Cops And...Lovers? (12 page)

"I'll bet."

"Nick, those kids loved the horses! I guess it's the same concept as bringing dogs into cancer wards and retirement homes. Like dogs, horses have an incredibly positive effect on kids."

"You coached wheelchair basketball and yet the sight of
Steph's
wheelchair still affected you when you first saw her."

"It wasn't the wheelchair."

"What was it, then?"

Her teeth scraped over her lower lip. "Seeing the wheelchair made me … remember. The shooting. And Danny."

"Flashbacks?"

Blowing out a sigh, she nodded.

"Ah, McNeal." Lowering his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Post-traumatic stress?" he asked after a moment.

"Survivor's guilt is what the department psychiatrist called it. I had nightmares, sleeplessness. A lot of guilt that just wouldn't leave me alone."

"That's why you volunteered."

She smiled, but there was no humor in it. "After living through something like that, I needed to give something back. The psychiatrist recommended this agency."

"Did it help?"

"It got me through some tough months. For a while, I even made a difference. I made some of those kids smile. You know, Chief, I can be quite a clown when I put my mind to it."

The thought elicited a smile from him. "I'll bet."

"But it didn't take long for me to realize I couldn't hack it. It just sucked too much energy out of me, and brought on too many flashbacks of the shooting. I know that sounds selfish, but after a while I just couldn't do it anymore. Those beautiful children who'd been hurt so terribly, facing so much difficulty…"

"You weren't selfish. Human, maybe. But the bottom line is you did it. You made a difference. That's what's important."

Hearing a sigh shudder out of her, Nick studied her silhouette. His throat constricted when he saw the glimmer of tears on her cheeks. Had he caused that?

Ignoring the swirl of panic in his gut, he stepped away from the car and turned to her. Putting his finger under her chin, he forced her gaze to his. "What's with the tears, McNeal?"

"I'm sure you'll have a hard time believing this, but I never cry."

"I'm sorry I seem to be so good at making you." The urge to comfort was surprisingly strong, his resistance damnably weak. He was standing so close he could smell the familiar scent of her hair mingling with the sweetness of her breath. The light from a three-quarter moon illuminated her features just enough to let him see the caution in her eyes and the shape of her mouth. Sweet mercy, he wanted to kiss her.

Nick brushed his thumb over her cheek, catching a tear. He knew touching her was a mistake. Just as he knew holding her now would be a mistake that would lead to certain disaster. Everything inside him screamed for him to turn around and walk away. If he got involved with her in any way, she would wreak havoc on his life. But there was no way he could stand back and watch her cry while he did nothing.

Something powerful and fundamental stirred low in his gut. He didn't even bother to fight it. He didn't dare name it. He was tired of fighting when it came to this woman, tired of resisting what was quickly getting the best of him. She'd stripped him bare tonight, and he'd allowed it. What was one comforting embrace? One kiss between friends?

Nick figured he was getting pretty good at rationalizing.

 
"Come here," he whispered.

Her startled gaze met his. "You know what happened the last time we tried this."

"Yeah, and if I remember correctly, it was pretty damn good."

He didn't wait for her. Stepping closer, he cupped her face with his hands. He felt softness and tears. Smelled the enticing scent he'd dreamed about too many times in the last few days.

Shock registered on her face, but he didn't care. She wasn't the only one he'd shocked. He was most certainly shocking himself, but he wasn't going to let that stop him, either.

Backing her against the car, Nick drew her mouth to his with slow deliberation. She didn't close her eyes, and he saw them widen, heard her quick intake of breath, felt his own catch in his throat.

One moment she was as rigid as a board, the next like melted honey in his arms. Nick felt her go fluid as he coaxed her lips into submission. He opened his mouth and used his tongue, daring her to accept him. With a small sound deep in her throat, she parted her lips and welcomed him in.

Something hot and urgent broke open inside him, unleashing a part of him he'd kept bottled up for so long. Need and lust and something else he didn't want to name sprang free.

He deepened the kiss, using his tongue, tasting the farthest reaches of her mouth. Her body felt lush and soft against his. Frustration burned in his groin as he pressed against her, but the contact only made him want more.

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
.

Chapter 7

«
^
»

"
W
hat 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.

After a moment, Nick approached his daughter. He smiled, but his face felt plastic and he feared she would see straight through him. His little girl had become increasingly perceptive in the last couple of years.

She looked at him from beneath her lashes and grinned. "I missed my shot."

Nick
swallowed,
terrified the emotion crowding his throat would overtake him. "I saw that."

"I'm sorry I was so mean to
Erin
."

"
Erin
's fine. She understands and told me
it's
okay if you don't want the basketball. She'll get you something else."

Stephanie lifted the ball to him. "I never noticed this when she first gave it to me. Check it out, Dad."

Nick looked down at the orange globe. Pain broke apart and scattered deep in his chest at the sight of his daughter's name scrawled in sweeping black handwriting above the autograph of a popular Chicago Bulls player.

"Well, I'll be," he muttered.

"Pretty cool, huh? How'd
Erin
know he's my favorite player?"

Nick didn't know what to say. Not to his daughter. Certainly not to
Erin
, who must have driven more than two hundred miles, plus somehow
wrangled
a personalized autograph.

Stephanie looked down at the ball in her hands. "I was thinking about what she said."

"What's that?"

"About … you
know,
wheelchair basketball. I saw these guys playing on TV, but I didn't think I could ever do it."

"You can do anything you want, honeybunch."

 
"Well, I thought maybe I could, you know, take some lessons or something. I used to be a pretty good player."

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"My back doesn't hurt that much, if that's what you're worried about. Maybe we could ask Dr. Brooks."

Nick cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn't break and reveal the pain in his heart. "It's past your bedtime, honeybunch."

She cocked her head. The movement made her look like she was six again and challenging his authority, as she had so many times over the years. "Will you at least think about it?"

He stared at her, shaken and so full of love for this child that he ached with the need to hold her and keep her safe. Another part of him wanted desperately to make her happy—to let her play basketball and do all the things a little girl should be able to do. For the first time since the accident, he wondered if one was at odds with the other. He wondered if Erin McNeal was right.

"I'll think about it as long as you promise not to become a professional basketball player," he said after a moment. "I couldn't handle you being on the road for long stretches."

She turned thoughtful. "You think professional players miss their dads when they're on the road?"

"You would." Grinning, Nick leaned forward and tugged gently on her ear. "But I'd miss you more."

Wheeling the chaff back, Stephanie bounced the ball toward him. "So, I
can
take lessons?"

Nick caught the ball, but couldn't bring himself to bounce it back to her. "I'll think about it, sweetheart, all right?"

"Promise me you'll think hard about it, Dad, okay?"

"I promise."

* * *

Erin
sat at her desk and stared out the front window of the police station, trying not to think about Nick—and failing miserably. Frowning, she looked down at the blur of forms and reports spread out in front of her, and typed a line of information into her computer. Unable to drum up the least bit of enthusiasm for her work, she resumed her vigil of watching the cars as they drove down
Commerce Street
. She'd been hard at it since seven that morning—two hours ago—and only sixteen cars had passed.
Logan
Falls
, she thought. Life in the fast lane.

What in the world was she going to do about Nick?

Hector's
philosophy on training new officers differed dramatically from Nick's. While the chief had started her out with making rounds, Hector preferred to pawn off his paperwork on her, while he did his rounds alone.
Erin
wasn't happy about the desk work. On the other hand, she didn't feel much like company today.

She wanted to blame Nick for her sour mood but knew she had no one to blame but herself—and that blasted kiss. How was it she could build an illustrious career in a police department the size of
Chicago
's, yet in her first week in
Logan
Falls
she'd managed to alienate her counterpart, tick off her boss and generally screw up at every turn? What had she been thinking, letting Nick kiss her like that? What on earth had she been doing kissing him back?

She wanted to believe the kiss was a result of high emotion in the wake of Stephanie's reaction to the basketball. Or Nick's anger. Or her own guilt over having upset the little girl. But
Erin
knew better, and she wasn't going to start lying to herself now. She'd wanted Nick to kiss her, wanted that hard, uncompromising mouth against hers—consequences be damned. No amount of denial was going to change any of it, or the fact that her pulse kicked every time she thought about doing it again.

Her cheeks heated at the memory of their encounter in his driveway, but she quickly shooed it away. She couldn't change what was already done. It had been two days since the kiss, and she hadn't seen him since. She told herself that was best. She didn't need a man like Nick messing with her head and teasing her body with promises that would do nothing but make them both miserable in the long run.

He'd told her it was her recklessness he couldn't tolerate.
Erin
knew it had more to do with the fact that she was a career cop who wasn't afraid to put herself on the line. Well, she'd had her fill of men who couldn't handle her being a police officer. Warren Prentice was a prime example, and it still disturbed her deeply that six years ago she'd been naive enough to nearly throw it all away in the name of love.

Love?
Whoa. Where had that crazy notion come from?
Erin
certainly wasn't naive enough to believe in the fallacy of love—or risk her career over it. Things were better if she avoided Nick, she assured herself. Simpler. A hell of a lot safer. She'd do her time in
Logan
Falls
. Get back on her feet. Hopefully, in six months, Frank would reinstate her, and she could move back to
Chicago
where she belonged.

She started when the bell on the front door jingled. Expecting Hector, she felt a jolt of surprise when Stephanie opened the door and rolled inside. Not sure how to react in light of the fiasco at her birthday party,
Erin
looked down at the form in front of her and typed another line of information into the computer.