Authors: Alexa Grace
"I didn't think you and Frankie were on the best of terms."
"Why do you say that?"
"I heard you dumped her after a one-night stand when she was recovering from the bullet wound you gave her."
"Shit. I was so fucking stupid." This was an understatement. It was the worst mistake he’d ever made.
"I'd say. I'd think you'd be afraid to do that to a former Army sharpshooter. I mean you'd already shot her. Wasn't that enough?"
Lane grunted and took a gulp of his beer and seriously thought of ordering another one.
"You're damned lucky she didn't kick your ass or shoot you. She's got a wicked temper."
"I think I'd feel better about it if she did. I made a mistake. A big mistake. And I want her back."
"Good luck with that." Michael chuckled until he glanced at Lane and saw the miserable expression on his face.
"How did you know about it?" Lane asked.
"Frankie is at the house a lot and I overheard her tell Anne. If I were you, I'd steer clear. I know it happened months ago, but she is still pissed about what happened between you two."
"Yeah, I know she is."
"Are you sure you want to do this undercover thing with her? Isn't there anyone else who could do it?"
"No. She hasn't agreed to do it yet. She told Tim she wants to think about it. If she does it, we'll both have to commit to put our past behind us and act like professionals."
"And you think that's possible. Do you believe in the tooth fairy, too?"
Frankie parked the car in the only space available outside the popular bar and joined Anne on the sidewalk, handing her a bag of Lady Gaga concert t-shirts she'd purchased. She glanced at Anne's sequined pink four-inch heels that matched her equally sequined flared pink tank and sighed. Why a pregnant woman would wear those shoes was beyond her and she had hovered over Anne every time she moved an inch all night for fear that she'd fall. When they entered the bar, she was relieved to see Michael. She was passing the baton. He could play helicopter and hover over Anne for the rest of the night.
They’d had an amazing time at the concert and were sorry when it ended. Frankie had played the latest Lady Gaga CD all the way back and was looking forward to relaxing with Anne and Michael before she headed home. Besides, she and Anne had a major craving for non-alcoholic strawberry daiquiris, hot artichoke dip with chips, and then maybe a scrumptious slice of Godiva chocolate cheesecake.
They spotted Michael at the bar talking to someone so they waded through the crowd to get to him. As they approached him, Frankie noticed the "someone" was Lane Hansen and her heart slammed against her chest so hard she nearly stumbled. Her gaze locked with Lane’s and a spark of heat flashed between them.
Being within a city block of Lane Hansen was an extremely bad idea. She should turn around and walk right out of this bar and go straight home. But she didn't.
Michael pulled Anne into his arms and kissed her as she gushed about the concert. He then hailed a waitress who found them a booth. Michael took one look at Frankie who was pretending not to gaze at Lane; and one look at Lane who was trying not to stare at Frankie and made a decision. It was a decision that would probably earn him a kick under the table later from his wife, but he ran with it.
"Lane, we've got a booth. Come join us for some junk food and a couple of beers."
As they headed to the booth, Frankie walked in front of Lane so he gave her a once-over. She wore a snug white knit cami under a short black leather jacket, along with black jeggings tucked into black boots with four-inch heels. At five feet ten inches, with big, brown eyes and full sensuous lips, she looked sizzling hot, and every man in the place was fixated on her. A blast of lust hit him so hard it was a wonder he could even walk.
As the evening progressed, Lane watched Frankie drink strawberry daiquiris and shared her hot artichoke dip and chips. When it came time to share the Godiva chocolate cheesecake, he and Michael passed while Frankie and Anne devoured the dessert. They talked non-stop about the concert and Lane began to relax and actually enjoy himself because Frankie was. She animatedly told stories and she laughed. And when she did, it was one of the most delightful things he'd ever heard or seen. Her entire face lit up when she laughed and the sound of it was so contagious, you had to laugh, too. Anne sent Michael to the deejay with requests for Lady Gaga songs a couple of times. When they played, she and Frankie sang along and danced — more like wiggled — in their seats as he and Michael watched with enjoyment. In their line of work finding justice for victims, day in and day out; it felt good to be around happy people for a change.
It was amazing to be sitting this close to Frankie period. The booth was small so she was pressed up against him and he could feel her heat through his jeans. Her scent of fresh flowers and woman was making him a little crazy.
It seemed Michael had a song request of his own. As the deejay played "Lady in Red", he helped Anne slide out of the booth and led her to the dance floor.
Lane immediately saw the opportunity he'd been waiting for, but there was just one thing wrong with the plan. It was the dancing part. It wasn't that he was a bad at dancing, he sucked at it. He was six feet five inches and 230 pounds of solid muscle and putting himself on the dance floor with others was as dangerous as having a rhino in a china shop. Accidentally crushing the delicate bones in his partner's feet was not his idea of a good time.
But he glanced at Frankie and realized he wanted to hold her close to him, more than he'd wanted anything in a long, long time. This slow dance was not an opportunity he was going to pass up — two left feet or not.
He didn't have to be psychic to know that Frankie would refuse to dance with him and that underneath all that laughter; she was still pissed at him. So he slid out of the booth and pulled her with him.
"What are you doing?" He'd yanked her so hard out of the booth that she gasped as she slammed against him.
"It's not what
I'm
doing. It's what
we're
doing."
"What?!"
He led her onto the dance floor and wrapped his arms around her waist. He thought about the toes of her boots and prayed he wouldn't step on them.
"This is my favorite song and I really want to dance to it."
"'Lady in Red' is your favorite song? Why don’t I believe that?"
He couldn't think of a good response so he tucked her head against his chest and tightened his grip on her waist. He liked the way her four inch heels brought her to his chin and he didn't have to bend much to hold her. Her soft curves molded to the contours of his lean body as he slowly and carefully moved her around the dance floor.
Frankie was feeling the buzz from the second strawberry daiquiri that she shouldn't have drunk, because she didn't drink alcohol. She also shouldn’t be dancing with Lane even though she loved the way his hard, muscled arms wrapped perfectly around her body had her pulse racing. He held her hand gently against his chest and she could feel the hard, rapid beating of his heart. Dancing with him shouldn't feel this good. Her internal alarm went off. She remembered how hurt she had been when she'd awakened that morning and found he was gone without a word. He'd hurt her once; he'd hurt her again. She pushed at his chest to put some distance between them and looked up into his eyes.
"Frankie, please don't push me away. I've wanted to hold you all night."
His eyes held a sensuous flame, but they also held a tender plea that made her heart squeeze. Maybe it was the second strawberry daiquiri. Maybe it was his hard body pressing against her that was making her so hot she thought she'd faint. Whatever it was, she went with it. She went onto her toes, entangled her fingers in his short hair, and pulled him down into a kiss. She tenderly explored his lips slowly and thoughtfully as a flame ignited inside her that made her heated and dizzy. She ended the kiss, looked up into his surprised expression, and then pressed her head back against his chest. She felt light-headed and when the music ended, she was grateful she could lean against his hard body for support as he led her back to the booth.
Once they were back in the booth, Lane stared at Frankie, his left eyebrow lifting a fraction. He didn't know where that kiss had come from, but he was up for an instant replay.
Frankie lifted her glass and finished off her drink then started fanning herself with her hand. “Why was it so damn hot in here?”
"Oh, my God. Frankie, is there alcohol in your daiquiri?" Anne's eyes were wide as she asked the question.
"Good possibility," she replied.
Lane heard her giggling just before she laid her head on his shoulder. She tried hard to focus on Anne's face, but the darn room was swirling again.
Michael leaned in close and whispered in Anne's ear. "What's wrong?"
"She can't drink alcohol. One drink and she's drunk. She's had
two
drinks. I was sure I told the waitress to make the drinks without alcohol."
Lane heard this and secured Frankie's glass. One sniff and he was sure the drink had alcohol. He nodded to the other two.
He slid out of the booth and pulled her into his arms steadying her until he was sure she'd stay upright. "Sugar, it's time we get you home." He braced her with his arm around her waist and half-walked, half-carried her out of the bar to his SUV.
Lane pulled his SUV up to Frankie's house and turned off the ignition. She was slumped in the passenger seat like her bones were made of jello. She was giggly, and kept mumbling something about feeling dizzy. He sighed, shook his head, and got out of the vehicle.
When he opened the passenger door, she almost tumbled out. He caught her before she slammed to the ground and held her upright. She kept swaying so he gripped her waist to stabilize her.
She snaked her arms around his neck and whispered, "Lane, you make me so hot."
He held her away and silently wished she was sober and that she meant that last statement. He led her to her house, again half-walking and half-carrying her as she giggled.
They were almost to the porch when she stopped and mumbled something.
"Frankie, what did you say?"
"I feel sick." At that, she projectile vomited looking a little like the possessed girl in
The Exorcist,
only this wasn't pea soup. He stared in shock as it shot down the front of his jeans. He quickly turned her around and held her as she bent down to throw up some more in the bushes.
"I'm so sick." She moaned.
Lane backed her to the SUV so he could open the back to get a towel. There was no way he was going to track in Frankie’s house what covered his jeans. He braced her against the vehicle with one hand and wiped his jeans with the other. Deciding he'd done all he could do as far as far as the pants were concerned, he swept her into his arms and ran toward the house before she could get sick again.