Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (38 page)

“
Stop, Aidan, please.  I need to get dressed
.
”

He drops me gently, reluctantly to the carpet, and I feel myself brushing against him, my nipples scratched tenderly by his starched shirt. 
Why does everything about him, even the pain as his shirt rakes my bare skin, do this to me?

“
Alaina,
I’
m sorry.  God, wha
t—
am I thinking
?
”

He runs his hands through that thick blonde buzz cut.  For a second, I want things back the way they were a second ago.  I want to feel his lips and body pushing into me.  Then I realize where my priorities lie.  Robin is family.  This man, Aidan Hawks, is the
law
.  H
e’
s a LEO.

“
Give me a minute to get dressed
,”
I say
,“
and then we can have that talk you came for
.
”

Chapter 34

Getting dressed, I decide the important thing is for me to keep my perspective.  H
e’
s a cop.  Detective Aidan Hawks is here to sweat me down about Robin. 
I’
m not giving him one damn thing.  Certainly not sex.

When I re-join Aidan, h
e’
s sitting at the tiny chrome and plastic dinette set Robin and I salvaged from Goodwill.  My butterfly chorus line in my tummy lets me know the
y’
re totally pissed at me for interrupting their dance. 
How can I want Aidan and yet not like him at the same time?
  This is the most stupid, mixed-up feeling
I’
ve had, ever. 

Bad upbringing, I guess.  And Bert
a’
s constant bitter hatred of LEOs.

“
Coffee
,”
he says, pointing to a Styrofoam cup of coffee setting on the dinette.

I’
m dressed.  Jeans, hoodie, my hair finger combed.  No makeu
p—
none needed
I’
m told.  No shoes.  Feeling like I need to get control, I sit, not the usual plop-my-butt-down kind of sitting my snooty Hyde Park classmates have perfected, but a dance
r’
s conscious lowering of my body.  Only then do I scoot my chair into the table. 

And bump into Aida
n’
s long legs.

“
Sorry
.
” 

Liar
, my body answers, my knee jerking like
I’
ve been shot with warm butter.

“
I do
n’
t know where Robin is
,”
I say, fighting back anger, frustration with my family, and most of all with Berta Colby.  Why
ca
n’
t
I have a cop if I want?  What about
my
life?  Do
n’
t I have the right to indulge in a little Colby hedonism tonight if I want?  I do
n’
t have to roll over on Robin to have sex with a LEO, do I?

I do. 

H
e’
s been gone since Monday and wo
n’
t tell me where he is an
d—
honestly
?—I’
m done worrying about Robin Colb
y’
s butt.

Except tha
t’
s my job, so while I tell myself
I’
m done,
I’
ll never stop doing it.

One of the most useful things Berta Colby taught m
e—
if you ask he
r—
is how to lead a cop around by the nose when yo
u’
re on the hot seat, when yo
u’
re being interrogated o
r“
interviewe
d”
as they prefer to call it. 
Turn the table: question the cop.

“
Do you have any idea where my brother is
?
”

“
Do
n’
t you have some means of locating him
?”
Aidan counters, tilting his head, a cocky gesture
I’
m coming to love.

I take in the blonde hair, the buzz cut, the expression.  H
e’
d look badass with an earring or two and a tatt on that ropey tanned neck.  The gaze from his deep green eyes does
n’
t bore into me like some cop
s
’ does; instead, it ravages me.  Inside
I’
m melting like butter on a summer sidewalk. 

“
This Robin you keep mentioning would be who
?
”

“
H
e’
s my brother
,”
I say, confused.
 “
I mean, is
n’
t that why yo
u’
re here?  Looking for him
?
”

He does
n’
t answer.  I
t’
s a time-tested weapon used by every cop
I’
ve ever known.  That, or answer questions with another question, which he does. 

“
Are you concerned Robin is in trouble
?
”

I opt for partial truth.
 “
H
e’
s been . . . missing
,”
I say
,“
since Monday
.
”

“
Ah, I see
.
”
 
Slowly, he reaches beneath the table. 

“
You got a tatt
?”
I ask, edgy, nervous, trying to pull away.

“
You want to see it
,”
he says, a wicked-bad gleam in his sexy green eyes.

“
Maybe
,”
I say, letting him haul my legs to him, aware
I’
m anything but in control.

“
How old did you say Robin is
?
”

“
I did
n’
t
,”
I say, leaving my legs entwined with Aida
n’s—
as
if
I could do anything about it now.
 “
But
I’
m worried. 
I’
ve always looked out for him
.
”

“
Has he called
?
” 

I soak up Aida
n’
s crooked Elvis smile and the press of those hard muscled calves against mine beneath the dinette.
 “
Yes.  I think it wa
s
—”
 
I start to tell him about Robin calling me when
I’
d ran into Brick Verbot
e’
s bathroom, after looking at pictures of An
g’
s mauled shoulder.
 “I—
I do
n’
t remember when, not . . . exactly
.
”
 
As part of my promise to God to do better, I do
n’
t want to lie to Aidan.  But
I’
m also not giving up Robin to a LEO.

He tilts his head and gives me another of those cocky sideways questioning stares.
 “
You know
,”
he says
,“
I recall advising you not to insert yourself into this investigation.  If you, ah, fib, or do anything to interfere, I meant what I said:
I’
ll charge you with obstruction
.
”

Hmpf
!  The remark, which brings back memories of Aida
n’
s rude cut on my harem costume, should piss me off.  It does
n’
t. 
I’
ve had time to digest his lecture about being at risk if I put myself in Megalo Do
n’
s path, so
I’
m no longer pissed.  Why should I be?  He cares about my safety.  That does
n’
t mean, however, that
I’
m going to stop hunting for Ang.
 “
I can take care of myself, Detective. 
I’
m no child
.
”

“
I do
n’
t need reminding
,”
he says, exploring my calves
,“
and I do
n’
t usually feel like I have to ask permission when I want to kiss someone as badly as I do you
.
”

“
No
?
”
 
I steal another look at his body.  H
e’
s tall, his legs too long to be stuck under my tiny dinette table, but tha
t’
s to my advantage.  Leaning back in my chair, I tease his ankle with my foot.
 “
Well, then, you may kiss me
,”
I say, inhaling sharply, my foot roaming up Aida
n’
s thigh, exploring.  Watching his face, I realize how wrong
I’
ve been.  I
t’
s official: he wants me.  I was
n’
t a complete idiot for trying to seduce him in his Buick.

“
Do you mind
?”
he says, bending and taking off his shoes. 

Size thirtee
n—
big feet.  I
like
those clunky shoes.  I nod, smile.  In the dim rods of light shining into my living room from my kitchen, I see his desire when he gazes up at me.
 “
Why would I mind
?
”

But I do. 
I’
m suddenly afraid.  H
e’
s not one of those cops who came banging our door in Goshen.  The ones with thin mustaches hiding bad teeth and insecurities I was too young and poor to recognize.  Men who believed themselves insulated from those they came to arrest, they had overweight bodies, wore their gun belts too tight in all the wrong places, and had carping wives who hated them after the thrill of screwing a cop wore off.

No, Aidan Hawks is
n’
t one of them.  H
e’
s all man, and h
e’
s got it together in ways those Goshen fools could never have dreamed. 

But tha
t’
s not the only reason why
I’
m scared.  My feelings are running amuck, and I
like
it.  I can just hear Ang ranting. 
You have
n’
t even Googled him. 
Tha
t’
s the scary thrill.  I do
n’
t know hi
m—
yet.  Is this what love-at-first-sight feels like?  Does it demand that I trust someone I do
n’
t know?

I’
ve had two boyfriends.  One was a lust-crazed high school senior at Goshen High, the other a college pre-law freak who thought sex was like grabbing a sandwich from a campus vending machine.  H
e’
d devour me on the run and then discard me like an emptied cellophane wrapper. 

Not my type. 

I’
m looking at my type.

“
More
?”
he says.

“
Yes
,”
I moan. 

When he stands, he wraps another fistful of my hair and leans down and kisses me, before refilling my Styrofoam cup from the coffee pot.
 “
I meant do you want more coffee
?
”

I giggle.
 “
I thought you mean
t
—”

I’
m feeling cozy, safe in the wispy pre-dawn light cocooning us in my tiny living room, like Aidan and I are marooned, alone together on a deserted island, wrapped in each othe
r’
s arms and awaiting an approaching storm.  The feeling is a definite first for me.  I stretch into his kiss like a lazy satisfied cheetah. 
Why has it taken this long to find someone I can trust?  Feel safe with? 

“
That
is
what I meant
,”
he says, sitting.  Laughing, he reaches under the table and picks up my foot.  Laying it back up on his lap, he pushes it against his crotch.
 “
More
?”
he teases.
 “
You want more?  I got plenty
.
”

“
Yes, more
,”
I giggle, my heart thundering.  My foot pressed against him, feeling like
I’
ve just won the lottery, I open my eyes wide and stare into Aida
n’
s. 
I’
m proud
I’
m me, the Goshen Gimp, girl with her crippled foot lodged against the biggest . . . damn
LEO
in Ohio and Kentucky, probably the universe. 

I inhale deeply.  Holding the moment and my breath, I want to stretch it into tomorrow an
d—
forever.  It feels that good, deliciously sinfully pleasurable.