Читать книгу Out of Control - Julie Miller - Страница 7

WAS IT POSSIBLE for one woman to be any stupider about men than she’d been tonight?

Alexandra Morgan briefly flashed back to the crippling knowledge that she’d once proved the answer was yes.

Still, there was little comfort in knowing that tonight could actually be worse. She’d shunned the idea of dating for so long that she’d known it wouldn’t be easy, but she thought she’d get something right. After that awful night in high school, and the handful of doomed attempts in the nine years since that had turned her into a closed-up, guarded, spinster tomboy, she’d finally gotten frustrated enough to try embracing the sexy, feminine side of her nature again. She was anxious to learn about all the good things she’d been denying herself. The intimacy. The trust. The orgasms. She’d wanted this.

But nothing had changed. Wanting wasn’t the same as knowing. Her feminine instincts—or lack thereof—had failed her once again.

College had given her confidence in other aspects of her life. Her four years of the University of Tennessee made her rethink how she handled the small minds that had dictated the course of her life. She’d gone to work for her father, outlined new ideas to improve the family auto-repair business. She’d made a success of her life despite the concessions survival had forced her to make. But a degree in business management couldn’t prepare her for nights like this one.

Tears began to chafe like grit beneath her eyelids again, and Alex blinked them away along with the painful memories from her past. She was smart enough now to grab hold of the anger that gave her the strength to bear the disappointments of her life. Like tonight.

The big bruiser with the badge here was just the icing on the cake. Her feet were blistered. She was cold, embarrassed. Accepting a blind date with the friend of a friend hadn’t proved to be the fresh start she’d hoped for. “What did I do wrong?”

He clipped his badge back beneath his black leather jacket, giving her a glimpse of a gun and a rip of muscles that warned her getting away from him wouldn’t be as easy as getting away from Dawson Barnes had been. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not necessarily taking you in. But we do need to talk about what you’re selling.”

“Selling?” Alex planted her hands on her hips in a defiant pose. “Do you see a purse? Pockets? A suitcase? I don’t have anything on me to sell.” Dawson had left her with nothing but the clothes on her back. She’d thought his offer to drive all the way to Dahlia to pick her up for dinner had been a gentlemanly gesture.

But when he’d started tearing at her sweater before they’d even gotten inside the restaurant, she’d fought her way out of the car without thinking about her phone or purse or the fact he might drive off and leave her.

Oh. My. God.

The blood rushed from her head down to her painted toenails. Those two boys in the saloon who’d seemed harmless enough to approach? That jerk in the car? Mr. Tall, Dark and Serious here? “You think I’m a hooker?”

“Well, that dress doesn’t exactly say all-American sweetheart now does it.” His sarcasm burned through her.

Alex glanced down at the twin curses bulging over the lowcut neckline, seeing for the first time just how close she was to popping out over the top of the tight rayon knit. She quickly hugged her arms around her chest as if she could hide her assets. But the cop’s gray eyes, dark as steel and just as hard, said it all.

“I look like a hooker.”

She was going to be sick.

Alex rubbed her hands along her skin from her elbows to her shoulders. Her father had assured her that her late mother had always put on makeup when she’d gone out. She’d always worn a dress and heels like a “fine lady.” Every fashion magazine Alex had picked up over the years talked about how a woman could never go wrong with a little black dress.

She’d managed to go wrong.

Despite the good intentions of the military father and workaholic brother who’d raised her, Alex had managed to go way wrong.

All she’d wanted was a date. One date with one decent guy who’d treat her like a lady and maybe teach her a thing or two about the intricacies of a physical relationship with a man. But Dawson hadn’t wanted to teach. He’d wanted to take.

And, by damn, Alexandra Morgan was done letting men take what she’d be willing to give the right one.

At five foot three, she didn’t have much to work with in the intimidation department, but she tipped her chin up, way up, to look this cop in the eye and set him straight. “Just so we’re clear on this. I am not a hooker.”

“Then I expect you’re either in trouble, or you’re well on your way to finding it. Either way, you need my help.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” More sarcasm? He raked his fingers over dark hair that had enough silver in it to give the short, crisp cut a smoky cast. “Come on.” Making some sort of decision, he cupped a hand beneath her elbow and turned her back in the direction she’d come from. “Let’s get you off the street before I have to arrest you for public indecency.”

“Are you kidding me?” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “This is a perfectly good dress.” At least, it had looked fine on the girl in the catalog. Of course, that girl was probably taller, and no way did a fashion model have a pair of 38 EEs to work with. “It’s not my fault I lost the sweater that goes with it. You take a look for yourself, pal. Everything I own is covered.”

But even Alex could look down and see that wasn’t far from a lie. Oh, God. She was blushing hard enough that even her boobs were turning pink. Quickly, she tugged the square neckline up half an inch. But then she felt a distinct breeze down between her thighs.

What she wouldn’t give for one of her brother’s big T-shirts—or a hole to crawl into—right about now.

Alex didn’t know whether to give NPD here credit for patience or perseverence. She saw the officer’s gaze go there, then politely move back up to her face. He nodded toward a halfton black pickup parked in an alley at the end of the block. “I’ll give you a ride to headquarters where we can sort this out.”

“There’s nothing to sort out. I’m going home.”

“Excuse me?”

She shook her head. “Unless you are arresting me, I am not going anywhere with you.”

His gray eyes grew even steelier. The cool leather of his jacket brushed against her cheek as he took a step closer and pointed over her shoulder at the cars passing by. “You won’t accept a ride from a police officer, yet you’ll get into the car of a complete stranger?”

“You’re a stranger to me,” she countered, feeling suddenly surrounded by his heat and strength, and fighting the urge to either turn tail and run or throw herself against that wall of black T-shirt and pray his offer to help was a legitimate one. “How do I know I can trust you?”

He was going for his badge again. “You see this? This means you do what I say.”

“I don’t have a particular fondness for cops.” And though this one with the jeans and the leather and the shoulders was a sight better looking than the good ol’ boy who ran her hometown, she wasn’t inclined to put her faith in any man right now.

“I wasn’t giving you a choice, Trouble.” He grabbed her arm firmly enough make her understand he wasn’t letting go. “You’re coming with me.”

“Hey!” The crowd parted in front of his long, determined stride as he escorted her back to his truck. Alex tapped along in double-time beside him, struggling against his grip every step of the way. “Did you just call me Trouble? This is police harassment. I’ve got a good lawyer.” A big brother who’d be indignant on her behalf, at any rate. “I’ll sue.”

“Sue away, sweetheart.”

He kept right on walking, ignoring her protests, ignoring curious stares and pointing and laughs that made part of her wilt inside. The one man who stepped forward to help quickly changed his mind and backed off when the cop thrust his badge in the guy’s face.

“You’re a big bully, you know that?”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Is that any way to talk to a lady—”

The sidewalk ended. The cop turned. Alex tugged. His grip slipped. But escape was short-lived. Her heel caught in the seam of the curb, snapped and pitched her forward.

A rock-hard arm shot around her waist to catch her. “Easy.”

Alex shoved it away. Why the hell should anything go right? She stumbled sideways, plucked off the traitorous shoe and tossed it. “Get away from me.”

Two big hands closed over her shoulders now, saving her from falling. “Let me help.”

“I don’t want any help. I just want to go home.” She wanted to crawl under the covers and hide her head and heart in shame.

He pulled her back. “I’m not the bad guy.”

“Let…” Alex’s vision had reduced to a blur of black leather and neon lights. But she had the presence of mind to put that surviving shoe to some good use tonight. She stomped down hard on his instep. “…go!”

Cussing up a blue streak, he did just that. Alex lurched forward, nearly splatting on the concrete. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her eyes burned.

“That’s it.” Before she could right herself, a straight-jacket came down around her shoulders. Its warmth and softness were almost a shock to her system. But there was nothing soft about the wrap-around bands of masculine strength that pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her feet clear off the pavement.

Alex shrieked. Twisted in his grasp.

“Stop it!”

Tears clouded her vision, burned down her cheeks. “No!”

“Don’t fight me.”

She writhed and kicked. The second shoe flew into the shadows. “Please,” she sobbed. If anything, his hold on her tightened. He locked one arm beneath her breasts, the other farther down, around her hips. She was moving through the air. He was carrying her away as easily and ignominiously as a sack of potatoes. And then she was trapped, her whole body cinched up tight, unable to wiggle anything besides her bare feet, which dangled in the air beneath her.

The humiliation of her evening was complete. She was grappling in an alley with a full-grown man who was neither her brother nor her date…nor her enemy.

The fight drained out of Alex and she sagged inside the prison of the cop’s arms. She was breathing hard, her chest pushing against the jacket’s silky lining. The cocoon of fiery warmth surrounding her finally pierced the blind haze of fight-or-flight emotions that had turned her into a crazy woman for a few minutes. She could finally blink enough tears from her puffy eyes to see that she was facing the bed of a black pickup truck. She was pinned against the side, wrapped up in a leather jacket and sandwiched between cold steel and warm man.

As her breathing returned to a more normal rhythm, Alex became aware of a hushed, deep-pitched sound murmuring against her neck. “Shh. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just quit fightin’ me. Okay?”

Alex nodded slowly, hearing the cadence of that soothing voice more than the actual words. “I’m…sorry.”

She exhaled on a surrendering sigh and instinctively leaned her ear closer to the seductive sound. Smooth like whiskey, and just as intoxicating, the deep, soft tones warmed her from the inside out.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” The rough pad of a finger was surprisingly gentle against her skin as the man who held her wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Shh. Now, come on. Don’t do that. You don’t want to be cryin’.”

The tears of frustration and humiliation quickly dried up beneath his tender ministrations. For a few moments, there was simply fatigue—and gratitude that there was a man whose will and strength were stronger than her own—a good man whose will and strength hadn’t been used to hurt her. But as her sensibilities returned, Alex became aware of other things. Interesting things. Things that were as male and intriguing and unsettling as that voice.

The muscled forearm wedged beneath her breasts. The rasp of beard stubble that tickled her ear and neck. The buttery softness and furnace-like warmth of the jacket he’d wrapped around her body. Alex breathed in deeply. The jacket smelled like heaven.

She felt the belt buckle pressing into her rear, and the thigh that had been forced between her legs. In their struggle, her short dress had ridden up to an embarrassing level, leaving only her cotton panties between them. But shielded from curious eyes by the truck and the man’s big, muscular body, she didn’t feel exposed or embarrassed.

Instead, Alex felt…female. Vulnerable.

But not afraid.

The roughness of denim rubbed against her most sensitive skin. And a rippling response of pressure seemed to be gathering at the juncture between her thighs, building with each flex of hard muscles against her there.

“Let’s try this again.” He adjusted their positions, shifting her higher onto his hip. Alex closed her eyes, her thighs clenching at the friction of his leg sliding between hers. How could being trapped—helpless—like this feel so good? “I’m a detective with Nashville PD. It’s too chilly for this dress and too late for a woman to be walking the streets on her own. I’m here to help you. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Before I got to you…” He paused, went still around her—as if the next question was hard for him to get out. “Have you been assaulted?”

Grabbing hands. Buttons popping. Pushing her down in the seat. “I heard you did it for all the boys in Dahlia. Let’s see those tits.”

“Shh. Easy.”

Something in Alex had gone rigid, defensive. But his mesmerizing voice calmed her into breathing easy again.

Alex answered. “I was on a blind date. There was a little miscommunication. I thought he’d be interesting—he thought I’d put out.”

“I’m sorry.” He adjusted his stance, pulling the prop of his leg from between hers, relaxing the intimacy of his hold on her without releasing her entirely. “Did he force you?”

Alex squirmed in his grasp, wanting to turn around and ease away the concern—or was it fear? Anger?—that eroded the seductive timbre of his voice into a predatory growl. But she was at his mercy, and all she had to give him were words. “No. I wasn’t raped if that’s what you’re asking. But his plans for the evening didn’t match up with mine. When I got out of the car, he drove off with my purse and sweater and cell phone inside.”

He cursed. Apologized. “And you’ve been walking ever since?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long night.”

“And I thought I was having a bad one. Sounds like yours might have been worse.” He adjusted his arms around her, softening his hold. Though there was still little chance for Alex to escape, it felt more like an embrace rather than a takedown maneuver. “Sometimes, it’s hard to get it all right.”

Alex nodded. “Sometimes, it’s hard to get anything right.”

“Sometimes.”

This man made it so easy to sink into his strength. He was still pressed against her, his cheek to her ear, his chest to her back, his…Alex’s cheeks colored with warmth. There was something more than his belt buckle pressing into her bottom. But he wasn’t rubbing himself against her or demanding she do something about it. His restraint, despite the hell she’d given him, created a whole new world of confusion inside her.

But oddly enough, this felt right.

Even though she was the one being held captive, he was letting her be the one in control of the unexpected, yet obvious, attraction simmering between them. Control was a whole new experience for Alex. And she was beginning to think she wouldn’t mind if the handsome detective asked for something more than answers from her.

She tried to ignore the strange impulse and explain what had led her to this moment—pinned against a truck by what had to be the sexiest man who’d ever had a hard-on for her. “I swear I haven’t committed any crime. Although, if Dawson Barnes complains that he can’t father children for a couple of weeks, then I’ll argue it was self-defense. And I’m sorry that I kicked you and hit you. I didn’t mean to flake out like that.” She squeezed her eyes shut and sent up a quick prayer. She might have really gotten herself into some trouble here. “Are you hurt?”

Laughter danced against her ear and vibrated from his body into hers. “By a little bundle of dynamite like you?”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“Relax.” His lips brushed against her nape as he pushed her hair out of his face. “I’ll heal.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m fine.” He exhaled slowly, tickling the fine hairs on the back of her neck. A riot of goose bumps rose on her skin, despite the heat from his jacket and body. “Now. If I set you down, nice and easy, will you tell me your name?”

No. No name. Alexandra Morgan was a failure when it came to men. And she was feeling something, wanting something so badly with this man that she didn’t want to blow it. Maybe anonymity would give her a safety net, confidence she normally lacked. And maybe a man with no preconceived notions of who she was, a man who saw her as a desirable woman and nothing more or less, could give Alex what she wanted—a chance to be a normal, sexual, cherished woman.

Even if it was only for one night. Or one hour.

Or one kiss.

“Just like you said, Detective,” she finally answered. “It’s Trouble.”

“I believe that. Okay, so no names. Are you flirting with me, Miss Trouble?”

“Would that be a crime?”

“Depends on if you’re playing me or if this is really going somewhere.”

Alex breathed out the last of her doubts. She might not know exactly what she was doing, but she understood exactly what she wanted. “I don’t like playing games.”

“Then this is definitely going somewhere.” He let go with one arm to feather his fingers into her hair and lift the curling strands to his nose. “You smell so good. Like gardenias carried on a distant breeze.”

Alex’s breath locked in her throat as the atmosphere around them grew heavy. This man could read a grocery list and make it sound sexy in that voice. A compliment like that was pure poetry.

“You…smell good, too,” she whispered. Ugh. Not so poetic. What was she supposed to say?

But the words didn’t matter. He angled his head and pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss against the nape of her neck.

Her startled gasp tensed through her body. But when she exhaled, any surprise flowed away and settled with a purr of contentment in her throat. “That was…nice. Better than nice. I didn’t know there was a bundle of nerves back there.”

“You like that?” he whispered, warming the same spot with his tongue.

She trembled. Nodded.

“You want me to stop?”

They were strangers. She was needy. He was willing. And he was being so…patient. Such a gentleman. And yet, this gentleman’s erection was nestled in the seam of her bottom, telling her she wasn’t the only one interested in exploring whatever was happening between them. It was damn crazy to want a man so badly. A stranger, no less. But when had an opportunity like this ever landed in her lap? Or rather, when had she ever landed in Detective Opportunity’s lap?

“Don’t stop.”

He nibbled the sensitive spot on her neck gently, making her jerk in his arms. Then he worked his way down her spine to the collar of his jacket, discovering nerve after nerve that leaped to life beneath his warm, moist touch.

Alex squirmed between the man and truck, trying to free her hands to grab on to something to steady herself—to try to take part in the embrace. But all she managed to do was work her dress up even higher—exposing more bottom, more damp, slick heat that desperately wanted to feel the press of his leg again.

“Careful,” he warned. His arm constricted around her ribcage. His fingers clenched in her hair, pulling slightly at her scalp. But the pinpricks of pain quickly blended in with the pleasure of his moan vibrating against her skin, his teeth nipping at the taut muscle where her neck and shoulder joined. His thumb inched higher, testing the weight of one breast, hooking around the taut nipple that strained against the band of her dress. He flicked the tender nub once, twice, a third time, forcing Alex’s mouth open in a gasp of need and want that matched his own. “I’m not getting my signals mixed up, am I, Trouble? Tell me what you want. It’s yours. Or tell me to stop.”

She’d come to Nashville, expecting to learn a thing or two about this man-woman mystery that other women her age seemed to enjoy. She was looking for the good part of sexual experience that had been frightened out of her by a cruel act, denied her by a small town that would never let her forget her mistake. She’d thought she’d failed in her quest.

Maybe she’d just been looking for that experience with the wrong man.

“I want you to kiss me again. Really kiss me.”

Her request seemed to open up a throttle, turbocharging the leisurely, languid connection between them. Without ever letting her feet hit the ground, he turned her—using the truck and the friction of her curves bunching against his harder angles to keep her suspended in the air and aligned against him in a way that was sending every red blood cell in her body charging hard into the tips of her aching breasts and down to her full, weeping center. And then he kissed her. And kissed her. His kisses consumed her.

His jacket fell away from her shoulders as her fingers crept around his neck, then raked up the back of his head, tugging his short, silky hair into her greedy grasp. His tongue reached into her mouth, caught hers in a twist and pulled it between his lips for a light nip between his teeth.

Alex returned the bold move, his groan of approval matching the restless cries in her throat. There was nothing soft about this meeting of lips, nothing reticient about the deep, ragged breaths that moved their bodies against each other. He slid one hand down to her bottom, slipped his fingers beneath the elastic band of the cotton and squeezed, branding her, skin to skin. Alex hooked her heel behind his thigh, instinctively opening her body to the hard, thrusting need of his. The truck rocked as he pushed his body closer, drove his tongue deeper.

A wolfish whistle from the entrance to the alley was the first glitch in Alex’s mindless need to fulfill tonight’s quest. A familiar panic button tried to break through the haze of passion. She should reconsider this impulsive encounter.

But the dectective had other ideas.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.” He kissed away her doubts, turned and carried her to the cab of his truck. With an unceremonious shifting of grips and digging into pockets, he unlocked the door, opened it and dumped her inside. “Move over,” he commanded. As soon as Alex scooted backward across the bench seat, he started the engine and took off. “We need some privacy.”

His growly pronouncement spoke not only of his need, but reassured a bone-deep fear inside Alex that this was a good choice. That he was a good choice. This man would save the night—he’d save her lovelife—for her.

Alex held on tight as they jerked around corners and sped on a straightaway. Then they squealed through a parking lot and swerved into an alley where the neon lights and music and crowds of Broadway couldn’t reach. About the time she’d worked her arms into the sleeves of his jacket and had pulled her dress down to a relatively modest level, he stomped on the brake, killed the engine and turned to her.

“You still game?” he asked. The glow from the dashboard shadowed the rugged lines of his face, but his eyes reflected a need, an intent, that rivaled her own.

Alex reached for him. “Yes.”

As he wrapped his arm behind her back and laid her down on the seat, the truck plunged into darkness.

Perfect.

For a brief moment, his shadow loomed over her. But Alex felt excitement, not fear. She felt his palms on her thighs, his thumbs sliding up beneath the elastic of her panties. The heady weight of his body pressed her down into the upholstery as he sought out her bruised, swollen mouth for a tender kiss. “I can’t believe I’m making out in my truck like some kind of randy teenager.” His beard stubble abraded the underside of her chin. His kiss followed. He blazed a trail down her neck, arousing, soothing. “God, I need this, sweetheart. I need this.”

And then, there really wasn’t much talking.

Driven by instincts, directed by his responsive moans, sometimes guided by the instruction of his hands and mouth, Alex became more powerful, more certain of herself, more demanding.

He pushed the jacket off her shoulders. The straps of the dress followed. The strapless bra offered no resistance. When he closed his mouth over the throbbing peak of her breast, she moaned. When he blew softly across the damp tip, she twisted. And when he pulled the straining nipple into his mouth and suckled her with the rasp of his tongue she bucked beneath him.

Her fingers flexed convulsively in his hair, wanting to pull him closer, wanting to share his attentions with the other breast. As frantic as they’d been outside his truck, he seemed to be taking his own sweet time transforming her into a heavy, quivering, raw nerve of pure desire. He brushed his rough jaw over the other nipple in a caress that made her cry out, yet savor the healing touch of his tongue against her all the more.

She wasn’t sure which happened first, the mindless panting or the fist of pressure building up between her thighs. She snatched at his T-shirt, tugged it from his belt as his kisses moved lower. She was desperate to touch the warm skin and the hard muscles underneath, but he moved beyond her reach. She was sitting half upright again, leaning up against the door. He shoved her dress up and kissed her belly, nuzzled her belly button, traced the sensible waistband of her panties with his chin, making muscles clench and stretch and contract. Before she could steady herself, his hand was inside her panties, cupping her bottom, lifting her to drag the underwear completely down her legs and toss them to the floorboards.

And then he was back, his kisses moving lower still. He brushed his lips through the thatch of golden curls and pressed a kiss to the swollen mound beneath. Alex dug her fingers into his shoulders and heard him laugh. The sound vibrated against her inner thigh.

“Easy, sweetheart.” He stroked his thumbs along the seams where her legs joined her hips, each stroke getting longer, opening her wider and taking him closer to her slick, pulsating center. “I’m just thinking about how good you smell. All over.”

Back home in Dahlia, she would have frozen up at the wanton intimacy of their position. She would have second-guessed. She never could have relaxed enough, felt safe enough, to lose her inhibitions like this. She would have failed to know and give pleasure.

But this wasn’t Dahlia, she reasoned. She wasn’t Alex Morgan, pariah of gossip turned extreme tomboy. Tonight, she was this man’s mystery woman. And she was all woman—all whole, sexually confident woman.

“What are you waiting for?” she gasped into the darkness. And then she tunneled her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth against her.

Alex’s head fell back and she cried out almost instantaneously as he ran his tongue between her folds and thrust inside her. Wave after wave of sensation rolled down to her core and blossomed back like shock waves through her body. He gently bit down against the hard nub, stroked his thumb along her aching crevice, kissed her and licked her and made her come again and again with just his mouth. Alex bucked and moaned and clutched him against her, her body weeping at the newfound experience of having a man bring her to orgasm.

When he was done, when she was spent, he pulled away, crawling up over her body to reclaim her mouth in a full, deep kiss. She inhaled her own release on his skin, tasted it on her tongue. Alex Morgan had never had a night like this. “You’re good.”

She felt him smile against her lips. “I kind of got that idea. Thanks.”

But she wasn’t done. She pushed against his chest. “Your turn.”

He gave her one last kiss and pulled away. “You’re sure?”

“You’ll have to arrest me to stop me.”

He pulled off his badge and gun and set them on the dashboard.

While she hurriedly redressed, he gingerly dropped one foot to the floor and stretched his other leg out behind her, opening himself up just as she’d offered herself to him. His deep voice coaxed her across the seat. “However you want.”

Alex curled her legs beneath her and scooted closer. The jerk of his leg when she braced her hand against his knee told her he might be as primed for this forbidden encounter as she’d been. “Do you have protection?”

“Shit.” She’d take that as a no.

But not as a never mind. Alex slid her hand along his thigh, crawling closer, massaging away any noble instinct to stop her wandering hands. His shoulders were broad enough, near enough, to blot out any light from her vision. But her sense of touch worked just fine. She palmed him through his jeans and she heard the creak of leather where he squeezed the seat back in his fist.

Interesting. Alex’s pulse kicked up a notch in anticipation. Maybe there were other ways to feel the strength of her femininity that had nothing to do with her own release. She rubbed her palm down the length of his zipper and traced the seam of denim that ran between his legs. He groaned. “There are ways, right? Safe ones?” she asked.

His deep breath stirred the hair beside her ear. “Don’t you know?”

All the innuendoes over the years didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. But she was a quick study when given the chance. She dragged her hand up, tracing the same path. “I’m learning.”

His shoulders rose and fell in the shadows. “You weren’t a virgin. Were you?”

Unfortunately, no. That honor had been stolen from her long ago, trampled on, laughed away as meaningless.

Tonight had meaning. Alex pressed her fingers to his lips, easing his distress as well as her own. “Shh. Enough about me. Talk me through this.”

“You are one serious package of trouble, aren’t you.” He made it sound like a good kind of trouble. An irresistible kind of trouble. He pulled her fingers from his lips and guided her hand down to join the other one. For several moments, he simply cupped her hands over the bulge in his jeans and rocked against her. Her breathing quickened along with his. And then he gave her a command. “Unzip me. Careful. That’s it.”

The trembling of her fingers lessened with each hint of praise or pleasure. She unhooked his belt buckle, slid the zipper gently downward. He shifted slightly to help her ease his jeans off his hips. She smiled at the bright white cotton that poked through the opening they’d created.

Plain white cotton? A kindred spirit. The detective was the right man for the job tonight.

“Pull it out.” She did as he asked, stroking his length through the tight tent of cotton, then reaching inside to capture the hot, pulsing hardness of him in her hand. “Oh, yeah.” His hand tightened around her wrist, holding her still while he thrust inside her grip. The moisture at the tip caught in her palm and smoothed the friction between them. With a gasp that sounded like a tight breath through clenched teeth, he released her. “You do it. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

While Alex slid her hand from tip to base and back again, he framed her face with his hands, sifting his fingers into her hair, holding her as tenderly as he’d been firm with her a moment ago. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered at the corner of her mouth. “I can’t seem to get enough of kissing you.”

And then he seized her mouth with the same vigor that Alex used on him. She braced her hand against his shoulder and worked him as his tongue thrust into her mouth. The harder he kissed, the firmer her touch. He went deeper; she stroked harder. He gentled the brush of his lips across hers; she lightly teased the ridge of skin beneath him.

He was pulsing, throbbing, driving into her grip, mimicking the same rhythm with his tongue in her mouth. As she continued to caress his silken length, something deep inside Alex began to pulse in response. He moaned into her mouth, reached down and wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing tightly as he came up off the seat and pushed himself one last, long time into her hand.

The power of his release triggered an answering satisfaction in her own body and Alex collapsed against him. For several long, timeless minutes, he wrapped his arms around her and she burrowed against his chest, marveling at the warmth, the exhaustion, the contentment she felt.

No encounter had ever been like this for her. She felt safe. Satisfied. Serenely pleased with herself and grateful to this man. Her night in Nashville had turned out to be a success, after all.

As she became aware of the soft, patternless lines he was tracing against her back, Alex noticed the time on his dashboard clock: 2:14 a.m. Her brother would be worried about her by now, her father up, pacing the living room, trying to decide whether to call the sheriff or get into his own car and drive into Nashville to search for her.

And with those concerns, the first frissons of worry marred her contentment.

“Restless?” the detective asked.

Alex pushed away from the tempting haven of his chest and slid back to her side of the seat. She pulled his jacket more tightly around her, but couldn’t seem to ward off the chill of reality that had wormed its way into her thoughts. “I’m just remembering that I’m stranded, that I don’t have any way to get home or even call there.”

He sat up straight, pulling up his jeans and tucking everything back into place. He reached for his gun and badge. “I’ll take you.”

“No.” Alex shot her hand out to touch his wrist. An armed man would hardly reassure her father and brother. She pulled away just as quickly, distracted by the warmth of his skin. “I don’t usually do anything like this.”

“Neither do I.” The gun and badge found their place on his belt. He started the engine. “I haven’t had an enounter like this…for a while.”

He fastened his seat belt, and while Alex did the same, he shifted into reverse and backed out of the alley.

Alex tucked her tangled hair behind her ears. “An encounter sounds like a clandestine rendezvous. Like we were supposed to meet. I’m…”

He checked for traffic and pulled onto the street. “You’re what?”

“Confused.”

“Join the club.”

“Yeah, but you’re…older.”

“So I’ve been told.” The lights from the street and other cars let her read the hard expression that deepened the lines on his face. “Doesn’t mean I’ve got women all figured out.”

Her laugh sounded more like a snort. Yeah, she was a real femme fatale. Not. At least not outside that alley. “I sure don’t have men figured out.”

“I’m not going to apologize for what happened.”

“I don’t want you to.” The old Alex’s doubts were quickly resufacing. “I know we didn’t do…everything. But, you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“Hell yeah, sweetheart. I enjoyed it a little too much.”

Alex frowned. “You can enjoy it too much?”

He swore and Alex jerked in her seat. “There are rules and regulations to life. To my job. I think I’ve broken about every last damn one of them with you tonight.”

“I’m sorry.”

He headed up a hill, picking up speed. “Don’t be sorry. Be mad. Get that lawyer of yours and sue me.”

“Why?”

“I was supposed to be rescuing a damsel in distress, not gettin’ my rocks off with her. You can report me for that. In fact, I’ll give you the form to fill out and introduce you to the officer where you can file a complaint against me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she smiled. “I don’t have any complaints. No one’s ever called me a damsel in distress before. That’s kind of girly, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” She didn’t understand the 180 degree shifts in his mood from hero of the hour to angry cop, but she had a feeling she was going to be okay. “So, milady—will you let me drive you to precinct headquarters before something worse than me happens to you?”

He maneuvered them smoothly through the late-night traffic and pedestrians. “Is that where we’re going?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not arresting me?”

“I’m the one who screwed up tonight, not you. Here.” He pulled out his cell phone and handed it across the seat to her. “The call’s on me.” He stopped at an intersection and watched her punch in a number. “Contacting a friend? Family? That lawyer of yours?”

Alex smiled, feeling extraordinarily relieved and comforted by the simple gift of a phone call. “All of the above. My big brother. He’ll come get me.”

“Tell him to meet you at the downtown precinct station.”

She slid a glance across the seat to her knight in shining armor while she waited for Nick to answer. “You won’t tell my brother what we did tonight, will you?”

He scoffed. “If you don’t tell my deputy chief.”

Nick Morgan picked up after the second ring. “Alex? You okay? I saw Buell and his buddies yukking it up at the track tonight, and I couldn’t help but think…I called your cell a dozen times. You’ve got me scared shitless here.”

“I’m okay.” The truck slowed and turned into a parking garage. “My date with Drew’s friend didn’t go as well as I expected. And I lost my purse.”

Her brother swore. She could hear her father in the background now, asking questions. “She’s okay, Dad.” Nick explained a few details to their father, George Morgan, then turned his attention back to the phone. “You’re not hurt?”

She’d been embarrassed, angry, frustrated and a little afraid before this smoky-haired detective had literally picked her up off the street. But she hadn’t been hurt. “I’m okay, Nick. I met…” Detective Galahad was watching her, hanging on to every word. “Nashville PD has been very helpful.” In ways that made her blush and turn away. “Just come get me, okay? I’m at the downtown precinct station.”

“I’ll be there in forty minutes. I love you, Shrimp.”

“I love you too, Nick.”

They were parked beneath the precinct offices by the time she handed the phone back to the detective.

“Thank you.” She offered him a hesitant smile. “Big brother will save the day.”

He nodded. “So now I know this infamous lawyer-slash-wonder-brother of yours is Nick. You ever gonna tell me your name?”

“Look, Detective…” She unfastened her seat belt and reached for the exit handle. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed tonight, but…”

She laughed. It was a sad sound, really—a sound that revealed just how much this encounter had been an aberration for her, for both of them, perhaps.

“This isn’t reality. Let’s forget the names so we can skip the embarrassment of you mentioning tonight to anybody who happens to know anybody I happen to know. Okay?”

“Okay. Your call. Tonight never happened.”

So why did it hurt that he’d agreed so easily to her request?