Hope Flames: Hope Book 1 (28 page)

Which meant he’d worked a shit ton of double shifts. Not that he minded. He wanted to catch this asshole as much as everyone else on the force did. The last thing Hope needed was a new dealer out hawking the latest in narcotics outside the local middle schools. He’d work whatever hours needed to put this dickhead behind bars.

But working these hours meant he’d had absolutely zero time to see Emma. When he got off work, he managed a cold sandwich and a beer, and then he’d fall face-first into his bed, where it seemed as if only an hour later his alarm was ringing and he had to be back on the job again.

Of course, this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? A fling with Emma, get her into his bed, then forget about her. Get her out of his system.

The problem was, after the long weekend they’d spent together, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Everything about her still lingered—the way she laughed, the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way she moved when he was inside her.

And getting a hard-on when in his police car might just get him fired, especially if his captain or one of his fellow officers happened to come by while he was sitting in the parking lot of Bert’s diner waiting for Anita to bring his to-go order out. He’d already missed lunch, and since he’d be working another double shift, he’d be damned if he’d miss dinner.

When Emma pulled in next to him, along with Jane and Chelsea, he didn’t know whether to hide his face or get out and pull her into his arms so he could tell her how much he’d missed her.

She smiled and waved, started to go inside, but then paused, said something to Jane and Chelsea, then came over to his car. She leaned over, and he breathed her in.

Sweet. Like citrus fruit. He had a sudden urge to lick her neck.

“Hi, stranger,” she said, smiling at him. She obviously wasn’t pissed at him like she should be.

“Hi, yourself. You probably think I’m a giant douchebag.”

She laughed. “Why? Did you do something wrong?”

“I haven’t called you in a week. I’m sorry, Emma.”

“I don’t think you need to be sorry. I heard about the latest break-in at the Whitehall pharmacy. I’ve also heard you’re all pulling double shifts. It’s a wonder you’re even allowed to sleep. I think I’m the last thing on your priority list right now.”

She understood. She didn’t hate him. “This is one time I’m glad for the Hope grapevine.”

“Are you sure? Because they’re also talking about the weekend you and I spent at the lake together.”

“They are, huh? And what are
they
saying?”

“That I’ll likely be pregnant before fall, it’ll be a huge scandal, and there’ll be a shotgun wedding.”

He choked out a laugh. “Seriously?”

“I never joke about shotgun weddings. Luckily for you, my father doesn’t own a shotgun.”

“Wow. The rumor mill is really cranking it up, aren’t they?”

“Well, they have to have something to talk about. Fortunately, the gossip about our torrid weekend together is neck and neck with the drug burglaries, so at least we’re not the only thing people are gossiping about.”

Anita came out, and just the sight of her and that brown paper bag made his stomach grumble.

Emma stepped aside.

“Here you go, Luke,” Anita said.

“Thanks, Anita.” He handed her the money.

“You’re welcome. Any leads on the Prowling Pharmaceutical Pilferer?”

“The what?” Luke asked.

“Hey, that’s what the local paper has dubbed him. Triple P, for short.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Uh, nothing to report today, Anita. Thanks for the burger.”

Anita looked from Luke to Emma, smiled knowingly, and beat it out of there.

“Triple P?”

Emma laughed. “I heard that one.” She laid her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll let you eat. I’m having dinner with Jane and Chelsea.”

“Okay.”

She started to walk away. “Emma?”

She stopped. “Yes?”

“I miss you.”

Her lips curved. She came back and leaned inside the window. “I hope this is legal.” She grabbed his shirt to pull him closer, then kissed him—tenderly, sweetly, and so passionately she made his dick hard. Which made him forget how hungry he was—for anything but Emma, anyway. He cupped the back of her neck and held her there, wishing he was off work, wishing they weren’t sitting in Bert’s parking lot so he could do a lot more than just kiss her.

She broke the kiss and laid her hand on his chest. “I miss you, too, Luke. Be safe out there.”

She waved at Boomer, then headed inside.

Luke mentally cursed three full sentences at whoever Triple P was because he sure as hell was putting a crimp in Luke’s sex life.

Emma walked into Bert’s, preoccupied with the kiss she’d just shared with Luke.

Until a round of applause broke out. She jerked her head up, and most of the patrons gave her a standing ovation, including Jane and Chelsea.

Blushing crimson, she found Jane and Chelsea, who of course had to have a booth at the window.

“That was some display of assaulting a police officer,” Chelsea said, fanning herself with the plastic menu. “I was about to make a citizen’s arrest.”

“Forget the citizen’s arrest,” Jane said. “I was about to pour my glass of ice water over my head.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh shut up, both of you. It wasn’t that much of a kiss.”

Chelsea cocked a brow. “Who are you trying to kid? The entire diner is turned on.”

“They are not.” Emma chanced a look around. People either whispered to each other and looked at her while trying not to look at her, or they were just outright gaping.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Haven’t they seen two people kiss before?”

“Not like that, apparently,” Jane said, stifling a laugh.

“This is ridiculous. I wasn’t mauling him. I even left his clothes on.”

“So what you’re saying is you wanted to strip him down, straddle him, and have your way with him in his police cruiser, but you used restraint. Or was it that you used restraints on him? Do tell.”

Emma glared at Chelsea. “You are not funny.”

“To the contrary. I crack myself up all the time.”

“She is pretty funny, Emma,” Jane said, taking a sip of water. “And that really was one hot kiss. Surely you felt it from your end, because it sure looked hot from where we were sitting.”

“Fine. It was hot. And I’m frustrated because we haven’t seen each other in a week.”

“So no hot sex for a whole week? My heart breaks for you,” Chelsea deadpanned.

Emma pointed a finger at her. “You are not having hot sex, because you’re too picky.”

“And because there are no hot men left in Hope. You and Jane got the last of them.”

Jane snorted. “Uh . . . no. Well, yes. I did get a hot one. And quite obviously from the flammable display in the parking lot, so did Emma. But I disagree that there are no hot men left. You’re just not looking.”

Chelsea shrugged. “You’re right. I’m not looking. It’s depressing out there.” Chelsea turned her attention on
Emma. “And nice try deflecting. We were talking about you and hot cop.”

“We were?”

“Yes, we were,” Jane said. “So how was the holiday weekend at the cabin? I meant to call you, but . . . school and kids, you know.”

“I know. And I was swamped after the holiday, too, so I haven’t had a moment’s free time, either. And the weekend was fine.”

“Oh, no,” Chelsea said. “You’re going to have to do better than ‘fine.’”

Emma looked around. The diner was crowded. It was Friday night, and therefore, chicken-fried-steak night. It was well-known that Bert made the best chicken-fried steak in the county, so people lined up to get served on Fridays.

She shook her head and leaned forward so no one else could hear. “I’m not spilling intimate details here.”

“Gossip buzzkiller,” Jane said with a pout. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Will’s working the late shift, Ryan’s spending the night at a friend’s house, and Tabby’s at my parents’. We’ll grab some wine and head to my place after dinner.”

“That works for me,” Emma said, already looking forward to a laid-back wine-and-chat fest with her friends. She’d been at it hard work-wise for the past week and hadn’t had time to do much more than see to the dogs after work and then crash. It had been grueling, so she was ready for something fun.

Though she had the idea an inquisition was upcoming. Not that she minded. She wanted to talk to her friends about her and Luke.

So they ate and caught up on mundane things, like their work lives.

“Hi, Emma. How are you and that handsome Luke McCormack doing?” This was asked by Mrs. Claire Reasor, eighty-two, and accompanied by her granddaughter Samantha Reasor, the owner of the flower shop in town. Samantha gave her an apologetic look.

Chelsea stifled a grin and Jane looked down at the bill
that Anita had just presented them with, while Anita waited for Emma to answer.

“I’m doing just fine, Mrs. Reasor. As far as Luke, I think he’s working very hard to solve that string of drug burglaries. A lot of overtime for him, I’m afraid.”

Claire patted her shoulder. “That’s too bad, honey. It sure puts a crimp in your budding romance, doesn’t it?”

Emma had no idea what to say to that. She fumbled for a response, finally coming up with, “Well, it’s definitely keeping him busy, that’s for sure.”

“Come on, Grandma,” Samantha said, mouthing “I’m so sorry” to Emma on the way by.

Emma smiled at Samantha and then looked over at Jane and Chelsea, both with grins on their faces.

“Is my relationship with Luke in the local papers?”

“No, but you know what it’s like in a small town. You can’t keep a secret. One person tells another, who tells another, and then there’s social media like Facebook and Twitter. You’re lucky no one got photos of the two of you at the lake together.” Chelsea gave Jane a look. “At least I don’t think there are pictures. Have you seen any?”

“I’m not on social media as much as you. If there were, you’d likely have seen them before me.”

“You two are awful friends. I don’t know why I hang out with you.”

“We’re great friends,” Chelsea said. “The kind who will share wine with you so you can unburden yourself of your deepest secrets.”

Emma paid her portion of the bill and stood. “No, you’re the kind who will ply me with wine so you can pry all my secrets out of me.”

Chelsea shrugged. “Same thing.”

They headed over to Jane’s house. Chelsea was going to stop at the liquor store for wine, and Emma made a run to the grocery store to pick up cheese, crackers, and some fruit. They might not be hungry now—in fact, she was stuffed—but if they were going to be drinking, there would need to be food for later.

They converged on Jane’s place. She already had the wineglasses out.

“I needed to wash them,” she said, taking a towel to dry the insides of the glasses. “Will and I are beer people.”

They gathered up their wineglasses and headed outside to the back deck. It was nice out, and Jane lit the citronella torches to keep the flies and mosquitoes away. Archie, Jane’s new puppy, played nearby. He was so sweet, and had already become a part of the family.

Emma sipped her wine and looked up at the stars, finally able to blow the stress of the past week out of her mind.

“Tough week?” Jane asked.

“Yeah. We had to put down two dogs, one for cancer, the other for an untreatable case of heartworms.”

Chelsea laid her hand on Emma’s arm. “I’m sorry. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, it was, mainly on the families. But I always hate that part of the job. It’s never easy to say good-bye to a pet that you love so much. They become a part of the family.”

She studied her wineglass, melancholy washing over her as she remembered all too well the number of dogs she’d lost over the years.

“This is depressing,” Chelsea said. “And now you reminded me about Scooter, the Scottish terrier I had when I was a kid. I haven’t thought about him in a long time.” She took a long swallow of wine and sighed. “So let’s talk about sex instead.”

Emma cast a smile at Chelsea. “Sorry. I am a downer, aren’t I?”

“Look, honey. I love your job. I love that you’re here in Hope doing your job. But sometimes your job sucks, especially when animals die. So let’s not talk about that tonight. Not when we’re supposed to be having fun. And face it, talking about delicious men and hot sex is way more thrilling than talking about work.”

“Agreed,” Jane said. “We certainly don’t want Chelsea to start talking about math. Or, God forbid, science.”

Chelsea stuck out her tongue. “If we don’t start getting
something moving in the let’s-talk-about-Emma’s-sex-life department, I’m going to hit you with a Pythagorean theorem that’ll make your toes curl.”

“Ugh. Help us out here, Emma.”

Emma laughed. “Fine. We had a great time last weekend. Hot sex ensued.”

Chelsea leveled her with a look. “I knew it. I could tell from that hot kiss in the parking lot that you two had hit the sheets.”

Just thinking about the weekend they’d shared at the cabin had Emma heating up all over again. “Yes. It was a great weekend.”

She sipped her wine, and it took her a few seconds to realize the conversation had come to a skidding halt. She lifted her gaze to find both Jane and Chelsea staring at her. “What?”

“That’s it?” Chelsea asked.

Emma gave her a benign smile. “You wanted more?”

“Hell, yes. A lot more. Details, woman. How does he look naked?”

“I don’t recall. No photos were snapped.”

“Oh, right,” Jane said. “Like visions of Luke naked aren’t burned into your memory banks.” Jane wagged a finger at her. “Don’t play innocent with us. Your cheeks are already pink.”

“Are they? It might be the wine.”

“And it might be the afterglow, even a week later.” Jane grinned.

“Okay. Despite my hellishly busy and somewhat awful week, there’s been definite afterglow. But he’s also had a lot on his plate, and we haven’t even spoken to each other.”

“Based on what we saw out in the parking lot tonight, it doesn’t look like you two need to say anything at all to each other to reconnect after a week apart.” Chelsea leaned back on the padded chaise, a smug smile on her face.