I cleared my throat and widened my stance and
thought tough cop thoughts. “What aren’t you telling me? Exactly how do
you know Mace and his vampires—?”
“You didn’t see vampires,”
Already irritated with myself, that echoey voice rubbed me into sharp
annoyance. I stomped into his personal space, slapped fists to my hips
and glared up at him. “Do not tell me what I did or did not see.”
He reared back with a frown. “You can’t tell me to shut up.”
“Who’s the cop here?” I scowled up.
He scowled down. “Who’s the midget here?”
“Why you…” I grabbed his ears to bring his head to my level and stun
him speechless with my cop glare, a cross between Medusa and an ocular
fist that I’d seen Elena do and practiced daily in the mirror until I
knocked myself out with it.
But somehow when his face got within reach of my mouth I leaned up and
he leaned down—and we fused lips. My tongue pried and he opened, and I
was plunging as deep as I could get into hot male heaven. He tasted of
espresso edged with cinnamon and danger; his scent enveloping me was
just as spicy.
He groaned. His arms came around me, pulling me flush to him. I
clutched his biceps, warm satin-covered rocks, and moaned into his
mouth. As if it was a cue he crushed me to him, his embrace hot as a
woodburner and his torso as hard as his biceps. Even through the thick
wool of my cop carapace I felt every ridge of him.
I twined arms around his neck and pressed into him in return. I was
shivery hot and melding with him instinctively, writhing and rubbing
against him with primal need.
My undulating must have been another signal, because he began to take
the lead. His tongue thrust powerfully into my mouth. I groaned and a
ripple of sheer need ran the length of my body. I opened wider for him;
his tongue filled me again and again.
That driving power was how he’d make love. At the thought, my sex
“Mmm. Your scent drives me
wild.” He cupped the back of my head, holding me in position for
deeper, more exotic tonguing and biting and licking. I whimpered. His
passion was a direct wire from my mouth to my sex—one he lit like a
fuse. Every flick of his tongue was a hot lick to my rising clit. Every
thrust inside my mouth was a powerful surge into me. Every bite
shivered along my skin and every suck was as if he had me on my back
with my thighs clenching his head.
He slid a hand between us. It rubbed my uniform jacket against the tips
of my breasts. The jacket was new, wool and too small, and I felt it
even through shirt and bra. My nipples, already awake, sang out like
they were joining the choir eternal.
I gasped, grabbed his ears and tried to tongue his tonsils. My leg
lifted, instinctively trying to assume the position. I was small but
forceful and usually ended up on top, but he was so tall I couldn’t rub
my tortured bits against his unless he helped or I climbed him like a
tree. If he would just slip his hands under my derriere and lift…
He had other things in mind. He undid every brass button on my jacket
then shoved it aggressively off my shoulders. My arms fell from his
neck and the jacket hit the pavement with a whump-clang.
I barely cared, because he kept kissing and sucking as he worked at my
blouse, flipping open buttons so fast one or two went plink onto the
The instant the shirt was open, he palmed both breasts through my lacy
bra, with a sound like a hungry beast coming home to a hot plentiful
dinner. I thrilled. My breasts surged into his hands with nearly the
same sound. I dug fingernails into his scalp and rubbed my tits into
his palms, his skin so hot, his hands so big and rough and exciting.
I was about to pull him somewhere secluded, like the cruiser’s
backseat—some part of me knew Jonesy wasn’t due to wake for at least
another five minutes—when an explosion rocked us both.