Linda Castillo - Cops and…Lovers?

He heard a sound, realized he'd growled low in his throat. She shifted closer and another jab of lust arrowed through him. His hands slipped from her face, grazing her shoulders, stopping at her breasts. Her gasp ended in a groan when he cupped her through her uniform shirt. She arched into him, and Nick's control teetered. His fingers went to the buttons. He fumbled, cursing silently when he realized his hands were trembling. One button sprang free. His overzealous fingers popped the next two. Then his hands were inside her shirt, seeking flesh, touching lace and softness and woman.

Her breasts were firm and round and high. Nick cupped her through her bra, marveling at her softness. He brushed his thumbs over the hardened peaks of her nipples. She shivered. He wanted to feel her flesh, warm and supple beneath his hands. He wanted to put his mouth on her.

Two more buttons went by the wayside. He struggled to find her bra clasp. Not in front. He slipped his arms around her. No rear closure. Frustration and a tinge of embarrassment pounded through him. "What kind of bra is this?" he whispered.

"Uh, athletic…"

Nick didn't hear the rest of her response. Tugging the bra up over her breasts, he leaned forward and took her nipple into his mouth. Erin cried out, arching, giving him full access. Her response splintered the remainder of his restraint. Caution shattered. He knew he was out of control, but she was so exquisite, so responsive, he gladly relinquished it, refusing to think of the consequences, of what he might be risking.

He didn't remember closing his eyes. All his brain registered was that she was against him, and he was hard and pulsing and so ready he thought he might end it all right then and there. The realization stunned him, thrilled him. For the first time in years, he felt alive. Whole. On fire and burning out of control-

"Chief?"

The voice reached him as if through a fog. An instant later, recognition exploded in his brain. Stephanie's nanny, for Pete's sake! Nick scrambled back. Erin turned away in an attempt to conceal her state of undress. Shaken, dangerously aroused and more embarrassed than he'd been since the time in his teens when he got caught making out in the back seat of his mother's car, he faced Mrs. Thornsberry.

" What is it, Em?" Nick winced at the sound of his voice. Hoarse, breathless, it sounded as if he'd swallowed a chunk of concrete.

The older woman stood twenty feet away, her hands on her hips, looking at him as if he'd just landed his spaceship at the end of the driveway. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said primly.

Nick didn't move. He couldn't get any closer, not without her noticing his state of arousal. "You didn't interrupt anything," he said.

"Uh-huh."

Uncomfortable, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "McNeal and I were just talking."

"I figured it was something like that." Mrs. Thornsberry clucked her tongue. "Steph asked for you."

Concern and a hefty jab of guilt stabbed through him. His daughter had been upset. She needed him. And here he was making out with one of his deputies in the driveway.

"Is she all right?" he asked quickly.

"She's fine. She's waiting for you out by the garage."

"By the garage?" It was nearly her bedtime. What was she doing out by the garage?

"Good night, Nick," the nanny said.

Feeling like a kid who'd just ticked off his mom and would have hell to pay in the coming days, he watched her walk away.

"I've got to go."

Nick turned at the sound of Erin's voice. She stood next to her cruiser, her eyes dark and cautious in the moonlight, her lips glistening. He could still feel the pressure of her mouth against his, recall the sweet smell of her breath, the scent of her hair. The memory sent another rush of blood to his groin.

What had he done? Why did he keep making the same mistake over and over when it came to this woman? She wasn't right for him. She wasn't right for Steph. Erin was wild and impulsive and would end up breaking both their hearts. So why couldn't he keep his hands off her?

"Uh…" Nick resisted the urge to rearrange himself. He was still painfully aroused, his body screaming for release. He was going to have to start dating. Take up running. Cold showers. Maybe he'd just shoot himself in the foot. Anything but get involved with Erin McNeal.

"Steph asked for me," he said. "I've got to go."

Without speaking, Erin opened the car door and slipped inside. Nick approached, not sure what he was going to say, knowing he couldn't let what had just happened between them go without explanation. "McNeal."

She slammed the car door, then lowered the window. "Tell Steph I'm sorry about the basketball, will you, Nick?"

"Sure." He leaned down. " Erin…"

"You don't have to say it." She started the engine.

Nick figured he didn't have a choice but to say what needed to be said. "This can't happen again."

"I know. I shouldn't have come here tonight."

He grimaced. "Probably not."

Her flinch was barely perceptible, but Nick saw it, and he hated that she was paying the price for his own lack of control.

"I'm turning the remainder of your training over to Hector," he said. "I think we should steer clear of each other for a while. This isn't fair to either of us." He wasn't exactly sure what "this" was, but knew it was something they shouldn't be partaking in, no matter how good she felt in his arms.

"Of course. I agree." She said the words a little too quickly and with a little too much enthusiasm.

Nick didn't want to debate the issue. His body sure didn't agree, but he let the statement stand. Straightening, he stepped away from the car. Without looking at him, she put the car in gear and drove away.

He watched the taillights disappear, aware that his heart was beating too fast, that his palms were wet with sweat. He refused to believe anything had happened between them that didn't have to do with hormones or three years of celibacy. Nothing happened, he told himself. Not a damn thing.

Starting toward the house, he shut out the annoying little voice in the back of his mind that called him a liar.

He strode toward the front door, intent on spending a few minutes with Steph before bedtime, but the unmistakable sound of a basketball against concrete stopped him. Curious, he skirted the sidewalk and peered around the side of the house, where a spotlight illuminated the portion of the driveway he'd concreted back when she'd first started playing basketball. Stephanie sat in her wheelchair, the bright orange basketball Erin had bought her poised in her hands, her determined gaze glued to the rusty hoop above the garage door. Concentration scrunched her features as she judged the distance between ball and hoop. An instant later, she leaned forward, thrust the ball upward and let it roll off her fingertips in a perfect arc. Nick held his breath. The ball bounced off the rim.

"Oh shoot!" she said, as the ball hit the concrete.

The sight of his little girl shooting baskets shouldn't have moved him so profoundly. But as he watched her push her wheelchair forward to catch the ball, then lean forward and prepare for another shot, his heart convulsed in his chest. The ensuing jab of pain took his breath.

She needs to live her life to the fullest, risks be damned.

Erin 's words rang uncomfortably in his ears. She was wrong, Nick assured himself. Stephanie needed protecting. If he'd been there for her the night of the accident she wouldn't be in that wheelchair.

Needing a moment to rein in his emotions, he leaned against the side of the house, telling himself he wasn't overprotective. Steph needed someone to look after her. Someone to keep her safe. Someone to keep her from getting hurt again.