Authors: Sarah Grimm
“Tell me what happened,” she said softly.
“I caught a bullet.”
Damn. He hadn’t meant for it to fall out quite so bluntly.
Her fingers paused as a shiver worked through her body. “Line of duty?”
“No. I was on my way home after a particularly bad day on the job. Out of smokes,
I stopped at a convenience store. Just my luck I picked one that had just been robbed.
I’d just slipped out of my car when it happened. Guy came out the front of the store,
caught sight of my shield and started shooting.”
Her voice remained deceptively mild even as he reminded her why she hadn’t wanted
to get involved with him in the first place. “How bad was it?”
“Broken ribs. Punctured lung. Some nerve damage. It happened so fast, I never really
knew what hit me until I came to in the hospital. Even then, it was some time before
I was with it enough to process the facts as they were given to me. I almost didn’t
make it.”
“That day at the precinct, the officer mentioned something about two days back.”
“I’ve been back on active duty for a week now.”
“Back working with Allan.”
“Yes.”
Her hands never stopped moving, moving over his skin in long, sensual strokes. “After
how much time off?”
“Just over six months.” Justin swallowed tightly. He braced for the questions and
the arguments. For the censure he was certain to hear in her voice. He braced for
her withdrawal, surely the reality of his having been shot would be the final wedge
that pushed her from his arms.
The press of her lips against the scar at his side snapped his eyes open. His gaze
settled on the ceiling above his bed as his breath backed up in his throat. She moved
higher, acknowledged the scar on his shoulder with her lips and he was lost.
Alone. He’d been alone for so long. Never knew just how alone until just then. He
cupped the back of her head and buried his face in her hair, drowning in its intoxicating
scent as her mouth pressed against the mark of a bullet.
Suddenly, everything changed. The pain and doubt that plagued him since that day he
woke up alone in the hospital remained, yet somehow seemed less daunting.
Because he was no longer alone.
“Allan doesn’t think I’m ready to come back just yet. He thinks I need more time,”
he admitted quietly against her hair.
“What do you think?”
His mouth opened, then closed. His body shuddered at the gentle scrape of her teeth
across his shoulder. “I think if I hadn’t returned to work, I might never have met
you.”
Her face tipped. The smile upon her lips stole his breath. “I can do my job, Paige,”
he promised her, determined to make his words truth. “I
will
do my job. I’ll find this guy before he hurts you.”
“I know you will.”
He held his breath as a whole new set of doubts assaulted him. His chest tightened—the
feelings so new to him that he couldn’t put a name to them. The trembling started
again, only this time it didn’t stem from the pain of his injury.
Justin brought her mouth to his, kissing her softly, passionately. Invading her mouth
with his tongue, stroking hers, teasing sensitive places. She responded eagerly and
his arousal pulsed. He slid his hands along the sides of her ribcage until they reached
her hips. His fingers curled around the warm, smooth flesh of her thighs as he urged
her astride him.
She straddled his hips without much persuasion. With her knees tucked against his
sides, she pressed herself intimately against him and began to move back and forth,
sliding along the length of him. She was already hot and wet and he groaned with the
need to be inside her. His fingers tightened against her thighs in anticipation.
Reason surfaced. Damn it, he’d nearly forgotten the condom again. “Paige, wait.”
Her eyes were wide and smoky with desire as she stared down at him. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t have any condoms.”
Her hand slid up her right thigh, her long slender fingers flitting over the patch
affixed to her abdomen. “I’ve got it covered.”
“I’ve never had sex without a condom before,” he admitted softly. “Not before you.”
The slow, sensuous curving of her mouth went straight to his brain. “Then I don’t
see the problem.”
She leaned forward, used her teeth to nip at his lips, before pressing her mouth against
his in undeniable invitation. He deepened the kiss, drinking greedily of her taste
before urging her back a few inches. “Sit up,” he encouraged breathlessly. “Let me
look at you.”
She did, staring down at him with focused intent as she lifted her hips slightly and
positioned him at her entrance. She let her weight down slowly, as she sank fully
onto him. Momentarily paralyzed by the shaft of pleasure that arced through him, he
grasped her hips and held her in place.
“Justin,” she whispered, her voice throaty with desire.
“Tell me what you like,” he growled, the sound strangled even to his own ears. “Tell
me how to touch you.”
Silently, she guided his hands up the front of her body and placed them atop her breasts.
She pressed her hands against the back of his, closing his palms over her. Their hands
moved together as one unit, gently kneading her breasts, squeezing and releasing.
His thumbs circled her nipples, rasped back and forth over the top of them.
A moan rose from deep in her chest and she tilted her head back, her long hair brushing
the top of his thighs. Her internal muscles tightened around him, squeezed him as
she rose to her knees until only the tip of him remained inside her before easing
down. Rising. Falling. Her hand centered on his chest to steady herself, she rode
him. Lifting herself almost off him then sinking down. Eyes closed, breath
panting, drawing out the pleasure she gave to him so freely. He’d never seen anything
so erotic in his life. A ragged groan slipped from between his teeth. Every muscle
in his body contracted.
He sat up, caught her face in his hands and kissed her. The move changed the angle
of his penetration and drove him deeper into her. She cried out, still she moved against
him, shifting her hips back and forth. He felt the rising pressure, knew he was moving
swiftly toward climax. He wanted her there with him.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured against her mouth. Clamping both hands on
her hips, he pulled her harder against him even as he thrust up until he was as deep
inside her as he could get. “Come for me, Paige. I want to watch you.”
Her hands moved up his arms, her fingers curled around his biceps. Her body began
to tremble and her breath came in short, sharp gasps. He watched her pupils dilate
just before she closed her eyes and gave herself to him completely.
“Justin…”
“Yes.”
She cried out his name, shuddering wildly as her body milked his. Heat and sensation
crashed down on him, the first shock wave hit him with enough force to drive the air
from his lungs. One hot, shuddering spasm after another battered his senses. Holding
her tightly he pushed deep, deeper, and was rewarded with a climax so powerful, his
chest ached.
* * * * *
Justin automatically reached for his Glock atop the bedside table and sat up slowly,
blinking residual sleep from his eyes as he tried to pinpoint what had awakened him.
The first faint glimmer of light streaked the sky outside his bedroom window revealing
Paige as she lay sprawled half across his body, her arm draped across his waist. Her
breathing was even, relaxed as she continued her exhausted slumber, their legs tangled,
his thigh snugly between hers.
His blood heated as he looked down at her, her hair a wild tangle over his sheets.
In the dim light her skin glowed. Reaching out, he stroked his free hand down the
length of her, savoring the feel of her, the scent of her. Her body arched, her lips
parted on a sigh. The desire to roll her over and lose himself in her warmth was strong.
Instead, he eased out from beneath her and slid his legs over the edge of the bed.
When the sound came to him again, like someone moving around in his kitchen, his gaze
drifted to the doorway. His fingers tightened around the grip of his automatic as
the fuzz cleared from his mind.
Tossed across the seat of the ladder-back chair near his bed lay a pair of jeans,
which he quickly donned. Taking time to fasten just enough buttons to keep them on
his hips, he slipped soundlessly into the living room, pulling the bedroom door closed
behind him. Back to the wall, one foot at a time, he crept. His gaze shifting from
the empty room around him to the shaft of light showing beneath the swinging door
that led to his kitchen.
There was definitely someone in his kitchen. A gurgling hiss sounded through the door,
the sound familiar enough that he shook his head. Adrenaline pumping, he edged toward
the kitchen door, straining to hear something else, something that would clue him
in to the position of the intruder. No further noise came.
He stopped to the right of the door, took a deep breath and prepared himself mentally.
Using his knuckles, he swung the door open and slipped through, conducting a quick
visual sweep of the room before leveling his Glock on the man sitting at his kitchen
table.
“Allan?” Sucking in a breath, Justin aimed the automatic at the floor. “What are you
doing here?”
Allan lifted the empty coffee mug in his hand. “Making coffee.”
Justin glanced toward the gurgling coffee pot on the counter, at once recognizing
the sound he’d heard through the door. Sure enough, Allan was making coffee. He scrubbed
his hand over his face and shook his head. “I could have shot you.”
“You aren’t the type to shoot first and ask questions later,” Allan replied glibly
as he crossed the room and filled the mug in his hand as well as a second mug he removed
from the cupboard. “Put that gun away and join me.”
Justin stood rooted in the doorway, considering his partner. How he’d gotten in wasn’t
the question since he’d given Allan a key years ago. The question was
why
he’d come. Something was going on here—it didn’t take a detective to figure that out.
Allan returned to the table, placed the second mug of coffee before the empty chair
across from him. “It’s about time you woke up. I’ve been banging around this kitchen
for the past ten minutes. I was just about to go shake you awake myself.”
Seconds ticked by while Justin pictured the scene Allan would have stumbled upon.
The image of Paige as she’d been just a few moments ago, all lithe limbs and soft
flesh as he held her possessively against his chest, swam through his mind. Their
bodies twined intimately together without the cover of the sheet, which lay tangled
across the end of the bed.
The awareness in his partner’s eyes told him Allan knew exactly what he would have
walked in on. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He lifted his coffee, took a cautionary
sip. “Just so you know, Lieutenant Taylor has asked whether I believe you to be too
close to this to do your job.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I assured him you wouldn’t let it compromise the case.”
Justin expelled a slow breath of relief. “Thank you.”
“It might not do any good. You know how Taylor is when he gets something stuck in
his mind.”
“I know.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Find our shooter. Keep him from getting to Paige.”
“And Taylor?”
Justin raised his shoulder. “I’ll deal with him when the time comes.”
Allan leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. “This one is different,
isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“You care for her.”
“I do.”
“You’ve changed, Justin.”
When Allan said those exact words barely a week before, every cell in Justin’s body
had cried out in denial. Today, he felt no compulsion to argue. He had changed and
Paige had played a large role in that change.
Still, it wasn’t a topic he felt comfortable discussing. He glanced at the digital
clock on the microwave. “You going to tell me what brings you to my kitchen at such
an ungodly hour?”
Allan sat for a moment, not responding. Justin didn’t have to look at him to feel
his intense scrutiny. He shifted his weight.
“I wasn’t ready to go home yet,” Allan at last admitted. “I’ve been up all night.
At the hospital with Suzanne.”
Justin’s gaze returned to the table and for the first time since stepping through
the kitchen door, he noted the dark stubble covering Allan’s cheeks, the smudges of
fatigue beneath his eyes. Concern for his partner, his best friend, filled him. “What’s
wrong? Is something wrong with the baby?”
“He’s fine,” Allan stated, and Justin remembered to breathe. “Two weeks early, but
fine.”
“Good. That’s good…” His words trailed off as what his partner had just said registered.
“Suzanne had the baby?”
“Red faced and wailing, he decided to make his grand entrance at exactly three fifty-six
this morning.”
“Congratulations. How’s Suzanne?”
“Suzanne is beautiful,” Allan replied, damn near glowing with pride. He rubbed at
the five o’clock shadow along his jaw and spoke, his voice full of stunned bewilderment.
“Alexander’s amazing, Justin. Two arms, two legs, ten fingers and toes.”
Justin smiled, amused by his friend’s awe. “That is the preferred package. Wait, did
you say Alexander?”
A lopsided grin overtook Allan’s features. “About halfway through labor Suzanne informed
me that we were doing our baby’s godfather a disservice by not naming the baby after
him. I’ll tell you something, you don’t argue with a woman in transition. That meant
Alexander if the baby was a boy, Alexandra for a girl.”
Alexander—Justin’s middle name. Justin Alexander Harrison. Allan and Suzanne had given
him a most precious gift. They named their son after him.
Justin dropped into the chair across from Allan and placed his Glock on the table
next to his untouched mug of coffee. “I don’t know what to say,” he managed in a voice
that had gone strangely hoarse.