Bulletproof Princess (24 page)

Cassie knew what he was referring to, and a part of her had honestly wished he’d been so medicated in that moment he’d missed it. She wasn’t ashamed to have said it, to give words to the feeling flowing through her as naturally as her blood, but the idea that he may not have returned the sentiment ignited her age-old fear of abandonment that was also just as natural to her. She could feel him watching her, his gaze like a touch sliding delicately over her skin.

“From your silence, you either don’t remember or you don’t want to talk about it.” The disappointment in his voice was plain. He hung his head and heaved a sigh that moved through his entire body.

When Mack began to move away, the points of contact between them went instantly cold on her. “No.” He stilled, but didn’t look at her. In the biggest case of ‘now or never’ she’d ever experienced, she blurted out in a rush, “I said I loved you. I did, I do, but you don’t need me in your life.”

He turned suddenly, looking at her like she might be one Danish shy of a box, maybe two. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Striving for a reasonable tone, she replied, “Mackenzie, since you’ve met me, you’ve been exiled from your job, shot, maimed, and that was just the first week. I can’t imagine a lifetime together. At the rate I’m going, I’ll have you dead in under a month.”

He blinked at her after she lapsed into silence, and from the way he twitched occasionally, she worried he might keel over in a seizure and die on her. With her luck, she figured this wonderful night would end in the hospital for them. Again. The first chuckle that escaped was ruthlessly corralled, but the next wave refused to be contained. He bolted up from the table and dragged her with him, his arms around her tightly as he lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss was a torrential downpour in a drought, fulfilling, overwhelming, and she was unprepared for the feelings that accompanied it. Love and forgiveness and joy, so much joy. They parted to the sounds of applause from the other diners, and like a rogue, he just winked at them before returning them to their booth. “Cassandra, since you’ve met me, I have also been surprised, attracted, cared for, championed, loved, and then bereft. However, you,
you’ve
been accosted, absconded, isolated, among many other unspeakable things we won’t get into now, but I would love the opportunity to make it up to you today and every day after.” He rested his forehead on hers, nuzzling his nose against hers. “I love you, and I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you.”

Cassie had known her life had changed the moment she met Mackenzie, and she’d never been sorry for it. She certainly wasn’t going to start now. Patting his cheek, she picked up her drink. “It’s okay, we’ll just add it to the list.”

They’d met in a bar. He was tall, dark, and inescapably British, from his manners down to the tailoring of his trendy but definitely bespoke oxblood leather coat. It was his smile that caught her attention, pulled her out of the mire of her thoughts and emotional convalescence. It was more than a smile; it was a grin with an aura, overtaking him and all those in his immediate vicinity.

His bright blue eyes were a stark counterpoint to his dark hair and closely-groomed beard and verged on grey when he laughed, his nose wrinkling, his agile mouth… God, the moment she’d noticed his lips, it had been a foregone conclusion she would need a taste before the night should end, lest she die. Dimples, chiseled features that would have been severe had he lacked such a capacity for humor. His unreasonable height and deceptively slight build could have been mistaken for gangly, an error of which she, herself, had been guilty at one point earlier in the evening.

She’d been there, in a bar in Boston, in a place where no one knew her name, and she preferred it that way. In a town that used to be home, but hadn’t been for close to a decade. She was in town as a duty, but in the bar to lick her wounds in solitude as a choice. And then he’d spilled a beer on her.

Given the pity party she’d been throwing herself in the form of a string of increasingly sturdy Cosmopolitans, the dark lager drenching her favorite grey plaid skirt and knee-high boots had really been par for the course in her mind. He’d been flustered and immediately apologetic, while she’d been taken by the blush in his cheeks as he attempted unsuccessfully to blot her dry.

Far from stuffy and standoffish, her klutzy new friend was an interesting conversationalist, chatting with her and the bartender, a friend from their days at university. He was a new commodity, an unbidden breath of air as fresh as it was freeing. Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was the moonlight, but this stranger, until only moments previous, incited in her a desire to step outside of her comfort zone. Abandon hope, and hopefully panties, all who enter here, or something to that effect. Wild, but impermanent, it might turn into a good story her girlfriends would never believe.

At least, that was the story she was going to tell herself when he left her hotel room later. It had been a happy coincidence to find out that not only were they in the same lodgings, but on the same floor. The walk back to the opulent display of ostentatious overconsumption had been peppered with his shy but solicitous smiles, and gently lilting conversation in a baritone she wanted to hear endlessly. His sense of mortification about his clumsiness fueled her self-deprecating streak, and she found herself actively courting those flashes of white in the rising darkness.

The elevator lights would have been garish at a Vegas stage show, and she said as much, eliciting a chuckle from her compatriot as they crowded into the mirrored interior of the elevator car and muscled their way to the far back corner. The crushing throng made their proximity less obvious, expected even, and they both took full advantage with his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder.

Somehow the spilled beer on her clothes didn’t cover up the smell of lime and verbena that emanated from his skin, making her want to bury her face in his neck. She would’ve sidled closer to do just that, but the car jerked to a stop with a ding, signaling their floor. He escorted her to her door, since it was closer than his room at the end of the hall and around the corner, and his hand on her back felt more personal than perfunctory.

When she turned to thank him, the muted light of the empty hallway cast his stark features in enticing shadows from her view a foot below him. Torn between the desire to invite him in and a fundamental inclination to revert to her normal introversion, she placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned up to kiss his cheek as a fuller expression of her gratitude. His head turned toward her at the last moment and then she was lost in the fact that she finally knew how he tasted, how soft his beard was against her skin.

His kiss was as perfect as the rest of him, starting tentatively, but warming as the seconds lengthened between them, each of them moving closer until neither gave a good damn about her sodden clothes. His arms around her waist were strong and steady as they lifted her into him to overcome the height disadvantage, and she couldn’t help but squirm to get closer.

He pressed her back against the door through the strength of his kiss, freeing up a hand for her to paw for her key card, then press it into his hands to finish the deed. They fell through the door as the lock gave way, and the jarring change of geometry and gravity gave them both over to laughter as they fought their giggles to right themselves and close the door. Neither one mentioned the fit of madness that had overcome them, and no sooner had it latched than their inexorable attraction drew them inexorably together again.

Lips, tongues, touches, whispers, all mingled as they peeled each other to the skin with a mixture of desire and trepidation. This wasn’t her, she knew, this was some wild woman who’d seized control of her mind and body as soon as the ale had touched her skin, and tomorrow she would wonder how all this happened, but for now, his warm breath on her neck as he brushed his lips and teeth over her skin would keep her on the edge of bursting into flames.

His clothes gave the impression of slightness, a whip-thin frame stretched to capacity, but as soon as he had stripped to his undershirt, she was reminded that looks could be deceiving, this time in the best possible way. Strong and wiry muscles wound up his arms, his shoulders, across his chest, leading her to think the carved and chiseled look of his face was merely a preview of upcoming attractions.

Far from a passive receptacle of her attentions, the stranger’s eager fingers roamed over her, taking down her cardigan and camisole, flinging them in a high, graceful arc across the room. The zipper of her skirt proved a bit more daunting with its coating of beer, but her suitor remained steadfast. The moment her skirt hit the carpet, he picked her up and carried her to the bed without even the slightest sign of strain. He stretched out next to her, his voice a reverent whisper as he trailed his fingertips over her skin. Her name in his mouth, a holy offering as his lips began their journey at hers, destination all points south.

As far as balms for a broken heart went, this certainly wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever had, though she’d never have dreamed of acting on it until tonight. His smile, his accent, the emotional upheaval and loneliness of her recent public humiliation conspired to make her wanton, and while she’d call herself to task in the unforgiving light of the morning sun, for the moment, the cloak of darkness hid her sins. To her mind, this was just the first of many.

Second Chances Can Be Lethal…

Narcotics Officer, Sean O’Leary is bitter after a messy divorce that has reinforced his solitary nature, leaving him only with his dog and a sword collection. He could never imagine that his former best friend may be the only woman to bring happiness into his lonely life.

Ellie Gardner knows loss; especially after she was banished from her best friend/
crush's
life by his jealous wife. Although the regret of walking away from the love of her life still stung, a chance encounter with Sean may change everything.

When Ellie and Sean reconnect, they could never expect it'd be in such an explosive way, leaving them both to gain the fulfillment of their 'what if's.

Finding love is hard enough without the past breathing down their necks, especially when said past has no intention of letting go. When Sean's ex, Pia Mastriani returns, Ellie must face her nemesis' relentless tactics to get Sean back, including eliminating Ellie if necessary.

Sean and Ellie’s relationship is put to the test but will they fare well while they go rummaging through The Ex File?

Retirement parties and funerals have several things in common, the largest of which is they both resemble family reunions, only with infinitely more baggage. Ellie Gardner didn’t particularly enjoy heading to either, but did so out of duty and respect. It was the least she could do.

The party at the police union hall was in full swing by the time she snuck in the back door. Her plan was simple, drop her gift, hug her friends, pay her respects, and bolt. Thirty minutes, tops, at least in her mind. These kinds of things depressed her, even with the cash bar she was leaning against currently.

She’d changed out of her front desk aide clothes as soon as her shift had ended and was now comfortably ensconced in her ‘off-duty’ attire of a Clash t-shirt and jeans, both holdovers from her college days, and a new pair of black Chuck Taylors. If she was going to be emotionally uncomfortable, at least she didn’t have to worry about her appearance.

“Sweet tea vodka, two shots.” She smiled at the bartender and pushed a ten across the counter. She figured fortification was going to get her through the night, though not too much lest the pendulum swing wildly in the opposite direction. It wasn’t often that one of her former lovers was retiring, and was there with his new wife. Though they’d remained friends, the level of impending awkward had surpassed ‘thermonuclear’ the moment she’d opened the car door.

“Make that four,” a gruff and familiar voice behind her told the bartender as he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey stranger.”

Fuck. Make that one ex-lover and one unrequited crush.
“Hey, Sean.” She smiled over her shoulder and found herself immediately ensnared in the topaz blue eyes that still showed up in her dreams occasionally. Sean O’Leary was six feet, one inch of Irish devilry, in addition to the badge and gun. Black hair that he’d let grow down to his broad shoulders and a smile that inspired in her a desire to fling her panties at him. The old Jack Daniel’s t-shirt and the well-worn jeans were doing nothing to disabuse her of that notion, either. His hand trailed fire from her shoulder and down her arm before he sidled up to the bar on the stool next to her. Being his friend was hard, and being his best friend, for the short while she had been, had been damn near impossible.

He lightly tangled his fingers in her raven curls, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. Anyone else would have gotten cut for that level of familiarity. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair long.”

‘Long’ was a relative term. She’d let her hair grow a couple inches beyond her normal pixie cut for the hell of it, and was still getting reacquainted with the ringlets. “Just trying something different.” Though the last time he’d seen it, she’d been damn near a dead ringer for Halle Berry.

This time he just touched one curl, rubbing it between his fingers. “Well I like it, it suits you.”

Ellie was grateful for the darkness of the bar as she felt her cheeks heat in pleasure at the compliment. God, she was pathetic…and damn, how long did it take to fill a shot glass? “Thanks. I’m liking the longer look on you, too.”

His laugh couldn’t be heard over the music as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, it’s been for work, and I just haven’t felt like getting it cut.” He surveyed the room, filled with uniforms and casual clothes pretty evenly, before turning back to her with a curious look. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me, but I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” It had only been three years since she and Sean had last spoken; since he’d been married and his wife was…not fond of Ellie was the politest way to say it. He slid twenty to the bartender and handed her back her ten.

Ellie gave her ten back to the bartender. “A donation,” she said with a small grin. She then took both her shots in quick succession before turning to face Sean fully. “Of course I’m here. Sarge is one of my favorite people on the planet, and besides,” she patted the expertly wrapped gift on the stool next to her, “his wife commissioned a piece from me.”

In her spare time, Ellie sometimes made shadow boxes for people, because she believed in keeping memories special, even if she wasn’t particularly prepared to revisit them herself.

Sean toasted her before tossing back his first shot, “And I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

She blushed again and nodded her thanks as another friend came over. Sean met her eyes with his in silent goodbye before pushing off the bar to evaporate into the crowd. Not that she followed his perfectly jeans-clad ass as he departed or anything. The next twenty minutes was a maze of hugs and small talk as she made her way to the gift table and the guest of honor.

Ellie was an expert at being cool under pressure, a work trait that played well at home, too. So as she spoke to Sarge and his bride of late, Meredith, anyone who didn’t know they used to date would have been none the wiser. Still, the façade was hard to maintain for a long period of time, so when Sean appeared at her side and excused her from their presence she was entirely grateful.

“What do you say we go someplace with cheaper drinks?” He didn’t even look at her as he steered her expertly toward the door.

“And more of them, I take it?” She said her goodbyes as politely as she could, given the speed at which she was borne through the crowd and into the cloud of smokers just outside the front doors of the bar.

His smile was slow and feral. “Well, naturally.”