[When SEALs Come Home 04] - Heated (14 page)

“Joey Carter is a good man,” she said, circling the wagons. “He’s neither a felon nor an ex-con. He’s simply an ex-SEAL with a few demons and too many speeding tickets.”

“I’ve known Joey Carter all his life,” Tegan said heavily. “He’s a fun guy, and he’d ride to the rescue any day of the week and twice on Sunday. But he’s also headed for disaster if he can’t check himself. He drives too fast, and he’s one big fuck-you to authority.” He paused. “To you and to me. He doesn’t listen and he doesn’t heel.”

“Spell it out for me.” She wouldn’t make assumptions.

“You can’t date him. You can’t see him. You certainly can’t sleep with him. If something’s happened between the two of you, it’s a potential conflict of interest.”

She hated the blush she could feel crawling over her cheeks. She cried when she was angry too. And there they were...hot tears pricked the back of her eyelids.
Don’t blink.
Of course Sheriff Tegan had jumped to the obvious conclusion. It was true, after all.

“I hear your concern,” she said, trying to walk a careful line. Pissing off her boss was useless. She liked her job, and she wanted to keep it. The problem was that she also wanted to hang onto Joey Carter, even though he was now officially on the department’s black sheep list. “But I question the department’s authority to supervise my dating life if I even had such a thing.”

“Officer Belcome pissed off a lot of people and made the county a punch line. You stand too near the fire, and you end up in the hot zone.”

“With all due respect, any potential relationship between myself and Mr. Carter is completely different. Officer Belcome slept with his girlfriend in his patrol car. He taped himself having sex in his uniform. I’ve neither done nor intend to do any of those things.”

She wasn’t sure what else she was supposed to say. She was also equally certain that nothing, ever, could convince her to make a sex tape with Joey. She just wanted to have nice, normal,
hot
sex with the man. Nothing kinky or in uniform, thank you very much.

Tegan shook his head. “Life isn’t fair. And it’s not my job to try to even things up, but if I were you, I’d ask myself if a few Friday night dates were worth my career. Joey Carter is bad news.”

“I appreciate the advice.”
Liar
.

He sighed. “Okay. That’s it. Lecture over.”

She nodded and stood up. What could she say?  She remembered her exit interview in Los Angeles and shuddered. At least she still had her job. She still had a chance. If she cut Joey free, all of this would go away. So her choice was simple, wasn’t it?

“Hernandez?”

“Yeah?” She paused in the doorway.

“Think about it carefully. You came to us with one strike. You leave with two and finding another department to take you on is going to be a challenge.”

She hated that Tegan was right. She snuck another look at her poem. Playing by the rules had never looked so boring—and being bad had never looked so good. Calling things off with Joey was going to suck.

***

M
ercy had visited garages plenty, which was to be expected given the beater car she drove. The thing broke down on a near-constant basis, requiring a regular transfusion of cash. She figured she merited red-carpet treatment at the places. This one was different though. Joey’s rented garage space perched at the end of Strong’s main street. It had the same cute brick front as many of the stores but sported a trio of old-fashioned gas pumps out front for historic color. Both bay doors were cranked up despite the February chill in the air. The place smelled like oil, rubber, and damp concrete. A radio station rocked the tunes at a decibel level that was barely legal.

Go in. Break things off. Walk out.

See? Her three-step plan was simple. And honestly, why would Joey care? She might have been a sure thing when it came to sex, but it wasn’t as if a man like him was hurting for potential partners. She was simply his flavor of the moment. For whatever reason, he’d decided he wanted her, and they’d had fun.

Now it was over, even if they hadn’t made it to the penetration portion of her sexual agenda. Too bad, so sad. She shouldn’t be feeling awkward or nervous, and yet she was.

She stepped inside the garage and looked around, cradling the plastic-wrapped bouquet of roses in her arm. The roses were stupid too, an impulse she’d given into. Joey wasn’t the kind of man you brought flowers to. He was sex on a stick and an afternoon quickie. Roses? Not so much. Of course, actually
giving
him the roses presupposed her finding him. For a small place, Joey’s garage held a surprising number of parts. And compressors, dirty oil rags, and mismatched tires. It was like a graveyard for every car that had died in Strong.

When she looked more closely at the two works in progress, she spotted a pair of booted feet sticking out from underneath the jacked-up car. Bingo. She tapped his boot with her own a little more forcefully than necessary.

He slid out, giving her an excuse to stare. The worn denim jeans cupped him in all the right places. He also sported a grease stain on one knee, a SEALs T-shirt older than her car, and a set of dog tags around his neck.

“Hey.” He smiled lazily up at her, wiped his hand on his thigh, and wrapped his fingers around her ankle. Heat flared through her. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. What’s up?”

She should just say the words. Blurt them out and get it over with.
We can’t see each other again.
It was the truth. But instead she procrastinated, not quite willing to put an end to them.

“I brought you flowers.” She dropped the armful of pink onto his chest like she’d been scalded.
Smooth
.

“Wow.” He levered upright, swinging his legs onto the floor on either side of the dolly. Plastic crinkled as he held the flowers out and examined them. “Are we celebrating a special occasion?”

His eyes laughed up at her, and she wanted to sink right down next to him or, better yet, climb onto his lap and ride him like a cowgirl. In the middle of the afternoon in his very public, wide-open garage. Which was just more proof that he was all wrong for her, because then she’d have to arrest herself for public indecency.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Not quite. She reminded herself that she had a speech all prepared. In fact, she’d rehearsed it, both in her patrol car and in front of Bob. Bob had ignored her with typical feline disdain, but Joey gave her his full attention, giving the impression that there was no one and nothing he’d rather be listening to than her. It was unexpectedly seductive. She’d bet he listened like that in bed too and...

Stop it.

No sex.

“I thought you could practice,” she said. “Slowing down and smelling the roses.”

“Are you going to do it with me?” He rubbed her ankle, a sexy little caress that was now completely off limits, even if he didn’t know it yet. A career-minded woman would step on his fingers. Pull away. Do
something
. She needed to stop the touching because it made her think about full-body contact.

“No,” she said, but no other words came out.
We can’t see each other again
. How hard was it to add five words to her one word total?

***

H
e wasn’t stupid. He knew when a woman had something to say, and Mercy was practically quivering.  He looked down at the roses. He was pretty sure that there was some female language of flowers and that, if the petals weren’t red, he was fucked in the will-you-please-sleep-with-me-now? department. Not that he wasn’t fucked either way. He had no idea what was happening between them, other than that he didn’t want it to stop... and she apparently did.

He didn’t need an interpreter or a diagram to hear the multiple levels to her
no
. Instead of asking what was on her mind, however, he stood up and dropped a quick, hard kiss on her mouth. She tasted like peach lip gloss—a sweet, kiss-me-more taste—so he went back for a second taste. Plus kissing her kept her from saying whatever it was she’d been about to say. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like it.

“Thank you.” See? He could be civilized, say
please
and
thank you
. Just for her, he stuck his face inside the plastic cone and inhaled. Roses. The pink-and-white petals were nowhere near as sweet as her perfume, but the scent wasn’t bad. He’d never had a woman bring him flowers. It was nice. He liked it.

Hell, he liked everything about her.

“Do you mind? The flowers.” She added hastily, like he might misunderstand her words.

“You want to bring me flowers, I’ll buy a goddamned vase.” He’d also have to buy a table and pretty much everything else, because his furniture consisted of a couch and a cat bed, but she already knew that. “Let me say thank you.”

“You already did.” She tugged, trying to break free.

“Come for a ride with me.”

“We need to talk,” she said. Shit. He knew what that meant. She’d changed her mind about them, about seeing him. Something or someone had scared her off, or she’d added another reason to her ever-growing list of Reasons Not To Date Joey. He stood up in a rush.

“We can talk while we ride.”

“We can’t keep seeing each other,” she said in a rush, the words tumbling out of her mouth. It wasn’t often a woman turned him down. He knew he was lucky, that they liked the outside of him enough not to worry about the inside parts, and it had been years since he’d even thought about the word
feelings
in the context of a woman. Yet Mercy was different. Around her, he couldn’t do anything
but
feel. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he liked it. In either case, he wasn’t letting her turn around and stride out of his life like one simple sentence ended everything. She didn’t know him anywhere near well enough if she thought he’d just fall in with her plans.

“We’re seeing each other right now,” he pointed out. “Come for a ride with me and we’ll discuss it.”

She shook her head. “I’m wearing a skirt.”

“Tuck it under your knees.” He grabbed a helmet and tossed it to her. She had excellent reflexes, as he’d learned firsthand last night. “Saddle up, honey.”

“We’re done here.”

Not by a long shot. He strode over and tugged down the outer bay doors. She must have been slow on the uptake today, or possibly sleep deprived, because she didn’t seem to realize he’d just cut off her easy escape route. The only way out now was through him and the shop’s side door.

“You’re not listening to me,” she said, and damned if she didn’t come after him. That was mistake number two right there. He looked down at the roses still cradled in his arm. Fuck. He needed to man up, stop acting like a girl. He wasn’t entirely sure what the proper procedure was, but he didn’t have time to YouTube flower arranging right now. He settled for shoving the entire bunch in a plastic bucket and ran the tap some. Container
and
water. Good enough for him.

“Maybe I’m not in the mood,” he said, ignoring her small hiss of exasperation. She didn’t get to arrest him and put him out of her misery that way. There was nothing illegal about being a pain in the ass or pissed off.

She slapped her hands on her hips and glared at him. Maybe she’d finally figured out her exit issue. “I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Good.”  He grabbed his leather jacket from the hook by the door and gave her outfit a once-over. “Put this on too.”

Since her choice was to take the jacket or drop it on the floor, she took it. He’d give her that much. She had nice manners, way nicer than his.

“Helmet,” he repeated. “Or you’re going to have to ticket yourself.”

“Joey...” She tapped her hands on her hips, the jacket hanging by her side. “We’re breaking up. We’re not going for a ride.”

Nope, because they were doing things his way for a change. She’d had her chance last night, and she’d chosen to go down on him. He was taking that as a sign of commitment.

“If you want to talk, make sure you keep up.”

He tossed her a set of keys and strode toward the door, snagging his own helmet from the hook by the door. He had several bikes just outside the door, including his Ducati and a couple of vintage collectibles. Behind him, she shrugged into his jacket.

“You can’t get your way every time.”

And... she was so goddamned right.

Spinning around, he pinned her up against the wall. She opened her mouth, and he pressed a finger against her lips. As far as he was concerned, he still he had the floor.

“As far as I can remember, honey, I haven’t gotten my way
once
. We’ve been playing by your rules. Now it’s my turn. You want us to be done, but I haven’t gotten started yet.”

She gave a wriggle of protest, but she wasn’t armed and she didn’t use her knee. He, on the other hand, was hard, and she had to know it. Too damned bad. He’d been a gentleman, and it had earned him flowers. Nice flowers, and a full dozen, but the entire contents of a fucking florist wouldn’t make up for losing Mercy.

“The red bike’s yours.” The Kawasaki had decent pickup and plenty of stability. Handling the bike should be easy. He stepped away from her and was rewarded with a flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

She tugged on the helmet. “You’re crazy and I’m wearing a skirt.”

“I can see that.” She didn’t appreciate his lazy grin of appreciation, or so he interpreted her quick swat. It was cute. He could have put her in front of him. Hell, he’d enjoy that. But she wasn’t a ride-along. She liked to drive, and he got that.

“Ride,” he said, throwing his leg over his bike.

***

J
oey rode his bike like he was hugging the course at the Indy 500 and leading the pack. No surprise there. She knew he’d slowed down for her—her speedometer barely ticked over sixty—but she hadn’t ridden a bike in years, and she was no speed demon. His
slow
was still her
really freaking fast.
For the first few miles, she concentrated on the road and learning the feel of the bike vibrating beneath her. It drove like a dream, slick and smooth, handling the curves in the road easily. Joey crouched over his own bike in front of her, his legs cradling the machine.