a man’s body!”, but real cologne. Light and barely there but with intense notes of sandalwood and pine.
Fanciest. This man is made of money. Lots and lots of money.
A thrill runs through me at the smell. It is defiantly masculine.
“I’m fairly sure you ran into me, so maybe it’s you who needs to watch where they’re going.” A deep baritone ruffles my feathers (not altogether unpleasantly) and I look up at its owner, ready to snark back.
Only my words freeze in my mouth because holy hell, the man is hot. Gorgeous, really. His eyes are blue and sharp. His patrician nose is perfect, and that includes the hint of a break in its past. He has dark--almost raven-- short, styled hair and two-day old stubble that I immediately want scratching the inside of my thighs.
His sensual mouth is pulled into a thin line. It’s obvious he’s pissed at me, his glare heavy and condescending.
Without meaning to, I take a step back and immediately hate that I did. It gives the stranger power over me. Like his enormous (and unbelievably chiseled) body and good (devastating) looks weren’t enough.
His smirk tells me he feels the power shift, too.
I frown and set my shoulders straight. “I’m a lady, motherfucker; that means I go first.”
“Yes. Quite a lady, Mrs.--?” His frown crooks at the corner, sneaking it into a smarmy grin. He’s fishing, but whether it’s for my marital status or my ire, I can’t tell. Also I don’t care.
“Miss. Miss Excuse-me-I’m-trying-to-leave, Mr.--?” I flash him a large grin and a raised eyebrow.
“No ‘Mister’ for you. Just Locke. It’s what my friends call me.” His voice lowers, all raspy and dark, and my pussy gets a little moist. Inviting me to call him what his ‘friends’ do? Is he… is he flirting with me? A prickling sensation I know all too well starts creeping up my chest and cheeks. There isn’t time to think too much about it because--
“Martin! What part of ‘get the fuck out’ don’t you understand?”
I turn and glare at the Chief. “You’d have to actually say ‘get the fuck out’ for me to understand it. See? Attention to details, Chief .”
Flirting or not, I’m too pissed to linger and my invitation has definitely run out. I shove past Mr. ‘Just Locke’ and slam the door behind me. The crash of it echoes through the precinct and the hustle stops for a moment. Long enough for them to see who’s causing the fuss (me), roll their collective eyes, and then back to business.
Okay, so I might have a bit of a reputation.
I scan the room and catch a familiar, wry smile. My old partner, Dalton. Lloyd Dalton, an older, seen-it-all Detective with the heart of gold and gentle touch. That didn’t mean we clashed when we worked together. In fact, I couldn’t have asked for a better and more trusted partner. He was the only person I missed from this hell-hole.
Dalton knew the worst of me, the best of me, and he knew my dirty little secret. Well, one of them at least.
He knew that this “I’m a badass with a chip on my shoulder” routine I projected was, well, just that. A routine.
When I’d tried to be “myself” at my first job as a cop? It bit me in the ass. Big time. Nice didn’t cut it. From the “sweethearts” to the “thatta-girls,” I was stuck in peon land. All paperwork and condescension makes Elise an angry girl. It wasn’t until I upped the sass and copped an attitude that I started to gain rank and credibility.
Cop an attitude? Heh. That’s the kind of joke Dalton would make, sweet old fart that he is.
“Martin!” He calls me over and claps his big hand on my shoulder. It’s a comforting weight. One I’ve missed more than I want to dwell on. “They brought you in cuffed this time.” His eyebrows are pressed together and his tone is soft with concern.
Subconsciously I grab my wrists and give them a rub. The cuffs had been
Fanciest. This man is made of money. Lots and lots of money.
A thrill runs through me at the smell. It is defiantly masculine.
“I’m fairly sure you ran into me, so maybe it’s you who needs to watch where they’re going.” A deep baritone ruffles my feathers (not altogether unpleasantly) and I look up at its owner, ready to snark back.
Only my words freeze in my mouth because holy hell, the man is hot. Gorgeous, really. His eyes are blue and sharp. His patrician nose is perfect, and that includes the hint of a break in its past. He has dark--almost raven-- short, styled hair and two-day old stubble that I immediately want scratching the inside of my thighs.
His sensual mouth is pulled into a thin line. It’s obvious he’s pissed at me, his glare heavy and condescending.
Without meaning to, I take a step back and immediately hate that I did. It gives the stranger power over me. Like his enormous (and unbelievably chiseled) body and good (devastating) looks weren’t enough.
His smirk tells me he feels the power shift, too.
I frown and set my shoulders straight. “I’m a lady, motherfucker; that means I go first.”
“Yes. Quite a lady, Mrs.--?” His frown crooks at the corner, sneaking it into a smarmy grin. He’s fishing, but whether it’s for my marital status or my ire, I can’t tell. Also I don’t care.
“Miss. Miss Excuse-me-I’m-trying-to-leave, Mr.--?” I flash him a large grin and a raised eyebrow.
“No ‘Mister’ for you. Just Locke. It’s what my friends call me.” His voice lowers, all raspy and dark, and my pussy gets a little moist. Inviting me to call him what his ‘friends’ do? Is he… is he flirting with me? A prickling sensation I know all too well starts creeping up my chest and cheeks. There isn’t time to think too much about it because--
“Martin! What part of ‘get the fuck out’ don’t you understand?”
I turn and glare at the Chief. “You’d have to actually say ‘get the fuck out’ for me to understand it. See? Attention to details, Chief .”
Flirting or not, I’m too pissed to linger and my invitation has definitely run out. I shove past Mr. ‘Just Locke’ and slam the door behind me. The crash of it echoes through the precinct and the hustle stops for a moment. Long enough for them to see who’s causing the fuss (me), roll their collective eyes, and then back to business.
Okay, so I might have a bit of a reputation.
I scan the room and catch a familiar, wry smile. My old partner, Dalton. Lloyd Dalton, an older, seen-it-all Detective with the heart of gold and gentle touch. That didn’t mean we clashed when we worked together. In fact, I couldn’t have asked for a better and more trusted partner. He was the only person I missed from this hell-hole.
Dalton knew the worst of me, the best of me, and he knew my dirty little secret. Well, one of them at least.
He knew that this “I’m a badass with a chip on my shoulder” routine I projected was, well, just that. A routine.
When I’d tried to be “myself” at my first job as a cop? It bit me in the ass. Big time. Nice didn’t cut it. From the “sweethearts” to the “thatta-girls,” I was stuck in peon land. All paperwork and condescension makes Elise an angry girl. It wasn’t until I upped the sass and copped an attitude that I started to gain rank and credibility.
Cop an attitude? Heh. That’s the kind of joke Dalton would make, sweet old fart that he is.
“Martin!” He calls me over and claps his big hand on my shoulder. It’s a comforting weight. One I’ve missed more than I want to dwell on. “They brought you in cuffed this time.” His eyebrows are pressed together and his tone is soft with concern.
Subconsciously I grab my wrists and give them a rub. The cuffs had been
Similar Books
