close and personal:
the dark day’s growth on his jaw, the way his eyes were like two fathomless pools
she could drown in, his tight jaw . . . and then there was his scent, which made her
want to press her nose to his throat and inhale. Pathetic.
Once upon a time he’d been everything to her, her greatest fantasy, her most amazing
lover, her best friend, and she missed him, mourned him like a missing limb, and if
he looked close enough he’d know it. Not wanting that to happen, she dropped her head
down, but he only stepped even closer, and her forehead brushed his chest. He was
warm and hard with strength, and beneath the shirt his heart beat steady. The waistband
of his jeans were loose, low on his washboard abs. She had good reason to know his
body looked just as perfect without the clothes, and that he knew exactly what to
do with it to drive her insane with wanting.
Why did he have to be so damned perfect?
Why couldn’t he have love handles? Or bad breath? Okay, maybe not love handles or
bad breath, but it’d be nice if he could screw up once in a while instead of it always being her.
“Ella.”
Right. He wanted answers. “It’s complicated,” she said demurely.
“Uh-huh.” He tipped up her chin. “Keep going.”
Her towel slipped another half inch. Before she could pull it back up, her left hand
was in James’s, held above her head against the wall in a gentle but inexorable grip.
“Look at me, Ella.”
She stared at his Adam’s apple and hoped the towel was still covering her nipples.
His thighs bumped her bare ones and said nipples hardened with hope because they knew
exactly how good he could be to them. “Why?”
“Because we both know you can’t look me straight in the eyes when you’re lying, Super
Girl.”
A nickname she’d acquired from her various escapades, usually nearly fatal. He kept
his other hand on her jaw, holding her head, leaving her stretched and bound like
an offering. “M-maybe I really am an early Christmas present.”
He stared at her, his eyes no longer the flat, cool cop’s eyes. Now they were filled
with frustration, temper, and a good amount of the heat and love that had always caught
her breath. “It’s only June.”
“Merry Half Christmas.” But he didn’t cave, he never caved. “Okay, fine,” she said,
grumbling. “So I ran into a little problem with a case.”
“Surprise, surprise. What was the problem?”
“I found proof that a multimillion-dollar yacht we’d insured and lost this year was
purposely destroyed. It didn’t click until their second, and more expensive, yacht
was destroyed last week.”
“Drug runners?”
She nodded. “A few deals in a row went bad. They were hurting for money. Now we think
they sank the boats for the insurance money.”
“And?”
“And I’m working on getting proof.”
His eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. Your suspects are planning to hightail it out of
town with the cash from the first boat, and you got in their way.”
She bit her lip.
“Jesus Christ, El.” Temper dropped, replaced by instant concern as his hands slid
down to her arms. “Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
His expression was no longer a cool cop’s, but fierce and terrified. “Did they—”
“Nothing. They did nothing but cuff me.” And okay, maybe they’d made a joke about
her being a true blonde. “I’m fine.”
He let out a low breath, fighting for control as the muscles bunched in his jaw.
She knew it was more than this particular situation. Her job was the basis of any
fight they’d ever had—her putting herself in danger, sometimes stupidly. Him hating
it.
He ran a finger over the cuffs on her wrist. “Hell of a mess you’ve got yourself into.”
“Do you have a key or something?”
“Or something,” he murmured, and looked her over again, slowly. “You sure do look
like my idea of Christmas, all naked and . . .” He ran a callused finger over
the dark day’s growth on his jaw, the way his eyes were like two fathomless pools
she could drown in, his tight jaw . . . and then there was his scent, which made her
want to press her nose to his throat and inhale. Pathetic.
Once upon a time he’d been everything to her, her greatest fantasy, her most amazing
lover, her best friend, and she missed him, mourned him like a missing limb, and if
he looked close enough he’d know it. Not wanting that to happen, she dropped her head
down, but he only stepped even closer, and her forehead brushed his chest. He was
warm and hard with strength, and beneath the shirt his heart beat steady. The waistband
of his jeans were loose, low on his washboard abs. She had good reason to know his
body looked just as perfect without the clothes, and that he knew exactly what to
do with it to drive her insane with wanting.
Why did he have to be so damned perfect?
Why couldn’t he have love handles? Or bad breath? Okay, maybe not love handles or
bad breath, but it’d be nice if he could screw up once in a while instead of it always being her.
“Ella.”
Right. He wanted answers. “It’s complicated,” she said demurely.
“Uh-huh.” He tipped up her chin. “Keep going.”
Her towel slipped another half inch. Before she could pull it back up, her left hand
was in James’s, held above her head against the wall in a gentle but inexorable grip.
“Look at me, Ella.”
She stared at his Adam’s apple and hoped the towel was still covering her nipples.
His thighs bumped her bare ones and said nipples hardened with hope because they knew
exactly how good he could be to them. “Why?”
“Because we both know you can’t look me straight in the eyes when you’re lying, Super
Girl.”
A nickname she’d acquired from her various escapades, usually nearly fatal. He kept
his other hand on her jaw, holding her head, leaving her stretched and bound like
an offering. “M-maybe I really am an early Christmas present.”
He stared at her, his eyes no longer the flat, cool cop’s eyes. Now they were filled
with frustration, temper, and a good amount of the heat and love that had always caught
her breath. “It’s only June.”
“Merry Half Christmas.” But he didn’t cave, he never caved. “Okay, fine,” she said,
grumbling. “So I ran into a little problem with a case.”
“Surprise, surprise. What was the problem?”
“I found proof that a multimillion-dollar yacht we’d insured and lost this year was
purposely destroyed. It didn’t click until their second, and more expensive, yacht
was destroyed last week.”
“Drug runners?”
She nodded. “A few deals in a row went bad. They were hurting for money. Now we think
they sank the boats for the insurance money.”
“And?”
“And I’m working on getting proof.”
His eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. Your suspects are planning to hightail it out of
town with the cash from the first boat, and you got in their way.”
She bit her lip.
“Jesus Christ, El.” Temper dropped, replaced by instant concern as his hands slid
down to her arms. “Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
His expression was no longer a cool cop’s, but fierce and terrified. “Did they—”
“Nothing. They did nothing but cuff me.” And okay, maybe they’d made a joke about
her being a true blonde. “I’m fine.”
He let out a low breath, fighting for control as the muscles bunched in his jaw.
She knew it was more than this particular situation. Her job was the basis of any
fight they’d ever had—her putting herself in danger, sometimes stupidly. Him hating
it.
He ran a finger over the cuffs on her wrist. “Hell of a mess you’ve got yourself into.”
“Do you have a key or something?”
“Or something,” he murmured, and looked her over again, slowly. “You sure do look
like my idea of Christmas, all naked and . . .” He ran a callused finger over
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