“Cop problems,” I mutter. Or in this case, ex-cop problems. Running my top teeth over my bottom lip, I suck the soft, tender flesh into my mouth and then release it slowly. The idea holds merit. It’s entirely realistic. “I need to go to the office, check on Daniel’s medical records.”
I move to get up, but Drake grabs my arm and tugs me back down. I squeak when my butt hits the sofa. He doesn’t release my arm when I give it a good shake, and I narrow my eyes.
“You’ve been drinking. You ain’t goin’ anywhere until you’ve slept it off.”
“I’m fine. I’ve only had three glasses.”
“Three glasses too many to be driving.”
“What would you rather I do? Sit here like a damn lemon while the answer to one of our questions is sitting in my freakin’ office?” I sigh when he finally releases my arm and run my fingers through my hair. “It’s only a few blocks. You could even drive me.”
“Noelle.”
“It’s not that far.”
“Noelle.”
I graze my teeth over my lower lip again. “Come on, Drake. Don’t you want to know?”
“Noelle!”
“What?” I finally focus on him and his blazingly hot gaze.
“For the love of God, shut the fuck up.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he silences me with a kiss. Instead of speaking, I gasp, the ferociousness of his kiss reawakening the butterflies in my stomach and sending a thousand different types of shivers cascading through my body.
Drake’s fingers curl around the back of my neck, and mine curl around his, because goddammit all, I need something to hold on to if he’s gonna unleash his magic mouth on me right now. There’s no way, not even sitting down, that I can cope with the wonders of this man’s kissing ability without holding on to him like he’s my anchor to the here and now.
And that’s what he is. When he kisses me this way, deeply and deliciously and fervently, desperately and wonderfully and harshly, the touch of his fingers is the anchor I need to stop myself from flying away with the ecstasy of his mouth on mine.
His teeth graze my lower lip as he lightly tugs on it, and I gasp again, the opening of my mouth providing him with exactly what he needs. His tongue collides with mine and our kiss deepens and he pushes me back and I feel him everywhere.
Like a freezing winter breeze, Drake Nash swirls around me, the very touch of him crawling across my skin so closely and chillingly that it elicits goose bumps on every bare inch of me. And every inch that’s covered, too.
His mouth—it’s sweet and forceful. I’m entirely helpless to the assault of his kiss. And even if I could fight this, I don’t think I would. His fingers are twining in my hair, and mine are in his, and his strong, powerful body covering mine has my heart beating triple time and my legs twitching with the desire to wrap themselves around his waist.
God. I want this man close to me. Over my clothes. Under my clothes. Everywhere. Just everywhere.
I want Drake Nash everywhere on me.
He stops, his mouth hovering above mine, his breath mingling with mine in the barely there gap between our lips.
“You stopped,” I breathe, feeling more out of control than I have in a long time. “Why did you stop?”
“I really fucking hate you,” he rasps.
“I really fucking hate you,” I reply, not brave enough to open my eyes and look into his.
“Good. Then that makes this a whole lot damn easier.” He wraps an arm around my back and tugs me down flat on the sofa, moving with me and touching his mouth to mine once more.
Now, his touch is hotter. His fingers move across my back, sliding under my shirt. My skin sears at the touch of his fingertips against me, and I arch my back, pushing my body against his, begging for him to stop yet pleading for more as he steals my breath with every relentless kiss.
I tug at the collar of his shirt, because hell, if he’s touching me that way, I wanna touch him like that, too. The material scrunches beneath my fingers, and when it’s up around his chest, I trail my hand down his front. It dips with every bump of muscle on his lightly sculpted body, and my whole body tingles. My pussy throbs with the potential of what could be lower—beneath those pants—and I slide my hand around his back as he inches his hand up mine and toward the strap of my bra.
His fingers wrap around it, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to click it open. Just waiting.
But that’s interrupted by a buzzing between our thighs.
He growls when he sits up and pulls his phone from his pocket. “What?” he snaps into it.
I cover my eyes with my hands, because did I just almost make it to second base with him? And would I have let him hit a home run?
Fuck yeah, I would have.
That man’s mouth is like… Fuck.
“On my way.” He shoves his phone into his pocket and looks at me, remnants of my pink lipstick on his stubble and his eyes as dark as ice blue can be. “You need to come with me.”
“Whatever it was, I didn’t do it,” I automatically say, scooting back and sitting up.
“Noelle, trust me, babe, you did fuckin’ do it. But that ain’t what that call was about.”
Don’t look down, Noelle. Whatever you do, don’t look down at his pants.
I look down. Holy shit. I really did do it. And now, I do really want to do it.
That is one majestic, hard cock. And it’s still inside his pants.
“Not helping,” he growls, which snaps my eyes back up to his.
I swallow.
“My cop instincts are fightin’ real hard with my male instincts right now.”
“Male instincts?” I ask, looking back down at his erection. Sweet baby fucking Jesus. “What are they?”
“They’re the ones tellin’ me to rip off your clothing, bend you over your coffee table, and fuck you until you can’t breathe.”
I inhale sharply. “Thought you hated me.”
He grabs my chin and pulls my face to him. “Trust me. I can make a fuck punishment as well as pleasurable.”
“Punish me and see where that gets you,” I whisper, meeting his eyes.
“Every time you speak, you just tempt me into pulling out a pair of handcuffs. You know that?”
“Don’t you have cop instinct to work on? I’m sure your urge to cuff me will still be there tomorrow morning.”
“You’re right. I do. And you’re still comin’ with me.”
“I told you,” I say as he stands and I sit up fully. “I didn’t do it.”
“No, but our murderer tried to. We’ve got a woman in the emergency room with hemlock poisoning.”
I follow Drake into the emergency room after a quick stop off at his house so he could grab his holster, “work” gun, and badge. Apparently, he hadn’t foreseen a poisoning when he’d come to my place earlier.
When he’s found out where we’re going from the receptionist, he drags me toward the private room where Trent and three other officers are. Trent raises his eyebrow at me, but I simply glare at him.
“She supposed to be here?” one of the other officers asks. I’ve never seen him before, and judging by his baby face, he’s a rookie. “Sheriff didn’t say nothin’ ’bout a woman meetin’ us here.”
“Hey!” I snap. “She could have her gun from her boot and a bullet between your eyes before you could reach for your own. She’d also hate to have to prove you right, so how about some respect?”
Drake’s lips twitch.
“She is my sister,” Trent says, addressing the young officer. “And she happens to be an ex-cop and the finest private investigator for a hundred miles. Show her some respect or you’ll be back on the beat rounds before you can apologize.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” the rookie says immediately.
“Damn right you are,” I mutter, folding my arms.
“Try not to kill my staff, Ms. Bond,” Drake says.
Sure. I’m Ms. Bond now. “Noted, Detective.”
Trent coughs and draws me away from our staring match. “Drake. We have a Ms. Portia Robinson being admitted for hemlock poisoning. She only ingested a small amount of the poison and was able to call nine-one-one before it took full effect. She’s being treated right now and is expected to make a full recovery. We can go and see her soon.”