Fall Into Me (12 page)

“Yeah.” He tried to slough off the disappointment. Might as well go home and get some sleep. Damn it.

My Lord, she was stalking him.

She flexed her fingers about the wheel. She wasn’t really
stalking
him. They were dating. They were lovers. If she wanted to prove she wasn’t fixated on him, she’d turn right.

She hooked the left without flinching.

The small housing project where Troy Lee lived fronted the highway as it passed through the outskirts of Coney. Angel pulled into the tiny parking lot in front of the forlorn row of brick apartments. This late, the neighborhood was relatively deserted, although beyond the low building, a lone figure moved on the basketball court, practicing throw after throw in nearly seamless perfection. Troy Lee’s patrol car was nowhere in sight, his Jeep sitting off to one side. She sighed and reached for the gearshift. Looked like she was going home, to sleep alone.

Lights flashed over the building as a white squad car purred into the lot. Anticipation sizzled through her, and she shifted into park. Opening her door, she stepped out and leaned on the roof, watching as he climbed from the patrol car. He grinned at her over the Mustang. “What are you doing here?”

She rested her chin on her crossed wrists. “Stalking you.”

He came around the car, keys jingling against his belt, the leather creaking. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Really late.” She rested a fingertip on his tie tack and stepped closer. He wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her against him.

“You should be home in bed, asleep,” he murmured, nuzzling her jaw. “But I’m glad to see you.”

She shivered, a combination of the chilly wind and his touch, his fingers playing those teasing little riffs at the base of her spine.

“Missed you.” The rich whisper tickled the sensitive curve of her ear and she pressed nearer.

“You too.” She tiptoed up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

He darted a look at the basketball court and stepped back, still holding her, but at arm’s length. “Come inside while I get my things.”

Fingers laced through hers, he drew her along the cracked concrete path to the last unit. She sighed, rubbing her arms, when he released her to unlock the door. It was ridiculous, really, her reticence to allow him to leave clothing at her house. They’d only been together two or three weeks, only been intimate two nights. Granting him a privilege it had taken Jim three years to gain seemed premature. Although he wasn’t Jim, and her heart already knew it.

He pushed the door open and stepped back to let her precede him. She stepped into darkness, immediately surrounded by scents: the sharp, fresh soap Troy Lee used, pine cleaner, the dust of old drywall. His hand brushed the small of her back and the door clicked shut seconds before light flooded the room.

Small didn’t begin to describe the space. The living room held a plaid sofa, a plain shelf with a television, and just enough room to walk to the galley kitchen on the other end. Two doors on her right led to the bathroom and his bedroom. A large canvas above the sofa dominated the entire room and she stepped forward to study the painting.

Breathtaking. Completely out of scale for the room, but mesmerizing. The muted blues and greens of the seascape pulled her in, the colors blending to a foggy horizon. Pinks and beiges depicted damp sand with a trail of perfectly detailed footprints disappearing over a dune.

“This is beautiful.” She glanced over her shoulder at Troy Lee, who stood beside the kitchen bar. He unsnapped the bands holding his gunbelt in place, unbuckled it and slid it free. He laid it out on the counter and removed his handgun.

“It’s one of Christine’s.” He checked over the gun, placed it in a metal box on the counter and spun the dial lock. “My dad’s favorite. It used to hang in his office at Georgia Tech.”

“She’s very talented.” Angel turned in a slow pivot, eyeing the further details of the room. A pair of battered running shoes, holes worn in the sides and tops, sat at one end of the couch. On the lone end table, a copy of
National Geographic Adventure
lay discarded, open to an article on ocean kayaking. She watched as Troy Lee pulled his brown tie free. “So this is where you live.”

He folded the tie over the back of one bar stool. “This is where I sleep and eat.”

She rolled her eyes. “So where do you live, Troy Lee?”

With a shrug, he tapped the center of his chest. “In here.”

How was she supposed to argue with that? Arms crossed, hands under her elbows, she watched as he unpinned his collar brass and laid that aside as well. She liked this, the intimacy of watching him peel away the layers of law-enforcement respectability.

Probably because she was fast becoming intimately acquainted with the bad boy beneath the badge.

The familiar burn of wanting him flared, licking at her nerve endings, sizzling low into her belly. She slipped out of her thin jacket and tossed it on the end of the couch. She walked toward him, putting just a little extra sway in her hips, watching as his eyes took on the same burn. “Do you know what I like about you in uniform, Troy Lee?”

The indulgence in his smile didn’t belie the heat in his gaze. “What’s that?”

“You’re all buttoned up, spit-shined and polished.” Stopping before him, she laid her finger just above his top button, revealing the white T-shirt underneath. She leaned up until her mouth was a whisper away from his. “It makes me want to rumple you.”

He looped his arms about her waist. “Angel baby, you can rumple me all you want. Anytime you want.”

“Really?” She tucked her fingers into his belt and pulled him toward his bedroom. “I might have to take you up on that, Deputy Farr.”

His lazy grin appeared as she tugged him through the door and turned on the light, illuminating a bedroom nearly as spare as his living area. He reached for the buttons on his uniform shirt, but she caught his hands.

“Uh-uh.” She placed both palms against his chest and gave a light shove, pushing him against the wall. He’d taken charge both nights they’d been together so far. Tonight, it was her turn. Legs splayed, he rested his shoulders against the wall and watched her, all vestiges of weariness gone from his face. She traced a finger over his badge, the metal smooth and cool under her touch, then trailed her fingernail down the raised vertical seam on his shirt, the muscles beneath camouflaged by the bulk of a bulletproof vest. She flicked a glance at him from beneath her lashes. “Do you know how sexy this is?”

“Yeah, brown and tan polyester is hot.” Laughter lurked in his tone, but didn’t hide the way his words thickened with arousal.

She ignored his teasing and rubbed a finger along the upper edge of his belt. “No wonder all the girls keep breaking the speed limit.”

“You’re the only one I’m interested in.” He tried to tangle a hand in her hair, but she reached for his wrist and returned his arm to his side.

She tapped the middle of his bottom lip. “Not very good at following orders, are you, Deputy?”

“I have a hard time keeping my hands off you.”

“So what do they offer you, those girls?” She traced the seam on the left of his torso. Another flirtatious look from under her lashes. “To get out of a ticket.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Do you ever want to?” She outlined his belt buckle. “Trade them out, I mean.”

“No.”

She leaned into him, fingers tucked securely into his belt, mouth close to his again. “You’re saying you’ve never been tempted? Not once?”

“You never offered.” His breathing had altered, becoming shorter, rougher. Intense blue eyes locked on hers. “I’d have lost my badge if you had.”

With a sultry smile, she brushed her lips over his. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He lunged, one arm around her waist, a hand buried in her hair, his mouth hungry on hers. She opened to him, meeting that hunger head on. His hand slid lower, cupping her butt, urging her into him, grinding her against the growing hardness below his belt. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, struggling to free the buttons at the same time.

One came loose and pinged away over the floor. He half-growled, half-laughed against her mouth. “You’re sewing that back on.”

“Gladly.” She tugged harder, separating the fabric, sending more buttons plinking to the floor.

“Those too.” He lifted her against him and she wrapped both legs about his lean hips. One second she was high in his arms, the next her back hit the bed and he came down between her thighs, mouth sealing hers.

“No.” She insinuated her hands between them, pushed him aside. Her hands went to his belt and she slid to the floor to kneel between his thighs. “This is my show, Troy Lee.”

Levered up on his elbows, he watched with burning eyes as she dispatched the buckle, unfastened his slacks, slid down the zipper. His erection strained against the thin cotton of his boxers. She pushed his undershirt up as far as the vest would allow, caressing and rubbing the delineated lines of his hard belly. Hooking her fingers into his waistband, she eased the fabric down until he sprang free, hard and long and enticing.

She touched him, sliding worshipful fingers down the length, and his breath caught on a winded gasp.

“Vest has to go,” he muttered, performing an awkward sit-up to struggle out of the uniform shirt. She stroked him, folded a hand around him, and he sucked in a harsh inhale before fighting his way out of the unwieldy vest and dragging his T-shirt over his head. He leaned on his arms, and she looked up at him, holding his gaze as she wrapped her lips around him.

“God.” The syllable left his lips on a broken whisper.

The clean, acidic taste of male skin tingled on her tongue, warm, hard flesh sliding against her lips and teeth, brushing the back of her throat. She loved the feel of him in her mouth, loved his small, rough sounds of pleasure. She gave herself over to the enjoyment of pleasing him, flicking an occasional glance up at his face, his eyes closed, the planes tight with painful gratification.

His hand tangled in her hair, gripping, pulling slightly, his hips tilting up in a restless, wanting rhythm. Nothing disturbed the silence of the room but his jagged breaths and her own smothered moans. He filled her, his taste, his feel, his smell.

With one finger, he traced the line of her ear, her jaw. “Ah, Angel…”

Her name on his lips was less than a whisper, a mere exhale of sound, resonant with emotion. Her eyes prickled and she blinked, letting him fall free of her mouth, sliding her tongue along his length in slow strokes, rubbing her lips around the glistening head. His lashes lifted to reveal blue eyes blazing with desire. His palm caressed along her jaw to cradle the back of her head and he tugged her up toward him. “Kiss me.”

Straddling his thighs, she wound her arms about his neck and took his mouth. Her short, full skirt blossomed around them, his slacks coarse against her bare thighs, his damp erection sliding against her naked skin. He caught the elasticized edge of her neckline and pulled down, until the cap sleeves freed her arms, until the cotton dress pooled at her waist. Painting her neck and collarbone with kisses, he enfolded her breasts with hot palms, thumbs brushing hardening nipples through thin lace.

“I’m falling so fast for you.” He murmured the words over her heart.

The crisp edges of his short hair at his nape delighted her fingers. Her throat closed on answering words and she swallowed. If he could take that risk, so could she.

She framed his jaw with trembling fingers and held his gaze. “A lot of people would say it’s too fast. Shoot, I should say it’s too fast, but I don’t care. There’s so
much
with you, all of it good and strong and true.”

His familiar, wonderful grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “I think I can handle you speeding, just this once.”

Laughter bubbled in her. “Oh, you can, huh?”

“Yeah. But only with me.”

She traced the tiny almost-healed scar on his chin. “I don’t want anyone else.”

An arm came around her waist in a hard band. “Glad to hear it. I like being the only variable in your equation.”

“Really? Show me how much.”

On a low growl, he spun them, and she found herself flat on the bed and staring up at him. He lowered his head, kissing the corner of her lips, then the pulse point below her jaw. “This much.” Another light kiss on her sternum. “And this much.” His tongue rasped over one tight nipple. “And this—”

“Troy Lee.” She shivered under the sweet torture of his mouth on her breast.

He lifted his head. “Ma’am?”

“Anyone ever mention sometimes you talk a little too much?” She raised her thumb and index finger, holding them a small distance apart.

“Once or twice.”

“This is the time to talk less, love more.”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming. “Yes, ma’am.”

Deep rhythmic bass pounded into Angel’s consciousness, penetrating the fog of exhausted sleep. Even behind closed lids, her brain registered that the angle of light was wrong. She passed a palm over sheets that weren’t her vintage embroidered French linens.