Devon Hartford - Reckless

I gazed up into his eyes.

“Let your hands roam freely, Samantha. Explore my body with your fingertips. Your touch is electric, and powers my heart.”

I grimaced, but laughed and bonked my forehead against his chest. “I’m not San Diego Gas & Electric, Christos.”

“You sure?” he smiled confidently. “You totally light up my life, Samantha.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” I giggled, swatting his rock-hard shoulder.

“And you love it.” He flipped on his thousand-watt dimpled grin.

He was right. I did love it. And I loved him. I lowered my lashes, suddenly shy again. I snuggled my cheek into the black long-sleeve V-neck sweater covering his muscular chest. He was so completely manly, every woman’s fantasy, and he had given himself to me. I’d won the biggest lottery on the planet and had my dream-man all to myself. What more could a girl want?

I inhaled his fresh-washed scent. I could never tell if he wore some sort of exotic cologne, or if that was his natural smell. If it wasn’t cologne, somebody needed to bottle it. They’d make millions. “I love you, Christos,” I whispered, hugging him.

He caressed my neck with one hand while hugging me into his warm embrace with the other. “I love you too, Samantha.”

SAMANTHA

Christos and I hadn’t had any sort of intense sexual activity since before winter break.

Sure, I’d thought about sneaking into the guest bedroom while he’d slept at my parents’ house on a nightly basis. But somehow, the idea of rattling the walls with my wails of ecstasy while Mom and Dad were one room away had spoiled my mood.

Imagine that.

Shudder.

Since arriving in San Diego yesterday, we’d had plenty of first- and second-base hits in the bedroom, but no home runs. I was still somewhat off my game, no pun intended, after dealing with the whole Taylor Lamberth scenario back in D.C. Going to her lawyer and giving my deposition wasn’t exactly sexy or arousing, but it was the right thing to do. Christos totally understood. He always did.

Besides, merely being in D.C. had brought my old demons creeping back.

Bitch. Slut. Whore…

Fortunately, with the loving presence of Christos in my life, my old emotional wounds had started to heal over. I imagined in time, the scars would fade permanently, but it would take more than a few weeks.

Emo. Goth. Witch. Sorceress. Suicide Watch…

I couldn’t wait to get rid of those demons.

Now, wrapped protectively in his arms after conquering my toilet monster, I felt completely at peace. I was totally in love with him. There was no doubt about it. I had been crazy to think Christos was anything like Damian.

So, why did my love for Christos worry me so much?

The only answer that came to mind was that I risked losing him. I supposed that was the price we all paid for love, tolerating the terrible possibility that it could be torn from us in the blink of an eye.

I couldn’t decide what would be worse: never having had Christos in my life at all, or losing him after what we’d been through together. The sudden sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach was evidence that losing him would be far, far worse. I was instantly nauseous, despite Christos’ protective embrace. He couldn’t protect me from unexpected things that happened to him .

I tried to ignore the pressing conviction that I might lose Christos forever. Ugh. I didn’t want to think about it. I took a deep, cleansing breath, intending to sweep away my mental gremlins.

“Is something bothering you, agápi mou ?” Christos asked, concern in his voice.

I didn’t want to ruin our mood. It was New Year’s Eve, and Christos had some awesome surprise awaiting me. “Oh,” I said dismissively, “it’s nothing.” I smiled up at him. “I’m fine, as long as I have you.”

He gazed down at me. The look of love I saw shining in his eyes was overwhelming.

CHRISTOS

THREE MONTHS EARLIER…

Afternoon traffic was so bad, it was taking forever to get to the jailhouse downtown.

The cops in the front seat chatted away in low voices, their conversation blending with the squawking Motorola two-way radio bolted to the dash.

Their irritating camaraderie slowly prodded away my good mood. The rugged steel cage between me and them made it seem like I was on the wrong side of a horror movie screen. Officers Happy and Go Lucky got to laugh it up and have a good time while I was tortured by circumstance. Not that I was mad at them. I didn’t know them from nobody.

I tried to focus on thoughts of Samantha again, but the dude cop was so fucking grating, he shredded my happy place with his verbal meat grinder. He smiled constantly, but it was that snarl-smile you see on psychos. I felt bad for his partner sitting next to him, for his wife, his kids, his friends, his unborn grandchildren; whoever the fuck had to put up with him.

I sighed heavily again.

“You gonna catch the Chargers’ game at the Q on Monday?” the female cop asked Snarl-Smile. Her hand rested casually on the steering wheel, like she was driving to the beach on a Sunday. Too bad we weren’t.

“Bet your ass,” Snarl-Smile replied enthusiastically through his mustache. “I’ve had season tix for five years. Haven’t missed a game. The Chargers are going to slaughter the Texans. I’ve got extra seats, if you want to come out.”

“You bleed blue and gold, Ruiz,” the female cop chuckled.

“Bleed, nothin’. I’ve got lightning bolts shooting through my veins. I’m like the God of Thunder and shit.”

They went on like this for some time, with Ruiz growing increasingly louder as he extolled the winning season the Chargers had waiting for them this year. Listening to his voice was like working in a hammer factory or sitting in the middle of a hand-grenade fight. His cackle-laugh went hyena when he recounted the final moments of the Raiders’ game at the end of last year’s season.

I pictured myself bending the bars between me and him like I was the Incredible Fucking Hulk. I’d choke him out until his eyes popped clear of his skull. Based on his partner’s forced smile, I think she might have thanked me. How did she put up with this guy day-to-day? Maybe earplugs were standard issue for duty officers with assbag partners.

The squad car exited onto the gridded downtown streets and we pulled into the garage at the San Diego Central Jail. Same as I remembered. It looked like a fancy office building on the outside. You might easily mistake it for a place where people in suits and slacks made money hand over fist. That was a lie. On the inside, from what I remembered, it was getting old. Too dark, too dreary, too dirty. I guess that was fitting. The peeling paint and cement decor went with the broken-down people inside.

When Ruiz opened my door, I gave him a friendly nod and a flat smirk, letting him know I wasn’t going to hassle him. He wasn’t worth the trouble. We both knew he held the leash. I stood up to my full height.

“You’re a big one, aren’t you,” Ruiz jabbed.

Okay, he was one of those alpha-dick hotheads. No reason to rile him up. I kept quiet. The female officer came around the car. “You gonna be able to handle him, Ruiz?” she cackled.

Ruiz scoffed. “Don’t start punkin’ me, Fowler. Sissy boy like this? I’ll keep him in line.”

This guy Ruiz was shorter than me, maybe six foot, but he had a small man’s complex all the same. Around me, anyway. They usually did. I arched a brow at Ruiz’s comment, but dropped it before he could see my casual contempt and pounce on it. Guys like him were always looking for an excuse.

“If he gets uppity, I’ll whip out some lightning bolts on his ass.” Ruiz gave me the mad-dog crazy eyes, toying with me.