Baddest Bad Boys by Shannon McKenna, Cate Noble, E. C. Sheedy Page B
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Erótica, Romance, Contemporary, Adult, Anthologies, Anthologies (Multiple Authors)
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himself. He knew better than to let anyone or anything get too close. He kept the world at bay, by habit. It worked for him. It always had.
That had worked for him as a cop too. He wasn’t cold or uncaring. He was just detached. Victims had counselors to be empathetic to them. Empathy wasn’t his job, thank God. His job was to hunt those fuckers down and haul them in. To make them stop.
So how was the Egg Man messing with him from beyond the grave? It made him feel violated. Helpless. A feeling he hated intensely.
He forced himself to consider all the possibilities, however unpalatable. Maybe he was having a breakdown. Accumulated job stress. He’d never dreamed it could happen to a cast-iron bastard like himself, but how else would he let himself get snookered into fooling around Robin? He was losing his mind. It was the only explanation.
His heart still galloped from the dream. He tried to breathe deep, calm down, but it wasn’t happening. He twisted around, stared at the bed, dimly visible in the light of the dying fire. The virgin sacrifice.
What the hell. She wouldn’t know he was gawking. He padded into the other room and stared at her, curled up in her nest of puffy nylon. Her shoulder had slipped out of the sweatshirt. So soft, and pretty. And sweeter than sweet. That made it so much worse somehow.
He went back to the kitchen and snagged a chair, carried it back with him. He sat down near the bed. Hell, he couldn’t sleep anyway.
It made him breathe easier. As long as he was watching, no stinking bird of prey could swoop down on her and start rending.
The dream was deliciously erotic. Rocking bursts of delight pulsed through her as she twined herself around Jon’s body. But she knew it was only a dream. Something was pulling on her from the outside, tugging at her mind. An urgent, anxious feeling. Someone needed her.
She drifted into a near-waking state, smelled mothballs and mold, woodsmoke and pine resin. And that feeling between her legs. Oh, boy.
It flooded back. Her eyes popped open, and the source of that urgent pull at her mind was abruptly revealed.
Jon was sitting next to the bed in a straight-backed chair. He wore only jeans and a small gold medallion that dangled at his throat. His chest was breathtaking. Thick slabs of muscle, dark hair arrowing down towards his groin. His feet were bare, his dark hair spiked out every which way. His eyes bored into hers. A shiver racked her at the fierce intensity of his eyes. No smiles. On the contrary. He looked tense.
Robin sat up. “Jon? Are you OK?”
He shook his head.
Robin studied him. She ached to reach out to him, but she still smarted from all his previous rejections. And yet, he seemed to be coming around. Not in any sort of playful way, that was for sure. But he looked like he needed something. She did too.
Though she had a feeling that what she got wasn’t going to be anything like her girlish fantasies. But whatever. She was flexible.
She slid her legs out of the bed, unzipped the bag completely, smoothing so that it covered the entire, red-striped sofabed mattress. Then she padded to the armchair where she’d dumped her tote, and rummaged til she found the bag with the condoms. She pried it open, pulled one out and marched back, waggling it. She was prepared.
He didn’t say a word. His expression did not change.
She dragged in as deep a breath as she could manage, and laid it on the bed next to the pillow. She’d just take that flat silence as a resounding yes. God knows, she’d heard what a no sounded like.
She pulled off the sweatshirt. His gaze fastened onto her naked breasts. He didn’t tell her to stop. Encouraged, she tugged off jeans, panties and ankle socks. And just stood there. Come and get me.
He was not behaving the way her girlfriends had given her to understand that men did. What did she have to do to get him to make a move? Hold a gun to his head? She took a step closer. A muscle
That had worked for him as a cop too. He wasn’t cold or uncaring. He was just detached. Victims had counselors to be empathetic to them. Empathy wasn’t his job, thank God. His job was to hunt those fuckers down and haul them in. To make them stop.
So how was the Egg Man messing with him from beyond the grave? It made him feel violated. Helpless. A feeling he hated intensely.
He forced himself to consider all the possibilities, however unpalatable. Maybe he was having a breakdown. Accumulated job stress. He’d never dreamed it could happen to a cast-iron bastard like himself, but how else would he let himself get snookered into fooling around Robin? He was losing his mind. It was the only explanation.
His heart still galloped from the dream. He tried to breathe deep, calm down, but it wasn’t happening. He twisted around, stared at the bed, dimly visible in the light of the dying fire. The virgin sacrifice.
What the hell. She wouldn’t know he was gawking. He padded into the other room and stared at her, curled up in her nest of puffy nylon. Her shoulder had slipped out of the sweatshirt. So soft, and pretty. And sweeter than sweet. That made it so much worse somehow.
He went back to the kitchen and snagged a chair, carried it back with him. He sat down near the bed. Hell, he couldn’t sleep anyway.
It made him breathe easier. As long as he was watching, no stinking bird of prey could swoop down on her and start rending.
The dream was deliciously erotic. Rocking bursts of delight pulsed through her as she twined herself around Jon’s body. But she knew it was only a dream. Something was pulling on her from the outside, tugging at her mind. An urgent, anxious feeling. Someone needed her.
She drifted into a near-waking state, smelled mothballs and mold, woodsmoke and pine resin. And that feeling between her legs. Oh, boy.
It flooded back. Her eyes popped open, and the source of that urgent pull at her mind was abruptly revealed.
Jon was sitting next to the bed in a straight-backed chair. He wore only jeans and a small gold medallion that dangled at his throat. His chest was breathtaking. Thick slabs of muscle, dark hair arrowing down towards his groin. His feet were bare, his dark hair spiked out every which way. His eyes bored into hers. A shiver racked her at the fierce intensity of his eyes. No smiles. On the contrary. He looked tense.
Robin sat up. “Jon? Are you OK?”
He shook his head.
Robin studied him. She ached to reach out to him, but she still smarted from all his previous rejections. And yet, he seemed to be coming around. Not in any sort of playful way, that was for sure. But he looked like he needed something. She did too.
Though she had a feeling that what she got wasn’t going to be anything like her girlish fantasies. But whatever. She was flexible.
She slid her legs out of the bed, unzipped the bag completely, smoothing so that it covered the entire, red-striped sofabed mattress. Then she padded to the armchair where she’d dumped her tote, and rummaged til she found the bag with the condoms. She pried it open, pulled one out and marched back, waggling it. She was prepared.
He didn’t say a word. His expression did not change.
She dragged in as deep a breath as she could manage, and laid it on the bed next to the pillow. She’d just take that flat silence as a resounding yes. God knows, she’d heard what a no sounded like.
She pulled off the sweatshirt. His gaze fastened onto her naked breasts. He didn’t tell her to stop. Encouraged, she tugged off jeans, panties and ankle socks. And just stood there. Come and get me.
He was not behaving the way her girlfriends had given her to understand that men did. What did she have to do to get him to make a move? Hold a gun to his head? She took a step closer. A muscle
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