the thief, Brody spoke briefly to one of the uniforms before he moved off, taking Abigail by the elbow.

  “Let’s go,” he muttered in her ear. “I don’t want to be seen for too long around cops.”

  She nodded and allowed him to usher her back to his car, which was stopped in the middle of the road, the driver’s door hanging open. They got in, and Brody drove them down the block to Abigail’s store. He parked around the corner and cut the engine.

  “What were you doing here?” Abigail asked, her nerves still jangling from the whole incident.

  “Just doing a drive-by, checking up on things. What were you doing out on the streets?”

  “I met Luna for dinner, and I was on my way home.” She bit her lip, gripped her trembling hands together. Now that the immediate danger to Brody was over, delayed reaction was setting in, making her chilled and shaky. “I couldn’t believe how you launched yourself at that guy so forcefully. Weren’t you scared?”

  “No.” He blinked in surprise.

  “But he could have had a knife or even a g-gun.”

  Brody stilled, his gaze sliding over her. “You were frightened for my sake?” He sounded surprised and…vaguely pleased.

  “Of course!” She sucked in a breath as she caught sight of his hand resting on the wheel. “Your knuckles. You’re bleeding.”

  “This?” He glanced at his hand, before lifting a shoulder. “It’s nothing. I must’ve grazed it when I shoved the turd up against the wall.”

  “You’d better come upstairs and get it cleaned up.” She didn’t know where that came from; the words seemed to tumble out of her mouth without control.

  Brody’s grin widened. “Yeah, I’d better, huh?”

  Oh God, she was asking for trouble. Why on earth had she invited him in? His hand was barely scratched. He could take care of that himself. He must think she’d used that as an excuse to get him into her apartment. Which, at some subconscious level, was true.

  She flapped her hand in the direction of the bathroom. “Uh, you can clean your hand in there. There’s disinfectant and bandages in the medicine cabinet above the sink.”

  Brody’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not going to do it?” He sounded disappointed. “I was looking forward to you kissing it better for me.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you were.” She pushed his shoulder to get him moving toward the bathroom. He was rock solid, and he didn’t move an inch. Her fingers itched to slide over his shoulder before she dropped her hand. “I’ll make some coffee while you wash up.”

  He pulled a face, a golden glint in his eyes. “Coffee? If you’re not going to play nurse with me, then I deserve a proper drink at least, don’t I?”

  “I’ll see what I can rustle up.” She turned toward the kitchen before her will power crumbled.

  There was no wine in the kitchen. She moved on to the living room and after some rummaging found a bottle of peach schnapps at the back of a cabinet.

  “What you got there?” Brody asked from the doorway.

  “Schnapps.” She held up the bottle. “Must have been my aunt’s. It’s all I have, I’m afraid.”

  He crossed the room and took the bottle from her. “It’ll do. Got some glasses?”

  She fetched a couple of her aunt’s liqueur glasses, and he poured out two generous measures.

  “Cheers.”

  They clinked glasses and sipped. Somehow they were sitting side-by-side on the two-seater couch, which was on the small side, and Brody was a big man, which meant she was cozily close to him. So close that she was aware of every inch of him.

  “Thanks for catching Spike,” she said, anxious to keep the conversation neutral.

  “Don’t thank me too much. He’ll be out on bail by tomorrow.”

  “But it’s a start.” She hesitated, unable to tear her eyes away from him. “Your knuckles feeling better?”

  He flexed his right hand, where he’d cleaned the abrasions. “It’s just a scratch, see?”

  She stared at his hand, wanting to trace her fingers over the broad shape. He had the sexiest hands she’d ever seen. Tough and masculine, yet sensitive and tactile too.

  “Abby, I want you to promise me something.” There was a serious note in his voice.

  “Yes?” she murmured, still distracted by his sexy hands.

  “Promise me you won’t run after shoplifters like you ran after Spike, or me. It’s not safe. You might get hurt, and for an orange or a few bucks’ worth of stuff, it’s definitely not worth it.”

  She lifted her gaze to his face, surprised that he should be so concerned about her safety. “O-okay,” she stammered, her breathing suddenly in difficulty. She took another sip of schnapps to steady herself, but the alcohol only made his handsome face more fascinating to her. “But you have to be careful too, you know. I’ve never seen you in action before. You pounced on that Spike guy like a lion pouncing on a mouse.”

  He stretched out a hand to lift a strand of hair away from her face. His eyes were warm pools of green with amber striations. “Maybe I did that just for you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  His fingers lingered on her cheek, his gentle strokes igniting sparks of heat all through her limbs. She gazed at him, hypnotized by his caress, his eyes, his voice.

  “Because I’m so desperate to impress you, didn’t you know?”

  She shifted closer, helplessly drawn in by him. She tried to stop herself. Moth. Candle. Flame. Terrible burns. It didn’t help, especially not when the length of his thigh pressed up against hers, and the air between them thickened with schnapps-fueled anticipation.

  “Oh.” She moistened her lips. “Well, just so you know. It’s working.”

  His eyes flared, and the naked lust in them made her heart stall. His fire blazed out and surrounded her, and suddenly they were kissing wildly, arms tangling around each other in a desperate struggle to get as close as possible. Their mouths clung and smooched together in a glorious, moist dance, tongues flitting, lips sucking, teeth nipping, breaths gasping and fervid.

  Peach schnapps had never tasted more divine than that delivered on Brody’s lips and tongue. She was drunk on him, on the taste and feel and sound of him. She speared her fingers through his thick, silky hair, dragged them over his scratchy stubble, then pushed up his T-shirt to glide over the smooth, hard muscles of his back. He groaned into her ear and whispered to her how beautiful she was.

  Their legs were twined together, their bodies heaving as they grappled on the couch, the springs sagging and moaning in protest at the sudden activity. She pushed herself on top of him, straddling his lap, and braced her hands against his shoulders. His chest moved up and down with his rapid breathing.

  She pushed back a few strands of hair so she could look at him. “This…is…insane,” she panted.

  “I agree.” He slipped his hands under her sweater and gripped her quivering flesh at the waist. “We’re going to break this couch. So why don’t we continue this in the bedroom?”

  She couldn’t breathe. She stared down at Brody, her body humming in his hands li
ke a racehorse ready to leap from the stalls. Moth. Candle. Pain. The warnings faded away. Brody. Bed. Craving. That was all she could hold in her head. Nothing else made sense.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Yes. Yes.” She couldn’t seem to say anything else.

  At her monosyllabic response, Brody’s entire face lit up. He pulled her to her feet and swept her into his arms, making her squeak in surprise.

  He carried her down the hall and into her bedroom, careful not to bump her head against the walls. He set her on her feet, huffing unevenly as he wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans. My goodness, he was a teensy bit nervous, she realized in a burst of insight. Brody wasn’t the swaggering lady-killer she assumed he was, at least not tonight, with her. The realization melted her heart, adding fuel to the banked fires roaring in her.

  “Come here.” For a second she didn’t recognize the husky demand coming out of her mouth.

  Brody’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before his familiar cocky grin reappeared. “Yes ma’am,” he drawled as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for another breath-stealing kiss.

  The kiss quickly burned out of control, and soon her fingers were writhing through his hair and one of her legs was wrapped around his thigh. She couldn’t get enough of Brody, couldn’t get enough of his mouth sliding over her face and throat, exciting pulses in places she never knew she had pulses, igniting fires in areas she’d never thought of as erogenous. Brody’s kisses and caresses burned away all her preconceived ideas of herself and turned her into a heaving mass of desire, ravenous for only one thing—him.

  Squeezing her arms around his neck, she attempted to wrap her other leg around his hips, and succeeded in toppling him over onto the bed. The mattress whumped with the force of both their bodies hitting the quilt.

  Brody chuckled as he held her on top of him, his eyes dancing with glee. “Hey, do you always get this frisky on a few sips of peach schnapps?”

  Was it the peach schnapps? Or the sight of Brody tackling a runaway thief? Or the unrequited sexual tension that had been building up ever since she’d knocked him over with her yarn costume? Or was it simply that she hadn’t had sex in over a year and she was ready to break that celibacy habit hard?