Flirting With Disaster by Victoria Dahl

destroy everything she’d worked hard to build. Yet something about him drew her in. Maybe that very thing. The danger. Or maybe just that even though she didn’t trust cops anymore, even though she wanted nothing to do with any of them... She’d spent her whole life around cops. She knew how they moved and spoke and thought.
    She loved the wariness in his eyes each time he entered a darkened room. The way his hand went to his gun when he was on alert. The way he studied her face when she spoke, trying to figure her out.
    That was the problem right there. That he looked at her and
saw
her. But just the thought of it turned her on, so she imagined that. Imagined him watching as she touched herself in lazy strokes. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t order her around and ask to be touched. He just watched, took her in, devoured her with his eyes. Then he reached down and unzipped his pants and tugged down his underwear, and Isabelle whispered, “Yes.”
    Yes, she’d said, fingering herself, stroking her clit, her other hand sliding up to pinch her nipple hard. Yes, she wanted him just like that. Standing above her. Watching her fingers slide deeper. Wanted him stroking his cock. That beautiful jaw of his would get so tense. His lush mouth would flatten. The sun would glint off his chest hair, and it would shine on the wetness of her pussy and—
    “God,” she choked out as everything inside her coiled tight. “God, yes.” She came saying his name and picturing him coming right along with her.
    Just that long, shuddering orgasm would have been enough to make the day special, but she’d followed it up with a spectacular day of painting, putting the final touches on one piece before starting on a clean canvas that was the very last work of the contract.
    And now...now she was in the mood to party.
    Jill, well aware that Isabelle’s domestic skills consisted of occasional grilled cheese construction and charring a perfect steak, arrived early with little puff pastries to be thrown in the oven. “Cheddar and jalapeño,” she said.
    “Jesus, can I eat one raw?”
    “No, but I made some guacamole, too. With more minced peppers, just the way you like.”
    “Give it,” Isabelle said, managing to growl out a quick thank-you before she stuffed a chip into her mouth. She groaned her approval as the creamy goodness melted over her tongue. Yes, this was the perfect, perfect day.
    “I’m going to paint another picture for you this spring,” she promised Jill. “Though I’d have to paint ten a year to repay you for all the food.”
    “If I didn’t make food for you, I’d make it for myself, and I’d gain twenty pounds every winter instead of five.”
    “Okay. Just get those puff pastries in the oven and we’ll call it even.”
    “All right, greedy. But first I’ll grab the pies out of the car.” She headed toward the front door, and Isabelle rushed after her, her skin actually flushing with excitement.
    “Pie? You brought pie? You really are the perfect woman.”
    Jill winked over her shoulder as she opened the front door. “I normally don’t hear that until after sex.”
    “Vixen,” Isabelle said before realizing there was a petite blonde stranger standing in the open doorway, her frown answering their laughter.
    “Oh, hello,” Jill said brightly, as if the woman wore a decidedly more friendly expression.
    The woman’s scowl deepened. “I’m Deputy Marshal Jones.”
    “Isabelle,” Jill said slyly, “you’re under arrest again.”
    “It figures.” Thank God Tom had warned her he was sending another deputy over or she’d be fighting off a panic attack. Isabelle craned her neck to see past the porch to the driveway beyond. “Is Tom coming?” she asked. “He said he was coming over to keep an eye on Veronica Chandler.”
    Jill gasped. “Tom’s coming? I’m going to spoil him like he’s the only boy at a girls’ night party.”
    Isabelle poked her shoulder. “You’re the worst lesbian ever,