Courting the Cop

by Coleen Kwan

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately.”

  His words shocked her so much for a moment she couldn’t move. Cautious, she turned to face him. She couldn’t read his expression. He seemed cagey, edgy. Maybe anxious? Why, she couldn’t fathom.

  She tried a nonchalant shrug. “You don’t have to apologize. I know there’s nothing serious between us, so you don’t have to account for your movements.” Although she would like to know what he was doing with Gina.

  Brody shifted on his feet, a frown flitting across his brow. “You still going to that fifties dance?”

  “Of course. I bought my ticket weeks ago. Why?”

  “Just asking.” He shrugged. “You going with your macho Italian?”

  “Carlo? I doubt it. He’s not into fifties dancing either.” She cocked her head sideways. “Why? Are you jealous of him?”

  “Me? Jealous?” Brody scoffed. “I got better things to do with my time.”

  Like sneak around with Gina. God, how she hated these suspicious thoughts. Gina was a friend of hers, and Brody was too straight-up to be a lying rat. There had to be a perfectly innocent explanation, and she was sure Brody would tell her if she asked. But if she asked that would show how insecure she was, how much she cared about him. That would scare Brody off faster than a wedding ring. No, she couldn’t ask him about Gina. Just because she and Brody had slept together a few times, that didn’t give her any rights over him.

  She leaned back against the refrigerator and tilted her head up to aim a challenging stare at Brody. “Well, you mentioned Carlo, not me.”

  “Fine. Let’s forget about him.”

  “Already forgotten.”

  Heat flickered in his hazel-green eyes as his gaze trailed over her face, zeroing in on her lips. “Now there’s something I can’t forget.”

  She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. The lust flaring in his eyes filled her with a giddy sense of power. To think she still had this effect on him…it was intoxicating.

  “Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were getting tired or bored.”

  He moved closer, leaving only an inch between them. “No. I’ll tell you when I’m tired or bored.”

  The inch of air between them sizzled. She swallowed. “Okay. That’s honest.”

  He touched his forefinger to her bottom lip and pressed gently until her lips parted. His eyelids fell to half-mast as he rubbed his fingertip across her mouth. “You busy tonight?”

  His husky voice and the feel of his finger on her lip were amazingly arousing. She knew the smart thing to do would be to tell him to take a flying leap. She knew she was in danger of falling in love with Brody. She knew she wasn’t very good at protecting her heart. But logic didn’t count for much when her body and her heart were crying out for him.

  She licked his finger before slowly lowering it from her lips. “Yes, I’ll be busy tonight,” she murmured. She waited for his face to fall before she continued, “Apparently some cocky detective is coming to see me and make up for all the nights he’s missed with me.”

  A lopsided grin lifted his face. “A cocky detective, huh?”

  “Mm-hmm. According to him, he’s really something in bed.”

  He leaned in, stealing all the air from her lungs, and stroked his fingers down her cheek. “I’ll let that detective know to bring his A game tonight, then.”

  He brushed his lips across hers, and she shivered with need, her body hot against the cool refrigerator.

  So what if he was hiding something from her. So what if he didn’t want to go to some dance with her. It didn’t matter as long as he came to her tonight.

  A loud throat-clearing from behind broke the spell. Brody stepped back from her, revealing his partner standing in the doorway, gazing at them both.

  Brody didn’t seem the least embarrassed. “See you tonight,” he said to Abigail before turning to his partner. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Shane gave Abigail a quick salute. “Later, Abigail.”

  Moments later, she was alone, semi-aroused and a little ashamed at how easily Brody could turn her mood around. He was still the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy she’d first pegged him for, but now, from personal experience, she had to admit the wham-bam part was pretty spectacular. She just had to make sure she was properly prepared for the thank-you-ma’am part, which would inevitably arrive.

  “Omigod, you are so fucking sweet.”

  Brody’s husky whispers in Abigail’s ear were more uplifting than any poetry ever spouted. Especially when he was on top of her, inside her, and his slow, rhythmic pounding was sending her pleasure centers into overdrive. She dragged her fingernails down his back, relishing the play of his muscles, the sweat dewing his skin.

  “Brody…” As usual, he’d robbed her of all her vocabulary except for one word. “Brody…” His name purred in her throat. She arched her spine and gripped her legs more firmly around his hips, urging him to pound a little deeper, a little harder.

  He obliged, pushing a hand between their bodies, seeking out her tight, aching bud. When he found it, he thumbed it tenderly, slowing his pace to a solid, bass cadence. Hot pleasure flowered around her center, tendrils shooting through her legs. She sucked in a breath, caught on the hook of his sexual expertise, her entire world focused on his measured thrusts, his thumb pleasuring her clit, his eyes urging her to let herself—everything—go.

  “Show me, Abby, show me everything.”

  His free hand closed around her breast, brushing against her nipple, and she couldn’t hold back any longer. She flew over the edge, pleasure shattering her, body arching, his name hoarse on her lips.

  “Brody. Brody.” Yes, he knew what she meant.

  Only then did he let himself go, and it seemed he’d missed her too. He pounded so lustily into her that she found herself slipping off the bed. He followed her, too far gone to stop. His shoulder banged into her nightstand, and a pile of books fell to the ground, but they barely noticed. Incredibly, she felt another wave of pleasure lift her up, and when Brody made his final thrust into her, his body tensing as he orgasmed, she crested on a second climax, more intense than the first, making her cling to his shoulders as wave upon wave rippled through her.

  “Oh. My. God.” She flopped onto the floor, breathless and giddy, her body buzzing from the aftermath. “Oh. My. God.”

  Sweat gleamed on Brody’s body as he levered himself off her and rested on his side, watching her with a smug grin on his face as he too gasped for air.

  “Guess I brought my A game tonight, huh?” he said eventually.

  “Are you fishing for compliments?” She couldn’t help laughing at his cheekiness.

  He traced a finger down the center of her stomach. “Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I did make you come twice in two minutes.”

  “You did. So I guess you did bring your A game.” She reached up to caress his jaw, relishing the feel of his stubble. Amazing to think that a man this sexy was so eager to please her in bed.

  “It got a bit rough at the end. Hope you didn’t get any bumps or bruises when we fell on the floor.” His fingers moved up over her shoulders, assessing her.

  “Nope.” She’d rather liked the rough bit. She wouldn’t mind him getting a little rougher. That thought made her pause. Was Brody making her a little kinky? Well, he did have a fetish for her red-and-white apron, after all.

  He laughed and helped her back into bed before bending down beside the books that had tumbled to the floor. He picked up some of them and piled them back onto the nightstand. The last book was open at the flyleaf.

  “To Abigail,” he read. “Wild nights! Wild nights! Were I with thee, wild nights should be our luxury.” He peered closer at the signature. “Robert?”

  Abigail sat up in bed, blushing with discomfort. Damn, she hadn’t realized that book was still on her
nightstand. She hadn’t done much reading for a while, or tidying up, or that book would never have stayed there.

  “It’s nothing,” she said as she all but snatched the book from his hands. She slammed it shut and pressed her fists on it.

  Brody’s eyebrows lifted, his expression curious. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about a book of poetry your ex-lover gave you. The English professor, am I right?”

  He seemed so calm about it that she nodded. “Yes, but I haven’t hung on to the book because I’m pining for him.” Somehow it was important to stress that. “I’m over him, really I am. In fact, I don’t know why I’ve kept this book. It’s going to Goodwill, first chance I get.” She tossed the book away from her, keen to be rid of it and all its gloomy memories.

  He sat on the bed, blocking her view of the book, and she was glad to concentrate on him instead.

  “Was he a complete asshole?”

  “He was married, and I believed him when he told me he was getting a divorce.” The words tumbled out of her. “I believed him for a whole year, until I found out he was still spending nights with his ‘estranged’ wife, and there were no plans for divorce since they had an open marriage.” She shook her head. “Yes, I was very gullible and stupid, no need to tell me.”

  Brody let out a small sigh, but his eyes were sympathetic, not condemning. “You’re sweet and trusting and loyal, Abigail. Don’t let that change just because of one sleazy jerk. He’s not worth it.”

  “You think so?” she sniffed.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. “Abby, I know so. Don’t waste a second of your time thinking about that scumbag.” He rocked her in his embrace, his arms so strong and protective around her she wanted to stay there forever.

  “He was a scumbag,” she couldn’t help saying. “He made me sneak around because he said we couldn’t be seen together or it would hurt his prospects of gaining tenure. I was never a proper girlfriend, I was just a booty call.”

  “Hey, no more talking about him.” Brody squeezed her tighter. “He’s not worth it.”

  “You’re right.” Gulping down another sniffle, she bounced out of his arms and grabbed the book. “This is going out right away.”

  “Hey, you’re not leaving me here, are you?”

  She turned to take in the sight of Brody’s magnificent buck-naked body, and a sigh shivered through her. In the long run he might be completely the wrong kind of man for her, but right now Brody was perfect for her because he blotted out all reminders of Robert.

  “Stay where you are.” She waved him back to the bed. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  “Come back in your apron, not a jiffy,” he called after her as she marched out of her bedroom, the despised poetry book in her clutches.

  She went into the kitchen and took great pleasure in throwing the book into the garbage bin. Robert had ruined Emily Dickinson’s poem, but that was the last thing he’d spoil for her.

  I was never a proper girlfriend, I was just a booty call.

  She’d said those words about Robert, but didn’t they apply equally to Brody? Wasn’t tonight little more than a booty call? Yes, it was, if she was brutally honest. Brody wasn’t interested in a relationship. He might not be as calculating as Robert, but the outcome was the same, wasn’t it? After all these years of wishing and hoping that someone would put her first in their lives, she wasn’t any closer. Brody was just the latest in a line that stretched back to her parents.

  But oh how she hated feeling like a victim. She didn’t have to; she had a choice. Sure, she might not be top priority for anyone at the moment. She might have crappy parents and bad luck with men, but she wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself. She was responsible for her own happiness, and she had a lot to be grateful for—a home, a job, friends, a place where she belonged. She might never experience her happily-ever-after, but that shouldn’t stop her from living a full life.

  Abigail picked up the apron that never failed to arouse Brody. He didn’t want anything serious with her, but he was caring and funny and lovely to be with. And sex with him was seriously amazing. She’d be crazy not to enjoy it while it lasted.

  She tied the apron on and started back toward her bedroom.

  As she entered the room, she was almost run over by Brody charging in the opposite direction. He had his jeans and undershirt and one shoe on, and was hopping forward trying to get the other shoe on.

  “I just saw O’Brien going into his mom’s house.” He spoke with calm urgency as he paused to shove his foot into the shoe.

  Abigail sucked in a breath, her eyes darting to the chair where Brody had slung his holstered gun. It wasn’t there anymore. Fear snaked through her. Oh God. He was running into danger. What if he was hurt or shot…? Don’t go, she wanted to cry out.

  Brody clamped his hands on Abigail’s shoulders, the weight of them powerful but not enough to steady the frightened pounding of her heart.

  “I’ve called Shane for backup. Stay here, do you hear me, Abby?” he said with quiet force. He waited until she nodded before he pressed his lips briefly to her forehead. “Good girl.”

  Then he was gone, leaving her icy cold and numb with fear.

  Brody ducked out of Abigail’s property. Across the road stood Katherine O’Brien’s house, the windows dark as usual. A man had just come out of the front door and was hurrying toward the front gate, shoulders hunched. The guy froze as he caught sight of Brody.

  Shit. Michael O’Brien. For a split second their eyes met across the dim street. The years rolled back, and once again Brody was the rookie cop staring at a desperate punk who’d seconds ago shot his partner.

  He reached for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans, at the same time that a large truck lumbered down the street, blocking his vision. He ran around the truck, but O’Brien was already pelting down Main Street.

  Shit.

  Brody took off after him. He was in super-fit condition, and years of frustration lent him extra adrenaline. But it seemed desperation had given his target extra wings too. O’Brien hurtled down the street like the devil was after him, and he didn’t give a damn who got in his way. He crashed through a middle-aged couple strolling on the sidewalk. The woman cried out as she was shoved to the ground, and her husband tried to catch her. Brody slowed to check she wasn’t badly injured before leaping over them. That cost him a few precious seconds, enough for O’Brien to dart across the road, narrowly missing a bus and a cab, before he disappeared down a side street.

  Brody’s senses worked on instinct as he threaded his way through the honking traffic. Forced to watch out for vehicles, he took his eyes off O’Brien, and by the time he made it to the side street, he’d lost sight of him.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  He began to run down the middle of the road, scanning the parked cars and shuttered buildings on either side. Bright headlights shone from behind as a car came up alongside him.

  “Where did he go?” Shane asked from behind the wheel.

  “Down this way, last I saw,” Brody huffed, keeping to his jogging pace.

  “I’ll circle the block, take a look-see.”

  Shane’s car zoomed off. Brody continued his search. The streets were dim, the night thick and moonless. There were a thousand and one places where a desperate man could hide—parked cars, unsecured buildings, shadowy alleyways, overgrown front yards. Here off Main Street only a few people walked the streets, the weather and the dark keeping most sensible people indoors.

  Brody methodically searched a ten-block area, checking in with Shane and the patrol officers who’d also been alerted, but an hour later he was forced to admit defeat. Michael O’Brien had vanished like the rat that he was, and Brody was even further away from catching him.

  “He might return to his mom’s place when all the fuss has died down,” Shane said to him. They were sitti
ng in Shane’s parked car, and the patrol officers had already left, allowing the wintery darkness to reclaim the street.

  Brody tugged his fingers through his messy hair, taking a faint pleasure from the pain he inflicted on himself. “Only a dumbass would do that, and O’Brien’s not that much of a dumbass. I thought I had more time, but he wasn’t there two minutes, so maybe his mom wasn’t home.” He fisted his hand on his knee. “Fuck it, man. The punk looked straight at me when he came out of his mom’s house. He recognized me. He knew I was a cop. That’s why he took off.”

  “Maybe he took off because you had a gun in your hand.”

  “Nope. He knew who I was. After all these years.” He cussed again. “Dammit, man. I was this close to grabbing him, and I let him get away.”

  Frustration burned in his gut as he imagined O’Brien sniggering at his expense.

  “What happened to your jacket?” Shane asked.

  “Huh?” Brody gave him a blank stare.

  “Your jacket, man, and your shirt.” Shane flicked the undershirt that was all that covered Brody’s chest. “It must be minus two below.”

  Brody glanced down at his clothes as he registered for the first time how damn chilly he was. Adrenaline and movement had kept his core temperature up, but now he was sitting still, his muscles were starting to seize up.

  “I must’ve forgotten them.”

  Shane started the engine, and welcome warm air began to blast the interior. “Don’t tell me. You were buck naked in Abigail’s apartment when you spotted O’Brien.”

  The snicker in his partner’s voice didn’t improve Brody’s mood. Nor did the reminder of Abigail. He should call her, let her know what had happened. Shit, he so did not want to talk to her at the moment, even though she’d probably be anxious about him.

  “Yeah,” he grunted.

  “So did you have to pull out when—”

  “Shut up, dude,” Brody growled. “I’m not discussing it.”

  Shane eyed him for a moment before he shrugged and put the car into gear. “Want me to drop you off at her place?” he asked as they pulled away from the curb.