Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
He ran his gaze all over me, head to toe. “No, it’s okay.”
“Good,” I said, realizing he still hadn’t let go of my hand and that I hardly cared. Just that slight touch was sending jolts of electricity up and down my spine.
“I’m going on a beer run. You wanna come?”
I did, but then my brain kicked on, and with that came the warning sirens. What would prompt him, out of the blue, to invite me? He didn’t even know me.
“Come on,” he offered seductively, his voice low and full of heat.
Being the focus of all his attention made my cock thicken in my jeans. He was dangerous, that was easy to see, and a bit chipped around the edges. And that was my type—hell, it was everyone’s type. Broken bad boy needing to be healed? Gimme. And I definitely wanted to taste him, but… “Maybe not,” I whispered, easing free and taking a step back.
He took one closer. “Why not? You’ve got bottom written all over you.”
Oh…lovely.
“You can ride my cock in the car, and we’ll be back here before the party even gets going.”
I understood then. The man was a player, and he saw me as a quick diversion, a meaningless notch on his bedpost, utterly forgettable. He had an itch that needed a scratch, and there I was, looking up at him with hungry, needy puppy-dog eyes. I would have offered to fuck me in the back seat of his car on the side of the road too.
“What’s the matter?”
I was such an idiot, still susceptible to his breed of sexy at twenty-eight. “Alex.”
“Your brother doesn’t need to know, does he?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then come on, just— Where ya goin’?”
I didn’t realize I’d been walking backward, inching away. “Nowhere. I just don’t fuck like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it doesn’t mean anything.”
“So to you, it has to mean everything?” he asked dryly.
“No, just more than nothing.”
He scoffed. “No one-night stands for you, huh, princess? Don’t you think you’re a little old to be saying no?”
“And don’t you think you’re a little old to still be fucking in your car?”
“I’m only seven years older than you.” He winked. “That’s not ancient.”
And he’d been right; thirty-five wasn’t a fossil. He was a year younger than Alex, both of them having joined the police force right out of college. They had started as patrolmen and were then on the inspector track—a job Cord would keep and my brother would eventually leave to join the DEA—but at the time, the way he sounded, all defensive, made me wonder who Cord was trying to convince of his maturity.
“I have years before I even think about settling down,” he’d insisted.
“Sure,” I agreed, walking by him.
He caught my arm. “You’re sure you only do serious?”
“I do.”
“Your loss.” And he left.
It had been the beginning of a mess. Every time we saw each other from then on, there was teasing and flirting, irritation, and endless, annoying banter. There had not, however, ever been Cord reaching out to touch me with tender warmth. That was brand-new.
“Trace?”
“Sorry,” I said quickly, leaning away from him, away from his touch, not wanting to let my guard down, ever, with Cord Nolan.
“No, you’re fine. I just—”
“I was grazed by a bullet. That’s it. I’m fine now. Please be sure to put that in your report, Inspector Nolan.”
He glowered at me, which was good. I liked us smack-dab in the middle of familiar territory. At least some things never changed.
My doctor walked into the room just then, and my brother and his charming ex-partner had to leave. I figured the latter meant that my office getting shot up was not, in fact, the most interesting thing to happen in all of San Francisco on a Wednesday morning. But that did not stop Alex from sending two police officers to escort me down to the Mission Station to answer questions, write up a statement, wait while it was typed up, read it again, sign it, and then tell the story all over again to another pair of inspectors on the organized-crime task force. I was hungry, sore, and cranky by the time I finally got out of there hours later, just after four in the afternoon. My whole day had been eaten up between the hospital and the police station. The only thing that sounded good was my bed.
What was nice was that as soon as I limped out the front door of the police station, a huge Hummer pulled up beside the curb. The passenger side front window rolled down, and I found myself looking at Pavel Babić, one of my employees. Next to him, in the driver’s seat, sat a guy I didn’t know.
“Hey.” I smiled.
Pavel just squinted at me.
“What is it?”
“When you set up my retirement plan, you put Slavic and not Russian on the paperwork.”