Under the Lights by Shannon Stacey

put some distance between them immediately—but it was a gesture of comfort, and comfort was what she’d come looking for.
    Then his hand slid up to cup the back of her neck, while the fingers of his other hand laced through hers, and she knew she was in trouble. Looking into his eyes, there was no doubt he intended to kiss her. But he held back, not tugging at her neck at all while he waited.
    To hell with it,
she thought, closing the small distance between them and tilting her face up. His mouth closed over hers as she slid her free hand up his back, and the hand on the back of her neck tightened.
    When his tongue flicked over her bottom lip, she shivered. He tasted like sugary soda, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was his mouth and his tongue dancing over hers and his hand on her neck.
    â€œI’ve wanted to kiss you since the first night I got here,” he said against her lips, his voice low and husky.
    Her fingernails bit into his back, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted him to keep kissing her until her knees were weak and she couldn’t breathe.
    â€œYou are so sweet,” he murmured, and then he nipped at her lower lip. “I’d like to take you up against the wall right now.”
    Her breath caught in her throat and she opened her eyes. How could he know how badly she wanted that?
    Chase let go of her hand and lifted his hand to her rib cage, only to find the unforgiving hardness of the bulletproof vest under her uniform shirt.
    He growled in frustration. “This vest
has
to go. And it can’t be comfortable.”
    â€œI’m used to it,” she said, but the reminder she was on duty sparked horror that burned through the haze of desire. She put her hands on his forearms and pushed them down. What the hell was she doing? “This can’t happen.”
    â€œYou’re right.” He blew out a breath and shoved his hand through his hair. “You’re Coach’s daughter.”
    Anger pushed the lingering frustration of sexual need to the back burner. “Excuse me?”
    â€œI can’t mess around with Coach’s daughter. And in his own house, for chrissake. You’re off-limits to me, but I have a hard time remembering that when I’m around you.”
    â€œFlattering, but very wrong.
Coach’s daughter
is not my identity, and that’s not why this”—she pointed from him to herself—“is not happening. It can’t happen because I’m not going to be ground up in the rumor mill because I slept with one of the guys who are basically Stewart Mills’ current versions of rock stars. Especially while I’m on duty.”
    His jaw clenched and released. “Fine. That’s your reason this can’t happen. My reason it can’t happen is that I don’t want to disrespect a man who means the world to me.”
    â€œWhy don’t you just leave my dad out of it?”
    â€œThat’s kind of hard when we’re standing in his kitchen.”
    She shook her head. Sure, she was a little embarrassed to have behaved like that in her parents’ house, but that was because they were her parents, not because her dad was
Coach.
“Let me make it easy for you. I’m leaving, so you can stand here in his kitchen all by yourself.”
    He said her name, but she didn’t bother turning back. And she thanked whatever stars kept her parents out late enough that she could get the cruiser out of their neighborhood before they got home. They definitely would have flagged her down, and the last thing she wanted to do was talk to anybody.
    She’d had more than enough talking for one night.

07
    B y Friday afternoon, Chase was questioning whether or not he’d been crazy to agree to come back to Stewart Mills. He was hot and tired, and would happily spend the rest of his life free of teenagers.
    He’d reported to the town hall that morning to