Hot Pursuit (5 page)

“No way. I'm totally fine.” Blake's lips pressed into a grim line, his expression determined. “And no police. Taylor knows what happened and that's enough.”

Understanding the boy couldn't afford a hospital visit, Taylor felt bad for him. Since he didn't seem to be that badly hurt, he wasn't about to push the issue. He didn't blame the boy for not wanting an official police report, either. He knew male pride, not to mention suspicion of authority figures, all too well. Especially being young, with nothing and no one to turn to.

Taylor interjected. “That's fine—no hospital or police. But if you see those guys anywhere around again, you
will
tell me so Shane and I can deal with them.”

The boy nodded, looking shaken. “Promise.”

Cara sighed, giving in. “Okay. But if you get a bad headache or blurred vision or can't breathe—”

“Yes, Mom,” Blake interrupted. “I'll go if I think I'm gonna keel over. Okay?”

“You're damned right you will.”

Cara headed out of the restroom behind the boy, hovering over him like a mother hen. Taylor thought that was funny. Sweet, too, and directly opposite the prickly attitude she'd shown Taylor. Fascinating.

Is it all men who're interested that she doesn't like, or is it just me?

“Taylor?” Blake paused, letting him catch up. “Thanks for being there.”

“Always, kid.”

Cara gave him an inscrutable look and said, “See you at closing time.”

Then she was gone, ushering her charge though the crowd. Humming to himself, Taylor went back to his table, where Shane immediately pounced on him.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Making a hot date for later,” he said, trying not to sound smug.

“Really? Damn, you work fast.” His partner took a swig of his beer. “Who is she?”

Just then, the band kicked off their new set, and the floors vibrated as Cara's smoky voice crooned the first lines of “Barracuda.” Grinning, Taylor pointed toward her.

Shane followed his finger, then looked back at Taylor, mouth open. “Her? No fucking way.”

“Way.”

“You dog! How'd you score that?” Cunningham bellowed above the music.

“It's a talent,” Taylor shouted back. Ignoring his friends' whistles and jokes, he sat back and enjoyed himself.

And if his love interest wasn't quite as enamored as he believed? Well, they didn't have to know that.

But he was going to change her mind if it was the last thing he did.

Watch me.

•   •   •

Cara watched the handsome blond all through her sets. Couldn't take her eyes off him no matter how hard she tried.

Taylor fucking Kayne
. He wasn't supposed to be so together. So damned
nice
. On top of that, he obviously cared a great deal about Blake, and the feeling was mutual. Nothing weird about their relationship that she could tell—just a man who'd befriended a homeless teen and wanted to see him succeed. To be almost an older brother figure.

On their set breaks, the detective didn't seek her out the rest of the night. Why had that become increasingly more irritating as the night wore on? Her attraction to him was nuts. She didn't just dislike the man.

She hated his
fucking guts
.

Or thought she did. Until she met the man and he wasn't anything like the monster she'd imagined. Now she was baffled. Curious completely against her will. She wanted—no,
needed
—to find out who the real man was behind the cute, lopsided smile and gorgeous green eyes. Looked like she'd get her chance, too.

Maybe a golden opportunity had been dropped into her lap. Instead of watching and waiting for an opportunity to destroy him from afar, she'd do it from within his inner circle. Sort of like the Trojan horse—come as a friend, then vanquish the enemy in his own yard.

When the last song was finished and she took her bow with the band, she searched the area where Taylor and his friends had been sitting. He was still there, but the others were apparently getting ready to leave, which suited her fine. She needed to get into his confidence, but that didn't mean she wanted to get too close to his friends. Too many cops in her face was
so
not a good thing in her book.

After putting her own guitar in its case, she made her way to the bar and took a seat. “Scotch on the rocks,” she told Chandler, one of the bartenders she sometimes worked with.

“You got it, Cara. Great show, by the way.”

“Thanks.” She eyed her coworker as he fixed her drink, and wondered why he didn't rev her motor.

The guy was good-looking, for sure. He was former military. Beefy arms and torso, gorgeous face. But his brown hair was buzz cut—not her preference. He was a little too muscular for her taste, too much like a serious weightlifter. She preferred sexy blonds. Ones with plenty of gorgeous locks for a girl to dig her fingers into.

Like Taylor.

“Shit.”

“Hey, you're getting a head start on me,” a deep voice said.

She turned slightly to see Taylor take the stool beside her. His smile made her breath hitch, and those green eyes held her captive. He was just the right height, somewhere around six feet, and perfectly muscled. God, the man could model for a calendar or something.

What's more, his eyes and his demeanor were kind. She'd seen that before when he was talking to Blake and hadn't wanted to admit it. But it was hard to deny what she could see plain as day. Maybe his kindness was only because he'd learned some hard lessons from his mistakes. Maybe these days he was trying to make up for the lives he'd taken years ago.

As if he ever could. That steeled her resolve once more. She'd set her hook and then reel in her big fish.

“Not too big a head start,” she said with a slight smile. “You can catch up.”

Chandler set her drink down. “What'll it be?”

“Just water for me,” he told the bartender. “I've had enough.”

Her coworker filled a glass with ice and water, then set it in front of Taylor. He took a healthy drink.

“A man who knows when to stop,” she observed. “Sort of the exception around here.”

“Well, it
is
a bar. But you're right—I make a point not to overdo the alcohol.”

“A regular Boy Scout, huh?” She couldn't keep the slight edge from her tone. With his next words, she wished she had.

“Hardly.” He gave a low chuckle. “I had a dad, loosely termed, with a drinking problem, a nasty temper, and a hard fist. He left a lasting impression.”

Her glass froze halfway to her lips, and she set it down. “He beat you?”

Taylor made a face. “What a downer. I didn't mean to get into that.”

“I'm so sorry.” She meant it. Because now the kindness in those eyes was tinged with sadness, and it was her mocking that had brought back a horrible memory and put it there.
Shouldn't I be glad?

“Don't be. It's ancient history.”

Not so ancient that it no longer hurt, but she didn't say it aloud. “Is that why you became a cop? To help people who went through what you did?”

“Partly. I meet people like Blake all the time and it never ceases to sicken me how one human being can treat another.”

“You really love your job.”

“Most of the time, yes. I like being a detective, putting puzzle pieces together to solve a crime. Or stopping criminals before they hurt someone again.”

Right there. Right that moment, she almost blurted out the whole reason she was in Sugarland—because of the one time he'd failed. Not only failed, but fucked up spectacularly and gotten her sister killed. Something made her hold her tongue, though, and simply let the conversation take its natural course.

“And how often does that actually happen? That you get to put away the evil ones and all is well for the good citizens of Metropolis?”

“Not as often as I'd like,” he admitted. “But the ones we win are rewarding.”

“What about the ones you lose?” The edge was back.
Dammit.

He paused. “We have to do our best and move on,” he said quietly. “We lose some and it hurts, but that's all we can do.”

With that, a vivid image of Jenny lying dead on her living room floor, brains splattered all over her priceless Persian rug, slammed into Cara hard. She drained the rest of her Scotch and signaled Chandler for another.

The silence that followed while the bartender refreshed her drink was surprisingly comfortable. In spite of the tension Taylor wasn't even aware of, he was easy to talk to. He waited until Chandler moved away again before speaking.

“Are you just curious about my job, or is there some reason you're asking these questions?”

Okay, perhaps not so unaware.

“I'm curious. Is that a crime?” she quipped.

“It's not the questions, it's the way you're asking them.” Taking another sip of his water, he shook his head. “Never mind. It's been a long week and I'm beat.”

“I should let you go, then.”

He grinned. “Not
that
beat. Besides, my ride is gone.”

“How convenient.” She slanted him a look. Oh, she knew what he wanted. The question was, would she play his game? “Your time is up.”

“What?” Blinking, he looked around. “It hasn't been thirty minutes.”

“My band is ready to go, and Blake needs a place to stay, whether he wants to accept help or not.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Thought I'd offer to let him crash with me for a while.”

“Or me. Why don't we let him decide?”

“Works for me,” he said. “Am I to assume I failed to impress you?”

She mostly finished her second drink, then slid off the stool. Taylor stood next to her and she felt his nearness, his heat. Like before, when she'd teased him on her break, he smelled so good, of sandalwood and spice. She conjured what he'd feel like, pushing her into the mattress, sliding his cock deep, fucking her hard and fast. All those muscles, his sexy maleness, his skin.

“You know what they say about assuming.” She let her mouth hitch into a small smile, which he returned.

“Indeed I do. Let's go find Blake.”

He was waiting out back and gestured to her truck as they approached. “I loaded your guitar and amp in the back for you.”

“Thanks, hon. You earned your money tonight. I'll pay you when we get home.”

It took the boy a couple of seconds to process. “What do you mean,
home
?”

“My home. Where you're going to be staying until you're on your feet,” she clarified.

“Cara, I can't accept—”

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly. “I told you we were going to discuss this, and I meant it.”

“There isn't much discussion if you're telling me what to do,” he shot back.

Taylor added his two cents. “She's right, kid. I've told you before that there's no shame in accepting a hand up. I had to do that myself when I was around your age.”

The boy's eyes widened, his face barely visible in the dim lighting. “You? I . . . You seem like a guy who's had it easy. I mean, you're successful.”

“Only because I swallowed my pride and let the people who cared about me lend a hand. You do the same, and I promise you I'll tell you the whole story one day soon.”

“Blake, you'll never reach safety if you don't grab the life preserver,” she said. “What's it going to be?”

“You can stay with me as another option,” Taylor put in. “I'd be glad to have you.”

Blake thought about that for several long moments. This was so difficult for him, but in the end there really wasn't a choice. “I'll stay with you.” He jerked his chin at Cara. “I'm working for you now, so it's just easier until I can get my own wheels.”

She beamed at him. “Great deal. You won't be sorry, kid.”

“Almost twenty here, not a kid.” He rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” she said, laughing. “Let's go.”

As they approached her truck, Taylor's steps slowed. She noted how he stopped and stared, seeming to pay particular attention to her front bumper. Weird.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing. Are you fine to drive?”

Okay.
“I'm good.”

“Let me drive anyway? You just had two drinks, and I quit a while ago.” He held out a hand. “Occupational hazard. Sorry.”

Shrugging, she fished the truck's keys from her pocket and handed them over. They got in and Taylor fired up the ignition, with Cara seating herself in the middle, and again his wonderful scent assailed her. Trying to ignore it, she turned to Blake on her other side.

“Taylor's going to drop you off at my place first. Then I'll take Taylor home. I won't be long.”

Blake's knowing grin was visible in the dark. “Uh-huh. I'll bet you won't.”

“Shut up, twerp.” Taylor reached across her to give him a playful shove, and the two of them scuffled a bit.

“Hey! I'm in the middle here!”

The two guys finally settled down, but all three of them were smiling by the time they did.

All the way home, she had to remind herself that the cop was the enemy.

But already, that was becoming almost impossible to remember.

Taylor chose to wait outside while Cara got Blake situated in her house. If it were anyone besides that boy, Taylor would never have trusted him alone with her
or
her belongings. But this was Blake, and he knew the young man was a good soul.

Besides, Taylor wanted to take a look at her truck. A black newer-model Ford, just like the one that had hit him earlier in the week. His hip was still bruised, but at least he could walk now without pain.

Casting an eye toward the house, he got out of the truck and walked around to the front bumper. The light being emitted from the lamppost above illuminated the area just enough to see what he was looking for. And then he wished he hadn't.

On the right side, above the front bumper, was a dent. It wasn't that big, but it was large enough to have resulted from smacking into a person. His heart sank as he positioned his body the way it had been just before he'd been struck, and he lined up perfectly.

“Fuck.” How could this possibly be a coincidence?

And yet how could she be after him? He and Cara had only just met. He'd approached her at the bar, not the other way around. Hell, she wasn't going to give him the time of day, but somehow he'd managed to finagle a second glance. This didn't scream setup to him.

But his instincts had been wrong before.

“Well, Blake is settled in the guest room,” her voice said, startling him. He turned to see her coming down the walk. “He's beat and is getting ready for bed.”

“That's good.”

“You were looking at my new dent, huh?” She pointed, a frown marring her pretty face. “That totally sucks. Somebody must've backed into me earlier this week, and they didn't even leave a note.”

He hesitated. If she already knew how the damage happened, that meant
she
was the one who'd struck Taylor, on purpose. That she'd known his identity before they met—and she would've realized he'd figure that out immediately. The ruse would be exposed. Yet she looked and sounded sincerely mystified by how the damage had happened. What were the odds it
wasn't
Cara behind the wheel? Or that this wasn't even the same truck?

“You don't remember hitting anything?” he asked carefully.
Or any
one
.

“Of course not. I'd remember that,” she said, looking at him as though he was an idiot. If she was acting, she was good.

“Right.” He'd have to look into this more closely, but he'd do it discreetly. For now, he changed the subject. “You sure Blake will be okay here by himself?” She seemed to understand that he meant emotionally.

“Yeah. He's uncomfortable accepting help, but, like we told him, he'll have to get over that to get on his feet. And I'm fine with leaving him alone, because he's not truly alone, if you know what I mean.”

“He's not on the street, worried about survival.”

“Exactly.” She gestured toward the truck. “Ready for me to take you home?”

“Sure.”

He gave her back the keys to the truck and told her the address. “I'm just three streets over, so we're practically neighbors.”

She smiled a little. “Who would've thought?”

Again with the secretive edge to her tone. What was with that? When they arrived on the street in front of his house, she let the truck idle.

“Nice street.”

“Thanks. I love it here. We have block parties once in a while with food, music, raffle drawings, and such. We even have a competition with a prize for the best yard.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said thoughtfully. “Have you ever won?”

“Couple of times.” He was kind of proud of that, stupid as it sounded. “Don't know if you got the flier, but we're having another one in a month or so, if you'd like to come.”

“I don't remember seeing it, but I might just do that.”

He shifted awkwardly, unable to remember when he'd ever felt so out of his depth with a woman, even with his sorry track record. The silence stretched taut between them, the night and its blanket of stars closing in. His cock, half-hard the whole evening since they'd met, swelled in his jeans. He wanted to touch, taste, get lost in her softness. Maybe he'd been too long without a woman, but the strange pull in his gut told him it was something more than lust. Though there was plenty of that.

Man up, old boy. What's the worst she can do?

Reject him, sure. It would sting, but he'd live.
Nothing ventured, as they say.

Cara was studying him, making no move to leave. Taking that as an encouraging sign, he moved forward, so close their bodies were almost touching. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. When she didn't move away or protest, he cupped her face and brought their bodies together.

Fire. She scorched him from chest to groin, setting him ablaze. The firmness of her breasts pushed into him as she tilted her head up and met his gaze. He hoped the hunger he read there matched his own, because he was done waiting to find out.

Lowering his head, he captured her lips with his. He could swear he felt the shock of pleasure rush from his brain to his toes. So good. Electric. Wrapping her arms around his back, she urged him closer, opened for him. Happy to oblige, he slipped his tongue into the moist heat of her mouth, exploring. She met his searching eagerly, her response so passionate it made him dizzy.

Breaking the kiss, he slid a hand down to the curve of her ass. “I want you, Cara. I know it's way soon, but—”

“I want you, too,” she breathed. A hand slipped under his shirt, rubbed his abdomen. “But I have to go.”

“Stay? Just for a little while?”

“Taylor . . .”

“Don't make me beg. It's not pretty.”

“Don't give me that damned lopsided smile,” she said in a low, husky voice. “It won't work.”

“I think it already has.”

“It's almost three in the morning. I should go.”

Should
wasn't
have to
. He smothered her weakening protests with another kiss, this one as hot as the first. Her lips were velvet, devouring him in return, and she writhed against him. He wanted more of the same, only with no annoying clothes to get in the way.

“Stay,” he pleaded, nipping at her lips.

Crickets chirped around them. Somewhere a cat screeched. It seemed an eternity before she nodded, and his blood sang.

“For a while, I'll stay.”

•   •   •

For a while, I'll stay
.

The instant the words were out of her mouth, Cara cursed herself for being a moron.

Not that she didn't want his gorgeous body—oh no, that definitely wasn't the problem. With that shaggy blond hair falling into those beautiful, earnest green eyes, hard muscles tensed and ready to pounce . . . the man was her fantasy in the flesh.

He was the enemy. And right now the woman in her didn't care.

“Let's go inside,” he said, voice husky.

Taking her hand, he led her to the porch steps. Fished out a key and let them in. After he'd locked the door behind him and flipped on a lamp, he pushed her against the door and ate her mouth again. A whimper escaped her throat and she was too aroused to be ashamed of her response. She needed him like she needed air. It had been far too long.

“My bedroom?”

“Yes.”

Quickly, he led her up the stairs and down a hallway to his bedroom, switching on a lamp on the nightstand. It was a nice room with a big, attractive four-poster bed, but, frankly, her attention was on other things besides the decor. Her mouth watered as he yanked off his T-shirt to reveal a sculpted chest that was lightly hairy. Manly and just right. He had a nice six-pack going, and a treasure trail of dusky hair that ran from his belly button, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.

“Take off the rest,” she said. “I want to watch.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I've got myself a voyeur? Sweet.”

“Only when it comes to crazy-hot men undressing just for me.”

His expression sobered some. “I don't do this often. Haven't in ages, so I don't want you to think I'm some man-slut who trolls the Waterin' Hole on a weekly basis.”

“Good to know. But what if I'm a girl-slut?”

“Well, honey, I don't judge.” His grin told her that he was teasing.

She smiled back, and it felt foreign on her face. What was it about this man that had her relaxing her guard when she damned well shouldn't? Now wasn't the time to analyze, though. She pointed to his lower half. “The rest, cop.”

“Ooh, I love when you say
cop
like that. Sounds dirty.”

“Have a fetish about that, do we?”

“Among other things.” He unfastened the jeans, then worked down the zipper.

“Do tell.”

“Even better, I'll show you sometime.”

They'd see about that. For now, she feasted her eyes on him as he pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down his legs, then stepped out of them. His thighs were hard, just as toned as his torso, and he had well-shaped calves. His cock was thick and long, a good eight or nine inches, and was curved upward, purplish red and weeping precum. She caught herself about to lick her lips in anticipation of tasting him.

“Your turn.”

His gaze was hot as she pulled off her tank top and discarded it. Next came her lacy bra with the front clasp, something she knew men liked. Flicking it open, she watched his expression darken as she parted the cups and let herself spill free.

“God, you're beautiful.”

She was glad the room was a bit dim and hopefully hid her blush. “I'm not very big.”

“You're just right,” he said reverently. “Perfect.”

“Thank you.” The compliment was unexpected and very nice. She wasn't used to lovers saying sweet things. Even when she and Jinx, her lead guitarist, had been an item and burning up the sheets, he'd never wasted time with gentleness or sweet nothings.

After kicking off her shoes, she peeled off the trendy designer jeans that hugged her like a second skin. He took in her every move, especially attentive when she saved the purple thong underwear for last.

“It matches the streaks in your hair,” he observed.

“You haven't seen nothin' yet.” Slowly, she pushed down her panties and his mouth fell open. His eyes widened as he stared at her trimmed black landing strip streaked with purple. She grinned. “I like for the carpet to match the drapes.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Somebody in heaven really does love me.”

“You like?”

“Come here and let me show you how much.”

Taking her hand, he pulled her to the bed and urged her onto her back. As he climbed over her, she spread her legs to accommodate him. He kissed her senseless, his erection trapped between them, pulsing and hot, burrowing into her stomach. This was the part she'd always loved best—a strong man covering her body with his, showering her with attention.

And that was an area in which Taylor clearly excelled. He was very skilled in using his teeth, tongue, and hands. Bending his head, he nibbled along her jaw to her neck, and the tiny bites raised goose bumps on her skin. She liked the sensation and squirmed underneath him, which in turn made him growl and rub his cock against her even more.

Reaching between them, he rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, using just enough pressure to send a delicious sting of pain singing to her nerve endings. Heat flared between her legs and she knew she was already wet for him. She liked some edge to her play, and he didn't disappoint.

After twirling one nipple and then the other with his fingers, he moved lower to pleasure them with his mouth. He licked the tip of the first, which was now standing at a tight peak. She savored how his tongue rasped against the nub and then how he sucked it, making sure to graze it with his teeth. Once he'd repeated the process on the other nipple, she was moaning her approval.

Without a word, he began to kiss his way lower. Finally—thank God—he was lying between her thighs, face practically buried in her mound.

“I'm gonna feast on you, baby,” he murmured.

“Please.” She spread wider.

Maybe she loved
this
part best. Being completely exposed, spread for her lover. Offering herself to his lips and tongue, fingers and cock. She loved how powerful this made her feel. How wanted. Needed.

“So pretty. I love when a woman is bare here,” he said, laving the slick lips of her folds.

Most men did, in her experience. They liked a trimmed bush above, but the labia waxed bare was a sensual playground during sex. Taylor sure seemed to agree.

The man licked her like a cat lapping cream, and she arched into him, burying her fingers in his silky hair. His tongue worked between her folds, too, and he fucked her like that, stroking the appendage in and out of her slick channel. Waves of heat pooled in her core and rippled outward to her limbs. He began to eat her in earnest, driving her out of her mind.

“I don't want to come yet,” she panted, yanking on his hair. “Need you in me.”

Nodding, he wiped his face on the sheets and rose. She almost protested until she saw that he was just moving to the nightstand to fish for protection. Removing a foil square from the drawer, he ripped it open and deftly sheathed his rod. Then he returned to his spot between her thighs and remained on his knees, positioning himself at her entrance. Cupping her bottom with his hands, he lifted her slightly.

Then he worked his thick cock into her, careful not to cause any pain. Not that he could have. She was so overheated she was ready to combust. “Fuck me,” she begged.

“Hard and fast, honey?” A thin bead of sweat rolled from his temple, down his jaw. She wanted to lick it.

“Yes!”

She didn't have to ask twice. He plunged in to the hilt, held steady for a moment, letting her adjust. Then slid out, slammed in again. As he increased the strength and tempo of his thrusts, his eyes never left hers. The intensity of his gaze, his raw sexuality and comfort level in his own skin, was damned arousing. She'd never felt anything like the shudder than ran to her soul as he looked into her eyes. Watching her reaction. Seeing his male satisfaction at pleasing her.