Fall Into Me (30 page)

“Mrs. Farr, do you know why I stopped you?”

“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t speeding this time, Deputy.” She slanted a quick check at the console clock. “And besides, aren’t you off duty?”

“I am. Just went 10-6, 10-42.” White teeth flashed in his wonderful grin and Troy Lee bent farther to whisper his lips across hers. “Figured I’d see if my 10-42 and a half wanted to have dinner.” He glanced sideways into the backseat, his blue gaze lighting further. “Hey, Butterbean.”

Secure in her car seat, Tatum chortled and kicked her feet. She waved her arms, and the pink stuffed kitty she’d been clutching tumbled into the floorboard. Troy Lee pulled the door open and tilted his head toward the strip mall behind them. “Hop out. I’ll get her and we’ll grab a bite.”

Angel snagged her tote, which served as both purse and diaper bag, and stepped free of the car. The evening sun glared across the parking lot and she slid on her sunglasses. Troy Lee contorted himself into the backseat to extricate Tatum, talking to her the whole time. She responded with a stream of happy, chirping gibberish.

He straightened with the baby in his arms, and she patted little hands against his cheeks, pressing an open-mouth kiss to his nose. He laughed and Angel smiled. Tatum had discovered giving kisses as a new talent the previous week, just days before her first birthday, and Troy Lee and her granddaddy proved to be her preferred kiss-ees. Neither man seemed to mind, as Tatum enchanted Angel’s daddy as much as she did Troy Lee.

Tote over her shoulder, Angel tucked her arm through his as they turned toward the little Chinese restaurant at the end of the strip. “How was your day?”

“Oh, baby.” He dipped his knees on a self-satisfied groan, making Tatum giggle and pop her head under his chin. “I have been tearing them up today. Had to start a new ticket book.”

“There’ll be letters in the paper again, about you and your speed traps.” She poked a teasing finger beneath his ribs, at the point where his vest ended.

“Speed trap, my ass.”

“Troy Lee.” She poked him, harder, and he grimaced.

“Ow.” He rubbed at the spot. “What did y’all do today?”

“Not much. We went to see Grandma and Aunt Hope, didn’t we, Tatum? Then we met Julie to go over the books—”

“Wait a minute. You took my kid in the bar and I get poked for saying ‘ass’?”

She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t open.”

He lifted Tatum until they were nose-to-nose and eye-to-eye. “Wait until Miss Maureen Sutter hears about this one, Butterbean. There will be scandal all over town and your mama will be right in the middle of it.”

“Troy Lee.” She shook her head at him as they reached the sidewalk. The mischief glinting in his blue eyes killed his attempt at a serious look. Laughter tickled her throat. Lord, she loved him, even when he teased unmercifully, which was most of the time.

“Hey look, Tatum.” He turned with the baby and pointed down the walkway, toward one of the gift shops tucked between the Chinese place and an insurance agency. “There’s your daddy.”

With her first glimpse of Cookie, Tatum squealed and leaned forward from her perch in Troy Lee’s embrace, her arms outstretched. “Dada.”

“That’s right. Daddy.” Angel laughed. Lord help her, the child was never going to say “mama”. Daddy, milk, kitty, and something that sounded suspiciously like Troy Lee, but no “mama” yet.

“Hey, little girl.” Love and pride lighting his entire face, Cookie crouched on his haunches and held out both hands as Troy Lee carefully set Tatum on her feet. Sucking her fingers, she toddled the few steps to her father. He swept her up in a hug and she chattered gleefully before gracing his chin with a wet kiss. With a satisfied murmur, she rested her head on his shoulder. Cookie rubbed his hand over her back, early-evening sun glinting off his wedding band. “Where are y’all headed?”

Troy Lee slid his arm around Angel’s waist and tilted his head toward the restaurant. “China Wall for supper. You want to join us?”

“Wish I could. I’m supposed to meet Tick over at the women’s center in a few minutes. First night of the self-defense class. If I don’t get moving, I’ll be late.” He lifted Tatum to buss her cheek and she giggled. “Go eat with Mama and Troy Lee, little girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The baby went back to Troy Lee’s arms easily. After brief goodbyes, Cookie sauntered to his unmarked unit, and Angel steered Troy Lee toward the restaurant. She eyed Tatum, who was intent on figuring out how to release his whistle chain from the button on his epaulet. “You know, the two of you are the reason she is so rotten.”

“She’s not rotten.” He grinned against Tatum’s wispy brown hair, just one shade lighter than Cookie’s. “She’s well loved.” He raised their daughter to the nose-to-nose position again and she chortled. “Two moms, two dads, three grandmas, your grandpa, and more aunts and uncles and cousins than you can count. Probably the most loved little girl in Chandler County, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Angel smiled and tucked her hand through his elbow. That little bit of mathematical logic was impossible to argue.

“Goodnight, Butterbean.” Troy Lee whispered a kiss across Tatum’s brow and settled her in the crib. She yawned, her little lids heavy, and scrunched up against the bumper pad. Her lashes fluttered, and she blinked a few times, as though afraid she’d miss something if she gave in and went to sleep.

At the foot of the crib, Angel folded her hands on the rim and rested her chin on them. “She’s almost out.”

“Yeah.” He stepped back and looked over at Angel. Her blue eyes glittered at him in the dim light, and the squeezing in his chest had nothing to do with the residual pain he still had every so often in his rib cage. No, this was pure, old-fashioned so-in-love-he-hurt, and he absolutely relished every second of it.

Angel straightened and reached for his hands, pulling him toward the door. “So now that our sweetheart is down, are you ready for bed?”

“Well, that depends.” A smile hitched at the corners of his mouth.

“On?”

“On what number you had in mind.” He dipped his head to kiss her, murmuring against her lips. “Are we doing the experienced older woman seducing the impressionable younger man bit, or—”

“Troy Lee.” Her sigh held equal parts exasperation and laughter.

“—even better, experienced older woman trying to seduce impressionable young cop out of giving her a ticket. I’ll even put my uniform back on.”

“You are so bad.” Her shoulders shook with shivery giggles, and he pressed her against the wall, kissing her hard.

“How about this one?” He nudged her nightgown’s thin strap aside, giving him access to her shoulder. “Adoring husband ravishes the wife he loves to distraction.”

She looped her arms about his neck. “Oh, I like that one, Deputy Farr.”

“So do I, Mrs. Farr, so do I.” Sliding an arm beneath her knees, he swung her into his arms. Their lips met again. “As a matter of fact, it’s my absolute favorite.”

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Hearts of the South, Book 6

A lifetime ago Mark Cook’s pregnant wife vanished, taking everything and leaving an empty, aching hole in his life. Since then, as penance for his failure as a husband and father, he’s refused to allow himself to live. Refused to lay his sleeping heart on the line for any woman.

Enter Tori Calvert, his best friend’s baby sister. Suddenly, against his will—and against his better judgment—that same damaged heart seems determined to reawaken. And Mark’s not sure he can withstand the pain.

When she was a teenager, a vicious attack ripped away Tori’s very essence as a woman. Finally she feels ready to focus her existence on something other than her job as a rape crisis counselor. And to step outside the shelter of her loving, protective family. She trusts Mark more than any man, yet fear holds her back.

Fear that even the healing light of love may not be enough to banish the shadows of the past.

And that wasn’t his belt buckle poking her in the backside.

Her stomach twisted and her heart thudded in an irregular rhythm. She shrank away from the arm holding her, colliding with the solid chest behind her. Her heart shifted from its thudding to a frightened flutter. The hand tightened and a murmured protest sent warm breath along her bare shoulder.

Mark.
Her heartbeat slowed somewhat. She was in bed with Mark, that was his hand wrapped around her, his chest along her back. His erection against her bottom. She concentrated on breathing, slow, relaxed breaths. She was in bed with Mark, because this was where she’d wanted to be. Closing her eyes, she absorbed the sensations of being this close to him.

He smelled of clean male. Being wrapped in his loose embrace made her feel sheltered, protected. He slept on, snoring lightly, his breath a warm rhythm on her skin. The hot outline of his hand through silk enticed her. An inch or so upward and he’d be molding the underside of her breast. She pictured that hand sliding up, fingers curving around her, arms tightening, that hard ridge pushing more insistently against her.

A liquid ache pooled in the pit of her stomach and she shifted, filled with restlessness. Her breasts tingled, feeling heavier, fuller, and she laid a hand over her abdomen. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she could feel her pulse between her thighs. All this, just from being in his arms, from thinking about his touching her?

She released a long, measured exhale. What would it feel like when he did touch her? If he was to shift those strong fingers down instead of up, slipping beneath the waistband of her slacks? The pulse at the apex of her thighs throbbed and she pressed her legs together.

The movement brought her bottom into closer contact with his groin. He jerked, a sudden stillness an indication he was awake now. On her ribcage, his fingers tightened and relaxed but didn’t move. He kissed her shoulder, a soft murmur on her skin. “You awake?”

Awake? Her entire body vibrated with awareness of him. All vestiges of sleep had evaporated. “Yes.”

He traced the line of one rib with his thumb. “Feel better?”

“I guess.” She lifted her shoulder in a small shrug, his lips touching her again.

He kissed the side of her neck. “I could get used to waking up with you.”

“Me too.” The rigid line of his arousal still lay between them and curiosity got the better of her. She covered his wrist with her fingers. “Do you always wake up like this?”

“Hard? Not always, no.” His quiet words sent heat rushing over her skin. “I was dreaming about you.”

Her breath caught. His drowsy voice had dropped with the admission. Could men purr? No, not a purr. More of a throaty, husky growl. He’d dreamed of her. The achy pulsing spread.

“Tell me about your dream,” she whispered.

“We were together, like this.” He shifted closer, mouth near her ear. “Only without so many clothes. You let me touch you.”

She burned, fire licking through her veins. “How?” She swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. “I mean, how did you touch me?”

With his lips, he traced the curve of her ear. “We were lying together like this and I slid my hands up. Your breasts filled my palms. Your skin was so hot, honey. Hot and smooth, except around your nipples. They were hard and you wanted my mouth on them. You let me taste you.”

The pictures he painted flickered in her mind. She wanted to take his wrists, pull his hands up, let him do the things he described. Only the fact she wasn’t the woman in his dream, not really, stopped her. That woman was his fantasy. The reality would be her freezing in fear somewhere along the way.

The first step in conquering the fear was facing it. She stroked his arm. Under her touch, his skin was warm, sprinkled with dark, coarse hair. She swallowed. “Is that all?”

He nuzzled her neck. “Not by a long shot. You touched me, your nails on my back, my shoulders. I slid my hands down, over that flat stomach of yours. I could feel the muscles trembling. I was still kissing your breasts, licking and sucking, and you were holding my head there, your nails scratching me a little. I couldn’t get enough of you.”

Even with the fear, the beat of attraction between her legs grew stronger. She resisted the urge to squirm. The edge of his hand brushed the underside of her breast.

“You opened your thighs to me.” His dark voice wrapped around her, doing wicked things to her senses. “I stroked you and slipped a finger inside, then another.” He tilted his pelvis, the solid ridge of his erection nudging her. His groan shivered over her ear. “Honey, you were so
hot
. Wet. Tight. You moaned. My name, over and over. I loved that, loved knowing I could make you feel like that.”

She wanted to roll over, to beg him to make the fantasy come true. She wanted to believe it could. His nose brushed her cheek and he feathered his palm across her stomach.

“I wanted to be inside you so bad, Tor, and you wanted it too. I wanted us moving together, until you came all over me. Until I was coming inside you.”

“Is that what it would be like?” Her voice emerged shaky and broken. “If we made love?”

He rubbed his face against her shoulder. “Oh honey, I think we’d be better.”

She turned her head to look at him. His eyes had gone a burning, smoky gray. “I want to,” she whispered. “But I’m frightened. I don’t know—”

“Shh.” Leaning in, he kissed her, his mouth firm and warm on hers. He framed her face. “We’re not going to do anything until you’re ready.”

He kissed her again, nibbling and teasing at her lips. Tori shifted to her back, holding his jaw with trembling fingers. Levering up on an elbow, he massaged a hand down her bare arm and she shivered.

His tongue probed at her mouth in a teasing flickering before he brushed a more sedate caress across her bottom lip. “Open your mouth, Tori.”

The rough whisper set her nerves on fire. Gripping his shoulders, she opened to him. He slanted his lips over hers, tongue meeting hers in short, easy thrusts. She moaned, the restless wanting alive once more.