Blue Jeans and a Badge (10 page)

“Whatever it is you're not telling me,”

He stared at her, fork halfway to his mouth. “I think I've mentioned before I don't believe in secrets.”

She dug in, too. “So don't keep any. What made you move away from California?”

He let out a long breath. And took a long sip from his drink. Then he took a long time pouring some extra salsa from a bowl on the table onto his fajita.

“It's complicated,” he finally said.

“It usually is.”

“There was a woman involved, but she's not the main reason I left. In fact, we're still friends. Her husband gave me my motorcycle.”

“You have a motorcycle?” Luce appeared shocked.

“In the garage. Too cold to ride until the past few weeks, and I've been busy. It's a Harley.”

“Wow.” She sipped her Paradiso. “Who'd have thought?”

He contemplated her mildly. “Have I just been insulted?”

She smiled. “You seem kind of…conservative…to have a hog. Police chief and all.”

“You mean boring?”

“Not boring. Upstanding.”

His brow flicked. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No. But I like your hidden depths.”

“Thank you. I think.”

She grinned.

“And for your information,” he stated, “lots of cops ride Harleys. In an official capacity, even.”

“I stand corrected,” she said politely. “Now. You were saying? About California?”

Speaking of pit bulls with bones…

He sighed. “I was sheriff. There was a huge scandal involving drugs, illegal poaching and murder. The department was implicated. I was innocent. When the dust settled I left.”

There. Short, sweet and to the point.

“Wow,” she said again.

For someone so “upstanding,” he made her say that word a lot.

His mind turned a corner and he smiled, thinking of other ways to make her say
wow.

“What?” she asked.

He tilted his head and smiled lasciviously. “Just thinking about what I'm going to do to you later.”

Her mouth popped open, then shut. “I haven't said yes,” she repeated.

“You haven't said no,” he echoed.

She gulped her drink. She was getting flustered. Ha.

“Might want to go easy on that stuff,” he advised straight-faced. “You could get drunk and I might take advantage of you.”

Her cheeks turned the color of the salsa. The red kind. God, she was cute.

“I didn't think bounty hunters blushed.”

“I'm not blushing. It's the reflection from the lights.” She pointed to the fairy lights with red plastic chile pepper covers that floated overhead.

“Okay,” he said agreeably. They both knew better.

They finished dinner. He even managed to keep up his end of the conversation without staring at her breasts. Too much. But by the end of the evening, all he wanted to do was slide his hands inside that silky, grape-colored dress and touch them. He was hard as the wooden chair he was sitting on and had miscalculated badly when choosing the size of his new jeans. Should have gotten them a lot bigger.

“So,” she said.

Instinctively his body lurched. Something in her voice alerted him that This Was It.

“So?” He could play it as cool as the next guy.

She leaned in. “So…about you wanting to have sex with me.”

“Oh, that,” he said, and was instantly alarmed because he hadn't really planned on saying anything at all at this particular moment, not wanting to jinx it, as it were. “I've changed my mind about that,” he said.

“You have?”

He had?

They peered at each other for a moment while he got his tongue untied. He was as surprised as she by his utterance.

“Yeah,” he said, and realized the voice came from deep inside him somewhere. From the same place that liked to blast his Harley down a summer road straining bugs through his teeth. “I don't want to have sex with you. I want to make love with you.”

Her eyes couldn't get much wider than they already were, but at his declaration, they managed. She gazed at him for a seemingly endless time. Then she took a deep breath and let it out.

“Wow,” she whispered.

 

They made it as far as the Jeep. Maria's was in a dumb location with no parking, and he'd had to park it down the street in a deserted alley behind some seedy-looking car-parts store. He'd cursed his bad parking-karma earlier, but at the moment was thanking his lucky stars.

He pulled Luce into his arms and kissed her. Hard.

She moaned and melted into him, pressing her round, luscious breasts into his chest.

“Wait,” he groaned, and yanked her skinny dress straps down her arms, stripping her naked to the waist. The way she'd been in that dressing room.

She gasped. “Philip!”

He palmed her breasts and kissed her again, turning her protests to low moans. He reveled in the feel of her warm skin, her puckered nipples, the goose bumps breaking out on the soft flesh under his fingers.

“I've wanted to do this ever since you attacked me at the salvage yard,” he rasped.

“Me, too,” she whispered, and wrapped her arms around his neck, undulating her body against him. “Oh, Philip.”

He bent and took a nipple into his mouth and sucked. Her cry echoed off the adobe walls. He switched to the other, unable to stop his ravenous assault. Pushing her up against the Jeep, he laved and suckled her, alternating sides, lapping up the sweet taste of her, drinking in the musky scent of her desire for him.

His hands traversed her body, bunching the satiny dress covering her lower half, pushing it up to get to her hot flesh. Still too much fabric. In a motion, he grasped her panties and slid them off, baring her completely to his touch.

With a growl, he grappled with the Jeep door, got it open and toppled her across the front seats.

She sucked in a breath when he landed on top of her. He reached for the box of condoms from the bag and thrust it at her as he moved down her body.

“Get me one,” he ordered, and spread her legs apart.

The box flipped out of her hand when he lifted her knees and lowered his head between her thighs.

“Oh!”

He retrieved the box and handed it back up to her. “Quickly,” he urged.

He waited until he heard rustling, then put his mouth to her.

“Ohhh!”
Gasping, she bucked under him, and he heard the box crush, its contents spilling to the floor. In a minute that might be a problem, but right now he didn't give a damn.

His senses reeled. She tasted so damn good.

“Philip,” she moaned breathlessly, “not here!”

But her thighs clamped his head and one hand tangled in his hair, holding him in place. He drew his tongue around her, drinking in her excitement, sensing her impending climax in the sudden uncontrolled trembling of her muscles.

He felt ready to explode, too.

Her hand found his and pressed a ripped packet into it. He tore open his jeans and shoved them down, sheathing himself as he sent her over the edge with his ravening tongue.

Her body began to shudder and her moans turned to panting cries. With a groan he slid up her body, and with a single thrust he was inside her. He covered her mouth with his and thrust into her again, catching her tumultuous shout in the back of his throat.

“Give me everything,” he coaxed, scything into her to the hilt, feeling himself lose control. Wanting her as lost as he was.

She wrapped her legs around him, quivering, kneading him with her convulsing muscles. Moaning his name. He plunged again, and again, loving the sound of his name mingled with her cries of ecstasy.

Her body jerked up, and she crested again. This time he went with her.

He blanked out, feeling nothing but a blinding pleasure that scorched through him from the roots of his hair to the ends of his toes, exploding between his legs like mountain thunder.

He roared his climax holding her tight, clinging to the woman who had turned his world upside down and made him want more. With his final plunge he buried his face in the cushion of the bucket seat and let loose a primitive yell of completion. Of possession and triumph.

Before he collapsed, he did a quick twist, so she was on top and his own back took the brunt of the uncomfortable seats and console gap.

They lay gasping for breath, legs tangled and dangling out the passenger door. Her dress was twisted around her waist,
his jeans wrapped around his ankles like they were back in high school.

He grinned, joy splashing through him like a summer sprinkler. He chuckled between sucking down breaths. She lifted her head to gaze at him, a smile lighting up her sweat-moist face.

“What?”

He scraped a damp lock from her cheek and kissed her. “That was incredible.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, laid her cheek back on his chest and sighed. “I'll say.” Another happy sigh. “Okay, I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“About you being conservative.”

He chuckled again and rubbed her back, up and down, slowly. “I guess I was wrong, too.”

“Yeah?”

“It seems I did want to have sex with you.” He looked down and met her content, replete gaze.

“I'm shocked, O'Donnaugh.”

“Here's the thing, though.” He gently grasped her face between his hands.

“Hmm?”

“That was fine for starters. But now,” he bent his head and gave her a lingering kiss. “Now, I want to go to the hotel and make love.”

T
he hotel room at La Posada was gorgeous but Luce hardly noticed. Philip opened the door, threw in his overnight bag and swept her up in his arms to carry her across the threshold like a bride.

“What are you doing?” she exclaimed, laughing and trying not to think too hard about the symbolism.

“Making sure you don't get away,” he declared with heated kisses, letting her body slide down his as he kicked the door shut behind them.

“As if.” She kissed him back eagerly, flinging off her shoes as he backed her to the bed, where he made swift work of her dress and pushed her onto the mattress.

He landed on her a fraction of a second later, having tossed aside his shirt.

“I told you I'd have you naked under me,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her ribs to her breasts. He spread apart her legs with his knees and settled between them, still wearing his jeans.

“I like being naked under you,” she said, thrilling to the feel of his hard body against her bare skin.

She loved the way he took complete command and didn't give her time to think, or be shy or demure. She felt claimed and taken, robbed of her willpower, and for the first time in her life, completely wanted.

From his back pocket he extracted a pile of condoms and his handcuffs, spilling them onto the nightstand.

“Before the night's out, you may regret calling me conservative,” he whispered in her ear, low and gritty.

Excitement purled through every cell in her body. She curled her leg around his muscular thigh. “Do your worst, bad boy,” she purred. “Just remember, turnabout's fair play.”

She reached for his waistband, wanting to feel his maleness pressed up against her. No barriers. He let her undo his jeans and pull them off while he disposed of his boots and socks. Then he lowered onto her, reaching for a packet from the nightstand.

“We'll see,” he said huskily, and came into her.

He wrapped his arms around her and she wrapped her legs around him and held on to him tightly, and they lay there like that for a long time, barely moving, joined and entwined like two vines in a garden of roses, rocking to a slow rhythm. His mouth was firm and thorough as he kissed her, the thrust of his tongue matching the intensely restrained movement of his pelvis. But his body held her legs wide apart, and the root of his arousal pressed into her at just the right spot to drive her wild with each subtle thrust.

He was relentless in his gentleness, unmerciful in his power over her, unmatched in his skill at devastating pleasure.

She writhed beneath him and prayed he'd never stop.

Her climax took her by swift surprise, lifting her up and casting her over the top of bliss, gasping with the sheer intensity of sensual pleasure it bestowed. She floated down the
other side to find him watching her face, a look of sublime masculine satisfaction in his eyes, though she knew he hadn't gone with her.

“Conservative,” she said when she could speak again, “is beginning to grow on me.”

He smiled down at her. “Funny,” he mused, “I was just starting to feel kinky.” He reached for the handcuffs.

“Wait!” She grasped his forearm and for a moment was caught up in the feel of it, roped and corded, sprinkled with crinkly dark hair like his chest, cinnamon-tanned from being outdoors for years. Her pale fingers reached barely halfway around its muscular girth. In his hand, the handcuffs glittered menacingly. Or perhaps temptingly…

Again he watched her, taking in her reaction to his body, and his outrageous suggestion. Cataloging it all. He allowed her to slip the cuffs back onto the stand.

“My turn,” she said, and rolled them so he was on bottom. “You like this position, right?”

Straddling him, slowly she took him into her. He was long and thick, and even in her relaxed state he stretched her, shouting his presence inside her body. She felt filled and possessed, and utterly claimed.

“It has its attractions,” he murmured.

She lowered her head and kissed his lips. Tasted his anticipation, felt his passion.

She straightened her arms and gazed at him, wanting to capture this moment forever in her memory. So she could bring it out on those lonely late nights spent in strange hotel rooms aching for a pair of arms to hold her. His arms.

“I love your body,” she murmured, moving her hands over his broad shoulders and ripped biceps. He had just the right amount of black hair covering his firm chest, arrowing down to flourish where their bodies joined. “So masculine. So different from mine.”

His nipples were brown and flat, and she couldn't resist leaning down to lick each one in turn.

“Mmm,” he hummed, and she felt him flex inside her. “I hope so.”

She lifted her body, nearly sliding off him. Nearly. He groaned, gripping her hips when she stayed there and teased him, sliding down a fraction, then back up, and doing it again.

“Vixen,” he whispered on a moan, but let her have her way with him. Let her play and torment him at will. All the while he toyed with her breasts, whispering how she would have to pay for torturing him so. She couldn't wait.

He grew harder and thicker, until she thought no man could possibly last much longer. But she was the one panting.

He squeezed her breasts and she moaned, grinding down onto him. His hips lifted, meeting her in a hard thrust.

“Ride me, baby,” he urged, pumping up a little faster.

Catching his rhythm, she dropped down and peeled his hands from her breasts, lacing her fingers with his above his head. She melted into him, putting her mouth to his. And rode.

The world fell away and all she knew was Philip. His musky scent, the tang of his tongue, the raspy urgency of his whispered encouragements, the hot, slick pounding of his flesh into hers.

And suddenly she was under him again, and they were both shouting, and her body was coming apart and she was holding him and calling his name over and over and over.
Philip, Philip, Philip.

And suddenly she knew she'd made a horrible, horrible mistake. This was too good. He made her feel too good. He made her feel too loved, too wanted.

But it was all impossible.

He held her and kissed her as they recovered their breath, and their self-possession. At least, he did. Because she despaired of ever belonging to herself again.

“You're mine now,” he told her, eerily echoing her thoughts, his stark voice filled with the primitive possession of a conquering male for his chosen woman.

And deep down she knew it was true. No matter where she wandered, she'd always belong to this man alone.

 

“I'll be right back.”

Philip kissed Luce's nose and slid from the bed, heading for the bathroom to dispose of one last condom. They'd gone through a few—more than he had in a long, long time. But with Luce, his body had felt like it was nineteen again and in its prime.

He slipped it off and was about to drop it into the bowl when he noticed something strange. He looked closer. His heart stopped.

A rip.

About a quarter of an inch long, down toward the end.

His stomach clenched.

How could this have happened?

Well, actually, he knew exactly how it could have happened. That last time had been…all right, extreme might not be too off the mark. Wild, certainly. He was exhausted, if happily so. It had taken him about fifteen minutes to even be able to move afterward.

He muttered a curse word he almost never used.

“Everything all right?” she called sleepily from the bed.

Ho boy.

“Fine,” he called back. Panicking. Should he tell her?

Of course he should tell her. But what would happen if he did?

He flushed the incriminating evidence and turned on the cold water in the sink to give his face a good dousing.

He had to tell her.

But what would the news do to their thus-far-perfect night together?

Blow it all to hell, that's what.

Thanks, it's been fun. By the way, I might have gotten you pregnant. Have a nice life.

Of course, it would be
her
saying that last line. Not him. He could deal with it. Hell, he suddenly realized he'd love to deal with it. He was already halfway in love with her—at least. He could make it work.

She was the one who'd run. As fast as she could. And he'd never see her again. Or their baby. If she had it.

His heart wrenched at that train of thought. No. He wasn't going there. He didn't even know if there
was
a baby. It was just a little rip.

“Philip?”

“Yeah, baby,” he said, and blanched. “Be there in a sec,” he choked out, and scrubbed his face dry with a fluffy white towel.

No. Better not tell her. Not yet. Just see what happened. And make damn sure he got her parents' address and phone number in St. Louis. Just in case.

 

The next morning Philip kept them in bed as long as he could. Luce needed the rest. And he needed the skin time.

Okay, so she didn't get all that much rest.

He'd been tempted to forget the condoms entirely. Make it official. Get her pregnant on purpose, so it wouldn't be an accident with all the attendant baggage that implied.

But he was a coward, and didn't want to face her probable bad reaction just yet. He was enjoying being with her too much. Her naked body and her contented smiles. Her glowing face and her heartfelt endearments.

He made love to her the way he'd meant to last night. Slow and thorough, filled with tender words and lingering touches. The way a man might make love to the mother of his children.

And when it was over she gazed at him and whispered, “Wow.” And then she said, “What's changed?”

 

It wasn't easy, but Philip managed to set aside the whole condom issue in order to concentrate on what he and Luce
needed to do today. There was no sense obsessing about it anyway, since there was no way to tell one way or another for several days. Maybe more than a week. In the meantime, if they could find Clyde and clear up the cases hanging over them, that should help make the issue less complicated when it did come up for discussion.

“What is with you today?” Luce said, jerking him out of his disordered thoughts.

He avoided looking at her. “Nothing. Just trying to find the right dirt road.”

After calling Joseph Clay Pipe as they did each morning to make sure Clyde hadn't turned up on the rez, they'd studied Renata's map and decided on a strategy for finding all the canyons with ruins in the area of the Rio Chama around Abiquiu. There weren't many, but they were all remote and tough to get to from the highway.

He could feel her studying him from the passenger seat. Thank goodness he had his reflector glasses on, so she couldn't see his eyes.

“Look, Philip. About last night. And this morning.”

He shot her an alarmed glance. “It was great.”

“Yes. It was. Really great. Really, really great. But I want you to know, I'm not planning the wedding. If that's why you're distancing yourself.”

“No, I'm—”

“I mean, I know you're not interested in anything long-term. I'm not, either. That was the understanding from the beginning. So you don't have to worry.”

“I'm not worried,” he assured her.

“Okay. Just wanted you to know that. Because you're acting kind of…freaked out.”

“I'm not freaked out.”

“Okay.”

“I'm just thinking about how much I want to turn this Jeep around and go back to Santa Fe and do it all again.”

A smile broke through. “Really?”

“Really, really.”

“Okay.” She hung on as he swerved off onto a bumpy unpaved track. “Because you seemed kind of freaked out there. For a while.”

“Luce—”

“Okay, okay.”

He swallowed. “Besides. You're the one who keeps saying no long-term. I never said I didn't want a relationship.”

“I distinctly remember, you said you like to keep things uncomplicated.”

“You said that. I just agreed. Relationships don't have to be complicated.”

“Ours would.”

“Because you like your life mobile, too.”

“Among other things.”

“You also said you don't do one-night stands,” he reminded her.

“We did it in the morning, too,” she countered, lips twitching up.

He chuckled and brought the Jeep to a halt. “True. And I am counting on more than one night.” He reached over and slipped his hand behind her neck, bringing her mouth to his. He gave her a long kiss, then whispered, “I'm counting on a whole lot of nights with you.”

She let him kiss her again, then pulled away. “Philip…”

“Sweetheart,” he said, guilt suddenly swamping over him about the secret he was keeping from her. He—who didn't believe in secrets. Hadn't he learned they always ended up biting you in the butt? “There's something I have to—”

But before he could get it out, her hand clamped over his mouth. “Don't say anything,” she whispered. “Please don't. It'll just make things harder. If you lived in St. Louis I might take a chance… Maybe. But you don't.”

“People move,” he mumbled under her hand. She sighed and lifted it.

“Not you. You're chief of police. You have a beautiful
home in the woods. And what would Betsy do without you to fuss over at the Slipper?” She shook her head. “I can't see you writing speeding tickets in the big city, Philip. You'd hate it.”

“Criminals jump bail in New Mexico, too, Luce.”

She snorted humorlessly. “And where do you suppose they run to when they do? Look around!” She gestured at the savage wilderness surrounding the Jeep. Rocky desert and jagged cliffs, tough plants and even tougher wildlife were all that could be seen. “My habitat is the city, with buildings and streets and people. I'm useless out here.”