Rebecca York - Undercover Encounter

His face turned hard. “Did some jerk give you a hard time?”

She wanted to tell him that the jerk had been him. He’d dealt a killer blow to her self-esteem when he’d walked away from her. But she wasn’t going to let him know that.

Instead she shrugged. “I’ve had my share of bad times along the way. You know how the men treat female cops. I’m always being tested, so I appreciate the chance to show I can handle a difficult assignment—and put some prostitutes and drug dealers where they belong. Your role isn’t so easy, either. You’re working as a truck driver during the day and tending bar at night.”

It was his turn to demand, “Have you been checking up on me?”

“No more than you’ve been checking up on me. Actually, after I saw you the other night, it wasn’t difficult to find out what you’re doing. There’s a lot of interest in you around the department.”

The moment she’d said the words, she wished she could call them back.

His expression had turned fierce. “Oh yeah?”

She imitated his shrug. “You can’t walk out on the N.O.P.D. and not expect people to be curious whether or not you landed on your feet.”

“More like, they want to hear I landed on my butt.”

“No,” she denied. But she knew that was partly true.

FOR A MOMENT Alex’s mind drifted to the recent past. He’d made enemies when that murder case had gone sour, even though he’d done his job and never violated the chain of evidence. But somebody had screwed up. When he’d tried to find out who it had been, he’d hit a blank wall.

He pulled his attention back to the present, to the scantily clad woman sitting beside him.

He’d made an error in judgment inviting her onto this bed with him. And now he had to do something about that.

Focusing on her with laser intensity, he asked, “So what are you going to do if a john gets aggressive? What if he pulls a blade and gets ready to cut you up?”

She sucked in a sharp breath, he could see from her face that he’d hit a nerve. While he had her on the defensive, he reached under the pillow and pulled out the knife he’d hidden there when she was in the bathroom. It wasn’t as sharp as it looked, but it could do damage, just the same.

In a quick motion, he brought it down toward her breast. To his vast relief, Gillian reacted instantly, chopping the side of her hand down on his wrist, making him wince as he dropped the weapon onto the spread beside them.

“Good going,” he muttered.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked anxiously.

Machismo had him answering, “No.” Although it was difficult to utter the syllable without wincing. Carefully he picked up the knife and slapped it onto the bedside table.

She was sounding a little cocky when she said, “What other nasty tricks do you have planned? By all means, bring them on.”

He debated his options, thinking there were a couple of ways he could go. He was betting that if he wanted to, he could tie her up and do any damn thing he wanted. But he chose to give her a fighting chance. Or maybe he was the one who needed the chance.

“Okay. When a prostitute is with a john, he can request all kinds of sexual services. But the one thing he’s not supposed to do is kiss her. What are you going to do if some bastard tries the forbidden?”

She opened her mouth to speak. But no sound came out. There was a charged moment when they stared into each other’s eyes. He was thinking that he’d trapped himself. Then, without giving himself time to question his own sanity, he brushed his mouth against hers. It was only the barest contact, but it made him understand why kissing was forbidden commerce in the oldest profession.

His whole being absorbed the intimacy and the power of that simple act. He was instantly so hard that he was in pain.

He waited, his heart pounding, for her to give him a quick shove. That was what she should do, but she stayed where she was.

They’d come to this room as enemies, although neither of them had articulated that state of affairs.

Suddenly they were catapulted into another time and place as the well-remembered essence of this woman surged through him, overwhelmed him with the taste of warmth and honey and desire.

He was helpless to hold back the low sound of need that welled in his throat as he deepened the kiss. He had tried to forget the mind-blowing reality of kissing Gillian Seymour. But it had come flooding back before he could put up any defenses.

Slowly he experimented with remembered sensations, rubbing his mouth back and forth against hers, increasing the pressure, nibbling, taking her lip between his teeth, then plunging deeper into her mouth.

Somewhere in his brain he silently begged her to put a stop to what they were doing. But her arms only tightened around him.

The kiss went from heated to white-hot in the space of heartbeats. Unable to stop himself, he angled his head, his mouth hungry and demanding, staking a new claim as his tongue slid against hers, tasting and stroking and stoking his arousal.

How could he have given this up? he wondered with the part of his mind that was still capable of putting one thought in front of another.

Perhaps it was the same for her. He hoped it was the same as he pressed her body to his, glorying in the twin pressures of her breasts against his chest.

He needed more. Yanking at one of the gaudy buttons on the front of her dress, he eased it open so that he could stroke the inner curve of her breast.

She made a small, gasping sound, fueling his need. He had told himself he could control his reactions, but suddenly it was impossible to deny himself the feel of her body against his aching erection.

Hastily he pushed the pillows out of the way, then wrapped his arms around Gillian and lay back, pulling her on top of him, sighing at the wonderful weight of her body pressing down on his.

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