French Pressed by Cleo Coyle

up, his strong thighs between my own, making me understand that there was absolutely no issue with his physically wanting me. With a groan, he started kissing me again, pressing into me.
    “Whoa, Mike,” I murmured against his mouth. “You know there’s a perfectly good bed upstairs.”
    “I know…” His lips moved off mine, trailed kisses along my jaw. “And if I had time, we’d be on it right now.”
    “You mean it?” I gently pushed at his chest.
    He leaned back. “Clare, I’ve been on duty for the past ten hours, and all I can think about is you .”
    “Really?”
    He sighed, rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “I think about you every day, Clare, and every night. Especially at night. I’m losing sleep. I had wanted to wait a little longer, make sure things were right…” He paused, letting his voice trail off, as if he wasn’t sure what to say next.
    “What do you mean right ?” I pressed.
    “Just that…” He shook his head. “Forget it. I can’t wait anymore, sweetheart. You’re messing with my focus on the job. We can’t have that.”
    “No, we can’t,” I said, practically giddy. “So let’s go upstairs.”
    Mike checked his watch and sighed. “I’m only being spelled for thirty. Not that I couldn’t make the earth move in that time—” He smiled. “But there’s no way I want our first time to be a quickie.”
    “Yeah…I don’t want you leaving me—after. Come back later, when you’re off, when you can stay.”
    “Okay…” He nodded, kissed me again. Then he lifted me off the counter.
    “Come on up to the duplex in the meantime,” I told him, tugging my skirt back down over my thighs. “I’ll press you a pot of my new Morning Sunshine Blend before you have to get back. It’s a Full City roast, so it has more caffeine than your regular latte, and stimulation is my business.”
    “You don’t have to tell me.”
    He grabbed his blazer and overcoat off the bar chair, and I picked up my apron. Then I switched off the main lights and, before heading upstairs, finally locked the front door, vowing never to tell Esther that, thanks to her genius boss, a Blend customer could have walked in on something a lot more obscene than rap music.

     
    “S O what’s the job tonight?”
    Standing at the marble counter, I pushed the plunger down on the French press. The coarsely ground beans filled the apartment’s cozy kitchen with arousing, floral notes. Mike made a show of inhaling the aroma.
    “Mmmm…nice,” he said, his eyes following my every move as I filled our mugs. Then I bent over to grab a carton of half-and-half from the fridge’s bottom shelf, and Mike murmured, “Even nicer…”
    I turned around. “Mike, did you hear me? I asked what’s up with your job tonight.”
    The detective arched an eyebrow. “If you want me to focus, Cosi, then don’t bend over in front of me.”
    “Mike!”
    “What?” He plucked the carton of half-and-half from my hand and dumped a little splash of light into his pool of black. “You have no idea how distracting that ass of yours is.”
    O-kay, I thought, the man’s definitely ready to shift us into another gear. This was fine with me, except for the fact that he was out of here in twenty, and I didn’t appreciate being left hot and bothered for the next few hours.
    “Go ahead,” I warned, “keep up the suggestive talk, and see if you make it out of here unmolested. Now focus , will you, Detective?”
    “I’ll try,” Mike said behind smiling eyes. Then he downed a few healthy swigs of my coffee and sighed, letting the hot, fresh blend revive him.
    MRRROOOOOW!
    The sudden jaguar yell echoed off the kitchen walls. I glanced around to find its source, which was not in fact a 300-pound carnivore, but a 10-pound female house cat with the lungs of a famished jungle beast.
    MRRROOOOOW!
    “Sounds like you forgot to feed Java,” Mike remarked, glancing around. “Where is she? Java!”
    “I’ll have you know I fed her a delicious