Jill Shalvis - Serving Up Trouble

“Your dad?”

“Actually, my mom. She’s the master of control. She’s…never forgiven me for being a cop.”

“Never?”

“Never. But that’s what I am, Angie.” He shocked her by lifting a big hand and wrapping a wet tendril of her hair around his finger. “That’s who I am.” His touch made her want to close her eyes. His voice made her want to burrow back against him. “By definition alone,” he said very, very quietly, “control is everything.”

“But you’re also a man.” A man who was touching her, very lightly, very tenderly. Her insides did a funny dance, and as if he could read his thoughts, his eyes flared at the knowledge there.

“A cop first,” he said, his voice low. Rough. “Don’t confuse it.”

“I won’t, I couldn’t.” She entwined her fingers through the silky hair at the back of his neck. “You’re a cop through and through, I can see that. I accept that.”

“I doubt it.”

“It’s true.” But she could see she’d have to prove that much to him. Maybe he’d been hurt. Betrayed. She had no way of knowing, much as she wanted to. “But this rigid control…this holding back…Sam, life can’t be lived to its fullest that way. It just can’t.”

“I don’t hold back.”

But that’s just what he’d done, from the very first with her. His mouth was so close to hers. Just a shiver, a single breath, and they’d be connected. “Don’t you?” she whispered.

He stared down at her mouth.

Oh yes, she had his attention now. Not as a victim. Or a responsibility. But as a woman. “I know how hard it is. Believe me, Sam, I know how hard it is to let go, because until recently, I’ve lived most of my life denying my own ambitions, my own hap pi ness. It was easier to do so than to face them. Which is really the same as all this rigid control you’ve got, don’t you see?” Her throat felt tight. “I’ve learned it’s much more fulfilling to be a butterfly than a caterpillar. I’m only guessing, because I’m still really new at this, but I know it’s going to be great.”

Still staring at her, he let out one long breath. “You’ll make a great butterfly, Angie. You will. You were made for it. But for me…that sort of thing doesn’t work. Control does.”

“And tough ness.”

“And tough ness,” he agreed with a hint of a smile. He dropped his hand from her hair. “It’s how I want to be. No exceptions.”

“But-”

He touched her again, put a finger to her lips. “No exceptions,” he repeated.

She didn’t want to look at him, not when she knew her heart was right there in her eyes for him to see. He’d hate that, so she did the first thing that came to her. She closed her eyes and pressed her face back against his throat.

He smelled so good. Like soap and heat and man. And she remembered her new vow, not to let anything stop her from what she wanted, not ever again.

So she was scared, so what? Fear wouldn’t stop her either, and she leaned into Sam’s heat and strength, letting it surround her.

His arms surrounded her, too, probably because he thought she needed more comfort, but that’s not what she wanted at all.

Not from him.

So she lifted her head, found his mouth with hers and showed him what she did want.

For one long heart beat, he froze. Very lightly she touched the corner of his mouth with her tongue, then the other corner, and with a low, rough groan, he dragged her closer, whispered her name hoarsely and opened to her.

It was a kiss like nothing she’d ever known. She felt like she was drowning in him, in the pleasure and heat and need of it.

But from the window came the sound of one car pulling up, then another. Telltale blue and red lights flashed, slashing through the room.

Angie’s reinforcements had come, which meant this little interlude, the most amazing she’d ever had, was over.

An hour later, the excitement was over. The police were tracking the prank calls. They’d dusted for prints. They’d made a report. They’d left.

All that remained now was for Angie to wait until they made sense of what had happened.

Normally Sam felt only impatience for the victim who couldn’t do that. Now, suddenly, he felt his own vicious impatience with the system that required her to hang tight like a sitting duck and wait it out.

Angie stood in front of her living room window, staring out into the dark night. She’d put on a tank top and a pair of sweat pants that had seen better days. Faded and nearly thread bare, he could have sworn a patch low on her very lovely behind had nearly worn through, showing him a hint of bare flesh.

Suddenly all he could think about was whether she had anything on beneath, and if not…

Sam shook his head and purposely shifted his gaze upward, to her narrow, tense shoulders, and the way she had her arms wrapped around herself as if she had no one but her own company for comfort.

Moving forward, he put his hands on her shoulders to shift her away from the window, wanting to bring her farther into the room, but at the touch of his fingers, she jerked.

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, lifting his hands from her, smiling easily as she whipped around, eyes wide, breath hitching. “Just me.”

“Yeah.” Again her own arms snaked around her waist. “I knew that.” She looked around. “So…I guess you’re going to go now, too, right?”

“I’d rather you let me call someone, a friend…anyone.”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” But her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Angie-”

“Really.” She turned toward the front door. A not-so-subtle invitation for him to go. “Good night.”

No reason for him to feel that he had a vise on his heart, just because she was trying to be so brave, so tough, when any idiot could see it was all for show.

She opened the front door.

He stepped toward it. At his side, she stood there waiting, her head bowed so he couldn’t see her face, her eyes.

Just go, O’Brien. Walk away.

He almost did it. Started to pass her, but then before he could think, he was reaching out, lifting her chin with his fingers, using his other hand to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I can’t leave you like this.”

“I won’t be someone’s burden.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

She took a deep breath and stepped back from his touch. “Then how did you mean it?”

His mind blanked.

At his lack of response, she turned away. “I’m sorry, never mind. But thanks again for coming,” she added with extreme politeness.

“Go,” she whispered, when he stood there.

Yeah, he should go, because he knew, just as she did, that if he stayed…

“Please, Sam.”

He even lifted his foot to take the last step out of her door. Right out of her life.

But he set it back down again, tugged her clear from the door and shut it.

“Sam-”

“I’m not leaving you here alone, damn it, don’t ask me to.”

“But…” She blinked a little un certainly. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Without another word, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, plastered her warm, curvy body to his.

She probably meant to soften him, or to simply comfort herself, but the connection actually had the opposite effect. As his body tightened in a mixture of arousal and protective affection, he pulled her close and let himself be sucked into the surge of pleasure.

It destroyed him, this terrible need he had to keep her safe, far more than the lust did.

The lust he expected. The lust was normal.

But the other…

How in the hell was this happening?

“Thank you,” she whispered against him. He pressed his face to the warm skin of her neck, breathing in her fresh scent, thanking God she was really okay, that nothing had happened to her. He pressed his mouth to the tender curve of her neck, inhaling deeply of her when she closed her eyes and tipped her head, allowing him better access. “Angie,” he murmured.

“Shh.” Her hands cupped his jaw, brought his mouth back to hers, which was blindingly seeking…and when their lips touched, they both sighed. Like a coming-home sort of sigh, and he decided to worry about it later, because he couldn’t think of anything except how she felt against him, whole and safe in his arms, pressed against his aching flesh.

Her hands moved over his shoulders, restlessly over his back and up his chest. This wasn’t just a kiss. He knew this, even in his be fuddled state. Then she deepened the connection, her tongue shyly sliding to his in an age-old rhythm that had him growling low in his throat and tugging her even closer. His hands moved, too, and he wasn’t too far gone to know he should be thankful she’d put on clothes, because he didn’t know if he could have resisted Angie in nothing more than a small, damp towel.

Then her hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt, gliding over the bare skin of his back, and God help him, but he did the same. His fingers danced over the back hook of her bra, dallied, played…

“Sam.”

The way she said his name, on a sigh of breath that could have been a plea, a prayer, a curse…But her mouth came back to his-insisting, needy, hungry, and he gave her all he had, which was far more than he’d known he had. Tasting, sucking, nibbling-by the time they broke apart, breath less, he couldn’t have put a thought together to save his life.

Then he was kissing her again, and she was kissing him back, and he wasn’t worried about breathing, because nothing mattered more than this. Her hands slid up his bare belly now, her fingers gliding over his chest, his nipples, which actually hardened beneath her touch and elicited another deep-throated growl from him.

At the sound, she pulled back slightly, her mouth wet and already swollen, her eyes slumberous but just with a twinge of anxiety. “You…don’t like that?”