from the landing, opened the door, then locked all three bolts behind her. Only when she turned off the landing light did she hear the Jeepâs engine crank over.
A kind, gentlemanly gesture from the man who wasnât keeping chivalry alive. So serious, so intense. Eve leaned back against the door, memories of his unyielding body against hers flickering in her skin. That much restraint hardened a man, in more ways than one. He needed a release besides the physically pounding adrenaline rush of boxing, something that would leave him soft and satiated, not bruised and scraped and sore.
She was just the woman to guide Chad down the impulsive path.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Well done, Detective Dorchester. You once again managed not to sleep with Eve Webber.
Air huffed from Mattâs nostrils as he shot out of Eye Candyâs alley and onto the street. Yeah, he deserved a medal for keeping his pants zipped. Just what he needed, more pieces of metal added to the jumble at the back of his dresser drawer.
Fuck. Telling himself he was just doing his job, that testing her to see if she betrayed the departmentâs confidence to a near-stranger, made him feel worse, not better. He should have sat on his hands, not touched her like he had a right. She was savvy. Sharp. Playful. And she worked her ass off. Without makeup she looked like a girl heâd still do a double take at because the intelligence, humor, and kindness were easier to see. In jeans and a T-shirt, her face scrubbed bare of makeup, he wanted her more, not less.
He was lying to her. Bald-faced lying to her about who he was, why he was in her club, what he did. No one knew about Eveâs plans to buy the building behind Eye Candy. She was smart to keep that close to her chest, because any interest would drive up the price. But she didnât have the money to buy the building, and almost no chance of getting a commercial mortgage.
To Hawthorn, this was going to make Eve look like a really bad risk. Hawthorn hated risks, managed them obsessively. In pursuit of his goal of shutting down the Strykers, heâd be as ruthless with Eve as Lyle was.
Impressions flashed through him as he drove. The way she ground against him was about as satisfying as a lap dance at a strip club, all teasing, simulated action, no release. The hot, sweet weight of her body against his, firm breasts against his chest, the pebbled tips of her nipples between his fingers, her hips rocking against him. Eve would take it slow for a little while, but it wouldnât be long before sheâd expect more from him, details, stories, a connection. Heâd give it to her. Heâd done it before in undercover operations. He did what he had to do to build trust, without a thought of betraying it because what mattered was justice, the department, getting the bad guys. Hell, heâd used people on the periphery before, gotten dirt on someone he could flip for the prosecution, cozied up to women with information, walked away without a second thought. The simple fact was that he wasnât paid to be honorable. He was paid to solve cases by whatever legal means necessary.
This was different, because Eve was different. Heâd known her for less than a week and already he didnât want to walk away.
That option had closed to him the moment he walked through Eye Candyâs door with Chad Hendersonâs ID in his wallet. He needed to let it go, do the task in front of him, and move on, like he always did. Thatâs what made him the best.
In the flat, inky stillness just before dawn he parked his Jeep on the street in front of the house to avoid blocking in his brotherâs modified SUV and sat in the car for a few minutes, letting that thought resonate through his consciousness. Heâd forgotten what it was like to feel his heart jump when a woman walked in the door, butterflies flutter in his stomach when she smiled at him, brutal lust surge and sweep to the
A kind, gentlemanly gesture from the man who wasnât keeping chivalry alive. So serious, so intense. Eve leaned back against the door, memories of his unyielding body against hers flickering in her skin. That much restraint hardened a man, in more ways than one. He needed a release besides the physically pounding adrenaline rush of boxing, something that would leave him soft and satiated, not bruised and scraped and sore.
She was just the woman to guide Chad down the impulsive path.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Well done, Detective Dorchester. You once again managed not to sleep with Eve Webber.
Air huffed from Mattâs nostrils as he shot out of Eye Candyâs alley and onto the street. Yeah, he deserved a medal for keeping his pants zipped. Just what he needed, more pieces of metal added to the jumble at the back of his dresser drawer.
Fuck. Telling himself he was just doing his job, that testing her to see if she betrayed the departmentâs confidence to a near-stranger, made him feel worse, not better. He should have sat on his hands, not touched her like he had a right. She was savvy. Sharp. Playful. And she worked her ass off. Without makeup she looked like a girl heâd still do a double take at because the intelligence, humor, and kindness were easier to see. In jeans and a T-shirt, her face scrubbed bare of makeup, he wanted her more, not less.
He was lying to her. Bald-faced lying to her about who he was, why he was in her club, what he did. No one knew about Eveâs plans to buy the building behind Eye Candy. She was smart to keep that close to her chest, because any interest would drive up the price. But she didnât have the money to buy the building, and almost no chance of getting a commercial mortgage.
To Hawthorn, this was going to make Eve look like a really bad risk. Hawthorn hated risks, managed them obsessively. In pursuit of his goal of shutting down the Strykers, heâd be as ruthless with Eve as Lyle was.
Impressions flashed through him as he drove. The way she ground against him was about as satisfying as a lap dance at a strip club, all teasing, simulated action, no release. The hot, sweet weight of her body against his, firm breasts against his chest, the pebbled tips of her nipples between his fingers, her hips rocking against him. Eve would take it slow for a little while, but it wouldnât be long before sheâd expect more from him, details, stories, a connection. Heâd give it to her. Heâd done it before in undercover operations. He did what he had to do to build trust, without a thought of betraying it because what mattered was justice, the department, getting the bad guys. Hell, heâd used people on the periphery before, gotten dirt on someone he could flip for the prosecution, cozied up to women with information, walked away without a second thought. The simple fact was that he wasnât paid to be honorable. He was paid to solve cases by whatever legal means necessary.
This was different, because Eve was different. Heâd known her for less than a week and already he didnât want to walk away.
That option had closed to him the moment he walked through Eye Candyâs door with Chad Hendersonâs ID in his wallet. He needed to let it go, do the task in front of him, and move on, like he always did. Thatâs what made him the best.
In the flat, inky stillness just before dawn he parked his Jeep on the street in front of the house to avoid blocking in his brotherâs modified SUV and sat in the car for a few minutes, letting that thought resonate through his consciousness. Heâd forgotten what it was like to feel his heart jump when a woman walked in the door, butterflies flutter in his stomach when she smiled at him, brutal lust surge and sweep to the
Similar Books
