“Well,” he scoffed. “Doubt she wants to talk to me. I haven’t been…you know, very nice lately.”
“Let me tell you something about women, we forgive the assholes we love. She’s been trying to get your attention. Now that she has it, what are you going to do about it?”
“You’re a hardass, Deputy Chief.”
“Beats a dumbass any day.”
He huffed out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, well, I’ll see if I can learn something by Monday.”
“You do that, Sergeant. Good luck. Oh, and you might want to pick up a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. They’ll at least get you through the door.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Thanks.” He turned and left, closing her door softly behind him.
Mina waited a few minutes, knocked, and entered at the same time. “How’d it go?”
“Not bad. Now it’s up to them. Hope they don’t mess it up.”
“Don’t worry, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, and Greta and Britann are on board. Britann’s been using her psychology chops on Courtney and helping her to see her errant ways, and Greta’s messed with Courtney’s car so she won’t be going anywhere.”
Seana laughed. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
Chapter Thirteen
“What’s this?” Seana asked as she boarded the sailboat later that evening. She dropped her suitcase by the door, and regarded Treat with surprise. She’d expected him to meet her, not to have what looked like a home-cooked meal waiting for her. The cabin was full of enticing smells, soft romantic music, and low lighting. Her mouth watered. “Is that king crab?”
“I don’t cook much, but when I do cook, I do it very well.” He drawled the words, making her wonder what else he did really well. She had a good idea. And one that she shouldn’t consider. The more time she spent around him, the harder it got to resist him.
Seana bit her lower lip. He looked pretty damned delicious himself wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron over a plain deep-blue t-shirt and worn jeans. He’d parked his XtraTufs by the door and stood on the polished wood floor in stocking feet. He appeared domesticated, yet she figured he was more like a sleeping brown bear. All adorable and cuddly, but when aroused he could rip her heart out. Bells rang in her head, warning that he was even more dangerous to her than she’d originally thought.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why am I cooking you dinner?” He took a minute to set down the bowl of steaming king crab and wipe his hands on his apron. “I’m not sure.”
“You aren’t sure?”
“That’s not right.” He rubbed the back of his neck looking for the first time like he was uncertain of himself. “Listen, DC, I know I haven’t come off that well so far. I was hoping that dinner might give us a chance to start over…you know, outside of a jail cell.”
A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth and she let it spill over. “Okay.” He really was charming. Besides she was starving. She hadn’t eaten anything since the sandwich with Mina earlier, and that seemed forever ago.
His shoulders relaxed as if he’d expected more resistance from her. “Here, let me take your jacket.”
He took a step toward her and the scents of the sea embraced her, wild and turbulent, promising untold adventures if she’d only set sail. Her breath quickened along with the beating of her heart. She should end this evening right now, before it went any further. She recognized the signs within herself. Arousal, yearning, and the most dangerous of all, curiosity.
Treat took her jacket and hung it up on a hook beside the door. She hadn’t noticed the hook before, and wondered briefly what else she wasn’t picking up on.
At her surprised look he said, “Boats like this one are an example of artistry in compact living. After dinner I’ll give you a complete tour and explain all the inner workings of the Reel Dreamin’.”
She swallowed at the way he’d said complete. That word shouldn’t be a turn-on, but the way Treat had said it promised more than the location of closets or where to park her toothbrush. She should head back to the hotel. What did she need sleep for anyway? She’d gone this long without it.
Treat motioned for her to sit and she slid onto the leather banquet seating around the table. He stood next to her, and before she could utter a protest, he reached out and flicked open the two top buttons on her uniform. He then tucked a large white cloth napkin into her collar, his fingers brushing ever so lightly across her collarbone.
“Eating king crab can be messy,” he murmured, his tone deeper than before, as though messy was something he couldn’t wait to explore with her.
She wasn’t imagining the undercurrents of desire sweeping her into the deep end of the ocean. Judging by the heat in his sea-green eyes, he felt the pull too.
Treat slid onto the bench across from her and slipped his napkin under the collar of his t-shirt, dragging the soft material down.
It took a bit for her to tear her gaze away from the contrast between his tanned chest and the stark white napkin. It was winter in Alaska, how was he so tan? And was he that tanned everywhere? She tore her eyes away from him and tried to focus on the meal laid out in front of her.
There was a huge bowl of steaming king crab legs and claws in the middle of the table. A bucket for the shucked shells sat next to it. Next to both of their plates were a wooden mallet, sharp knife, and small bowl of lemon butter. There were no utensils.
Treat poured a dry Riesling into her wine glass. This was so civilized, except for the mallet, knife, and missing silverware. After pouring wine into his glass he held it up for a toast. “To new experiences.”
Their glasses clinked, and she took a large sip, shivering as the wine flowed down her throat, and into her empty stomach. The sweep of alcohol warmed her blood.
He frowned. “Are you cold? I can turn up the heat.”
“No, I’m not cold.” If anything she was too hot. Scratch that. He was too hot, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d come away burned.
His eyes shuttered to half-mast, picking up on the undercurrents. “I have no intentions toward you tonight other than dinner.”
“I didn’t think you did,” she lied.
“Now, just to let you know, if you have expectations as to what we do for…say, dessert, I’m up for being ravished.”
Her mouth went dry, and she had to take another gulp of wine. License to ravish Treat Devereux was not a suggestion she needed floating around in her mind. She was just coming to terms that she did have expectations where he was concerned, and that scared the shit out of her. She reached for a claw, reveling in the heat and the satisfying hammering of the mallet, and resulting fight to get at the sweet meat inside. She dredged the meat in butter and opened her mouth, her tongue lapping at the lemon butter. She closed her eyes and moaned around the mouthful as the rich taste of the deadliest catch exploded in her mouth. “Oh good God, that tastes amazing.”
He uttered a sound as if he was in acute pain and she glanced at him as she reached for another leg. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice dark and raspy. He seemed to grapple with something before reaching for a crab leg.
She swallowed another bite. “I can’t believe how good this tastes.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled around a mouthful.
Her gaze was caught by the way his jaw moved back and forth as he chewed the succulent meat. He had the sexiest jaw she’d ever seen.
“Hey, you shaved.” Though he still sported a darkening shadow of stubble this late in the day.
“Thought I should clean up a bit for company.”
“You didn’t have to. I like the…rough look on you.” Oh good hell, what was she doing? Flirting, really? Her? She never flirted.
“I’m plenty rough where it counts.”
She gasped in a breath. Rough. She needed rough.
Hot and hard, bang-your-head-against-the-headboard rough. She’d been listening to that kind of sex for weeks. Good hell, she really should have taken care of her needs herself before being alone with him. It had been too long since she’d had a release, and never a release like the rough promise in Treat’s gaze. How would it be to lie with a man who wasn’t afraid of her? She didn’t think Treat would be gentle. Not with those big, thick calloused hands that were a testament to fighting for what he wanted.
“Are you going to eat?” Treat rumbled.
Her eyes flew up from his fingers where they clutched the handle of the mallet. This was it. Did she take what she wanted? To hell with what she should do and just reach for what satisfied? The longer she looked at Treat the tenser he became and the darker his eyes got, until they churned like a tempest mirroring the storm roiling through her.
“I’m too hungry to eat.” She pulled her napkin free from where he’d tucked it into her collar. The act freed another few buttons and left her shirt gaping open, allowing a view of her lacy red bra. It seemed to break something in Treat. He tugged his napkin free, and in another motion, he stood and yanked her into his arms, his mouth swooping down and smothering hers.
Tastes exploded on her tongue, sweet butter, sharp lemon and something darker, more tempting than any decadent dessert. The taste of Treat himself. He breached her lips, his tongue diving into her depths until it was impossible for her to catch her breath. She clutched at his shoulders as her knees buckled. He took her weight and swiveled with her in his arms away from the table. In a few steps, he had her in the bedroom. She was beginning to love not only small towns, but small boats. They were both extremely efficient. She liked efficiency.
Treat locked her against him as he lowered them to the down comforter. His heart pounded like a sledgehammer against her breasts, and she melted against him. Her legs wrapped around his hard thighs, her arms linking under his arms and hooking over his shoulders. She wanted to become part of him.
He struggled to free her of her clothing, swearing as he fought with her belt.
“Careful,” she warned, grabbing his hands. “Better let me.” She pushed him off to undo the belt herself, as it was loaded with her duty Sig, mace, Taser, knife, and cell phone.
Treat leaned back against the pillows and watched as she wriggled off the bed and stripped out of her boots, belt, and pants. Her movements slowed as she realized how intent he was in observing her every movement. When she was finally standing in front of him in her lacy, red bikini underwear, her button-down shirt still partly fastened with the red bra peeking out, he held out his hand. “Stop. Let me.”
Her hands stilled on the button just below her breasts. Treat rose to his knees and crawled across the bed toward her. He reached behind him, grabbed a fist-full of his t-shirt, and pulled it off. Wadding it up, he tossed it into the corner. Her breath caught as she got an eyeful of his fisherman’s body. Impressive. No gym for him. His muscles were carved from intense work. A light covering of downy chest hair trailed into a narrow line that pointed south. She wanted to see where that ended.
He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her to stand between his spread thighs. Burying his face in her cleavage, he groaned, his lips lightly kissing the exposed mounds of her breasts. His fingers deftly flicked open the rest of the buttons, and he pushed the shirt off her shoulders where it fluttered to the floor. Bracketing his hands on the sides of her ribs, he trailed kisses over her collarbone, through the valley of her breasts, and down her abdomen. Her breath completely escaped her as her head spun. She had to grab onto him in order to stay on her feet.
Her heart squeezed, aching as if it was involved. But how could it be? She hadn’t known Treat that long. This was just one night. Maybe not a one-night stand, but she didn’t see this lasting past a few enjoyable encounters. Don’t think of tomorrow. Treat wasn’t made for tomorrows. He could sail away on the morning’s outgoing tide. Just enjoy tonight. Tomorrow can wait.
Her knees shook and she wanted to sink into him. “Please,” she whispered.
“Please what, Deputy Chief Brogan?” His voice washed over her with its deep, dusky baritone.
She quivered. He’d promised he’d call her that in bed, and it shouldn’t turn her on even more. But it did. “I want you.”
“Where, Seana? Where do you want me?”
“Inside. Please, now. No more foreplay. I won’t last.”
“We have all night. There is no need to rush.”
She begged to differ. “I need…”
“What do you need? Tell me.”
“You. Hard, rough. Like your hands. Oh God, please touch me with those hands.”
He unhooked her bra and dragged the straps down, leaving her bare except for her underwear. Her breath caught as he covered her breasts with his calloused hands, weighing them in his palms before stroking the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, flicking and twirling them between his forefingers and thumbs into tighter, harder pinpoints. When he took one into his hot mouth, her head fell back on a moan. She held onto him as her world turned into nothing but sound and sensation. The visceral graze of his hands as they toured up and down her back, while his tongue did incredible things to her nipples, had every nerve-ending shivering in response.
Those calloused and scarred hands had seen so much, worked so hard, fought and struggled to make a living against Mother Nature and her contrary attitude, and now they worshiped her. It was sensation so sharp that it bordered on pain and she reveled in the scrape of each calloused stroke.
Who knew she liked a bit of torment with her pleasure?
His hands cupped her behind, kneaded and molded the flesh. Wet heat flooded her and she feverishly arched into him, trying to get closer to him to ease this vicious craving inside. But she couldn’t get close enough with him sitting on the edge of the bed. Her fingers journeyed down his chest and reached for his erection, finding him hot and hard and thrusting against the fly of his jeans.
He cursed in a strained tone and lurched to his feet, holding her away from him. “Not yet.” Then he picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. She squealed and bounced once. There was no time to react to the sudden movement before he prowled over her. Breathing hard, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and tugged it down her thighs, flinging the fabric to land wherever it may.
His greedy eyes took in her body spread on the bedcovers waiting for him, yearning for him. “God, you’re so beautiful and…blond?” He stared at the apex of her thighs where her blond curls showed golden in the dim lighting. “You dye your hair?”
Ah, crap. For a fleeting moment she wanted to cover herself, but twisted her fingers in the bedcovers instead. “Blond is my natural hair color.”
“Why hide it? I mean, your hair color, not your—I thought most women wanted to be blond?” he finished.
She smiled over his stumbling. He was adorable and sexier than any man she’d ever met, let alone slept with. “I’ve found that people don’t take me seriously as a cop when I’m blond. So I dye my hair, been dyeing it for years. Is that a problem?”
“No.” He slowly shook his head, a cocky smile curling his lips, and his hands spread open her thighs. “I like this secret of yours. Really like it.” His knuckles brushed against her curls and she arched off the bed from the unexpected caress. “Really, really like it.”
Then he proceeded to drive her to distraction investigating the depths of her blondeness. She caught her breath as his tongue speared her softness, her hips bowing off the mattress. He pinned her down with his broad shoulders, his arms hooking around her thighs, while his tongue and mouth indulged.
She came hard and quick, and instead of leaving her sated for a moment, the climax amplified her craving to have him deep inside her.
“More,” she demanded. “Right now. More.” She reached for him and he backed off the bed.
�
�Don’t move,” he panted. His body tight, muscles bunched as though ready to attack, he stood, unfastened and dropped his jeans, kicking them free of his feet. “Shit.” He grabbed for his jeans and rooted around in the pockets until he came up with a condom. He bit the wrapper between his teeth as he crawled back onto the bed, his hands keeping her legs spread as he moved into position.
“No,” she said, sitting up and taking the condom wrapper. “Let me.”
He groaned at the look she gave him. “Don’t torture me. I won’t last.”
“Would I do that?” She raised a brow, and he groaned again, making her laugh. She tore open the foil package and slowly rolled the condom over the tip of Treat’s very impressive erection. “Next time I get to taste you,” she said, licking her lips.
He swore and his eyes rolled back in his head as she took control. He’d driven her crazy, now it was her turn. But as soon as the condom was in place, he grabbed her wrists, and laid her back onto the bed, securing her hands above her head with his much larger hand. He used his other hand to position his shaft at her opening. His eyes never left hers as he claimed her in one hard, unrelenting thrust.
Her head fell back on a gasp, her inner muscles clenching around his intrusion. She coiled her legs around his hips, curving her pelvis into his and took him deeper.
He began to drive mercilessly in and out of her. The pleasure was so sharp it bordered on pain, but she didn’t want him to stop. Veins corded in his neck and shoulders as he strained to hold himself back from pounding into her. She didn’t want him to restrain himself. She wanted him to lose control.
“More,” she demanded. “Harder.”
“Not yet,” he grounded out through clenched teeth.
Everything inside her tightened as sensations swept through her like a rogue wave. “Yes, now!” She tore her hands free from his hold and grasped his hips, urging him to thrust faster, harder. On a curse he capitulated, his hands digging into her hips as he hammered home again and again, until she screamed his name.
Reel Trouble: Wild Women of Alaska Page 7
