He stands just as I lick my finger clean. “You enjoy fucking with me, Noelle?”
“It’s quite fun.” I shrug a shoulder, my eyes staying on his despite the fact that he’s towering over me now.
“Fun?” He knocks my feet from the chair, the sharpness in his word making me freeze. My stomach clenches as he flattens his hands either side of my butt on the desk. “You think drivin’ me damn insane is fun?”
My lips tug up. “Are you telling me it ain’t?”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. A long, tension-filled, goose-bump-inducing, blood-thrumming moment. “You know somethin’? I don’t like you very much.” He leans in the barest amount. “In fact, more often than not, I can’t fuckin’ stand bein’ around you. But there happens to be a part of me that likes you a whole fuckin’ lot. And that part of me is real convincing. ”
My legs ache with the desire to open, wrap around his waist, and pull him against me.
Sweet Jesus, I want to know just how much that part likes me.
“Why, Detective, you sure know how to flatter a woman,” I reply, my voice thick but steady. “I don’t much like you either, so I’d prefer you to have a little guy-time with that part of you that likes me and kindly talk some sense into it before I have to disappoint it.”
Drake trails his fingers up my arm, his touch featherlight but strong enough that it sends a shiver down my spine. I fail to mask it, and he smirks. His hand slides over my shoulder and cups the back of my neck just before his fingers knot themselves in the hair at the top of my neck. My heart pounds, and it takes every bit of strength I have not to let my breath out in a quick exhale.
“Trust me when I say I don’t need any guy-time with my cock. It has more than enough girl-time.”
“Then get it some girl-time and have some sensed fucked into it.”
“I hardly have time,” he murmurs into my ear, “when I’m trying to find a murderer.”
“Looks like you’re tryin’ real hard right now.” My words are said through clenched teeth in a bid to calm my erratic breathing. “In fact, you try real hard whenever I’m around, I’ve noticed.”
His thumb brushes my hip. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for the forbidden.”
“Proven by the fact that you’re this close to me.”
“You’re not exactly pushin’ me away, are you?”
I shiver again at his lips touching my ear. “You’re far stronger than I am. There’s no way I’d be able to push you away.”
Drake shifts slightly, and ohsweethell. His erection brushes my thigh. No, that’s no damn brush. That’s a freaking bruising prod.
I clench my fists because just how big is that?
I haven’t been laid in a while. Don’t judge me.
“You should go,” I breathe, not moving.
“I should.”
“So do it.”
“I can’t.”
And just like that, his lips move across my jaw and cover mine. I can’t even squeak a protest. His mouth is hot and demanding, every sweep of his lips something between a promise and a beg. It’s the kind of kiss that gives and takes at the same time, the kind that makes me whimper when a low, growly sound vibrates from his tongue to mine.
I’m alive everywhere as I grab his collar and push myself against him. My skin is on fire with the mixed feelings of anger and helplessness and powerlessness combining with the lusty desire bordering on desperation.
And sweet Jesus, this man can kiss like nobody’s business.
I could drown right here in his kiss and never feel the desire to come up for air again.
“You’re okay?” he asks in a rough voice, one much quieter than I’ve ever heard him use with me.
“Caught off guard,” I mutter.
“No. After this morning. And everything.”
“Are you worried about me?”
“I just told you I don’t like you very much.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be worried. I don’t like you, but if you got your head slammed by a rock, I’d be marginally worried about your well-being.”
“I’ll make sure to call you should that ever happen.”
“Awesome. But yes. To answer your question. I’m fine.”
“You have your gun on you, don’t you?”
“Possibly two,” I admit with a smile.
He finally lets go of my hair, only to touch my sides by my breasts. I draw in a breath, and his lips curl as he slides his hands down my body to where my guns are hiding at my hips.
“Dress hid them well.”
“I dress for practicality.”
He steps back, bends, and picks up my heels. “Yes. Practicality.”
I snatch them from him, my lips still tingling. “Mostly practicality.” I clear my throat. “Why did you come in here again?”
“To ask you to come to the station and catch us up on what you can remember about the cases where the files have gone missing.”
“Right now?”
“That’s the idea.”
I sigh and slip my shoes back on before grabbing my purse. “Fine. Let’s go.” I reach to the side and grab the cupcake box on a whim.
Drake holds my office door open. “You should probably wipe that lipstick smudge before you go down.”
I look into his smug eyes and dip my finger into the cupcake frosting again. “And you should try not to lie to me when you buy me cupcakes.”
“Touché, Ms. Bond.”
“Always is, Detective.”
I dump my overnight bag on my childhood bed in my parents’ house. I’m trying to be good and understand my father’s need to have me at his side tonight, but after so many years of being independent, it’s hard.
Plus: Nonna.
She needs only her name as an explanation for my incredible lack of desire to be here. In fact, I’m amazed she hasn’t taken the liberty of inviting her own guest for dinner. And by guest, I mean date for her poor zitella granddaughter.
If I don’t have wrinkles, I don’t need to be married. Even if I do, I don’t need to be married. I have three brothers to call when something breaks—if I haven’t already fixed it myself—and a vibrator for orgasms. I don’t understand why I need someone under my feet twenty-four-seven. The likelihood of her finding someone who accepts me, guns and all, is incredibly low anyway.
Her heart is in the right place. Her heart is also in the wrong place. Bless her heart.
I sigh and sit on the corner of my bed. It’s almost exactly the same as it was when I left for college. My brief summer back at home before I joined the police academy in Dallas barely warranted unpacking, let alone a redecorating party. No matter how much my family convinced me to stay.
The far wall is still covered in New Kid on The Block and Backstreet Boys posters, faded with crinkled edges from how many times they were tacked on after they fell down. My dresser top is littered with bangles overflowing from the bracelet arm, and more than one necklace is tangled amongst the photo frames.
I get up and walk to it before picking up a knotted tie of necklaces. The cheap finishes stand out, as do the ones on the bracelets. Now, either I’m a jewelry snob or my teenage self needed to get her ass to a Kendra Scott or Alex and Ani store freaking stat.
“Noella!”
Oh, here we go.
“Nonna?” I poke my head out of my room.
“You help-a me cook!”
“Do I have to?”
“Si!”
“Freakin’ hell,” I sigh, closing the door behind me.
As I make my way downstairs, I hear my mom and the crazy old lady going at each other. It makes me want to run like hell and hide in the attic with the old boxes of Italian photographs Nonna refuses to get rid of.
“Liliana!” Mom yells, running her fingers through her hair the way I do when I’m stressed. “I said I was cooking tonight!”
“No!” Nonna shouts, rolling out some dough. “I cook!”
“I said I would!”
The faint scent of garlic assaults my senses. “Wait. Nonna, are you makin’ garlic bread?”
“I wanted to buy it,” Mom sighs.