That wicked attraction he’d felt for her from the first was very much at play right now. But whether she felt it remained to be seen. Obviously she felt something, right? Why else would she have ended up in his bar tonight?
“It’s just up here.” He led her up a flight of stairs and slipped the key in the lock. As he held the door for her and she slid by him, warmth enveloped his body and the scent of lilacs drifted toward his nose.
He closed and locked the door, flipped on the light, then slid the jacket from her shoulders. Tingles ran over his skin where he touched her, and he had to force himself to lift his hands and not get lost in her softness right there and then. Trying to keep his hormones in check, he tossed both coats on a side chair. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“This is a nice place,” she said as he moved into the kitchen. “Not a typical bachelor pad.”
A small island separated the kitchen from the living room. He glanced up after he found the unopened espresso maker on the floor in the pantry, set it on the counter and took a quick sweep of the living room to make sure it wasn’t trashed. No stray clothes on the leather couch, no soda cans on the end tables. A folded newspaper and the most recent Sports Illustrated were the only things on the coffee table next to his remote. “Thanks. Catrine will be thrilled you said that. She picked out the furniture and all the decorative crap on the shelves.”
“You mean knickknacks?”
He dragged his eyes away from her and managed to get the contraption out of the box. Then eyed the fifteen-page instruction booklet with a frown. Might as well have been in Chinese for all the good it was going to do him right now. “Is that what they’re called? For some reason I can never remember that. Whatever they are, they were her suggestion. The only things I insisted on keeping were my Cubs stuff.”
She chuckled, the sound so sexy it drew his attention all over again, and glanced toward artistically framed photos that hung on the walls—the frames being Catrine’s idea as well. “Now those, for some reason, look like your influence. Who’s Catrine? A girlfriend?”
“What? No. One of my sisters. You met her at Lisa’s wedding.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. Red hair, clipboard.” His brow wrinkled as he turned over the bag of screws in his hand. “You couldn’t miss her.”
“I thought that was the wedding coordinator.”
Shane huffed and mumbled, “In her dreams.”
She wandered to the window, the way she moved drawing his eyes when he should be focusing on the darn coffee-maker in front of him. “Nice view. I imagine property like this has to go for a pretty penny.”
“It does. It was my grandmother’s place. When she died, I got it for cheap.”
Realizing she was now staring at him and that those pretty blue eyes of hers were short-circuiting his brain, he darted a look back down at the instruction manual he had no desire to decipher. The only thing he wanted to look at right now was her. “How do you feel about regular coffee? I think I need a PhD in aeronautics to figure this thing out.”
Hailey laughed, the sound like sweet wine that sent his nerves humming. “Regular sounds great. I’ve never been wild about all those designer coffees anyway.”
Neither was he.
He went about his business refilling the Mr. Coffee on the opposite counter and tried not to sneak peeks at her across the room. She was wandering, checking out his books, the sports memorabilia on the shelves he’d had to argue with Catrine to keep, the family picture his mother had taken just a few weeks ago at Christmas. He thanked his lucky stars the place was clean. Mrs. Lewis was worth her weight in gold for what he paid her to clean up after him.
While she looked her fill, he pulled the fridge open, grabbed the milk jug and sniffed. Then blinked hard at the rancid smell before shoving it back in the icebox. He pawed through the cupboard, searching for some kind of snack to put out with the coffee and told himself it was time to go shopping. Again. Once a month probably wasn’t cutting it. He managed to find a half-empty bag of Oreos in the back of the pantry, popped one in his mouth and figured half stale was better than nothing at all.
By the time he had the cookies on a plate, the coffee was done, so he poured two mugs, perched one precariously on the plate of cookies and took everything out to the living room.
She’d dimmed the lights and was standing near the windows again, looking down at the city’s illumination and the dark lake beyond. From where he stood, the glow through the glass made her skin look richer, her hair darker, her curves that much more prominent. And watching her there, surrounded by all his things, he realized he hadn’t had a woman—other than family—in his apartment in…hell, a long-ass time.
She’d turned the lights down.
He cleared his throat, which was suddenly thick from arousal, and handed her the mug when she turned. “I hope black’s okay. I’m all out of milk.”
“That’s fine.”
He set the cookies on the coffee table and watched as she brought his favorite Cubs mug to her full lips, sipped and smiled with a sexy little sigh that jacked up his hormones and supercharged his blood. She turned toward the family picture from Christmas. “I love how all the women are grinning and the men are scowling.”
He scratched the back of his head. “Stressful day. Holidays basically suck in the Maxwell household.”
She laughed again. Sipped. Moved down the wall to look at something else. He loved watching the way she moved, as smooth as a dancer with her long legs and slim frame, but with purpose and self-confidence. Suddenly she stopped, and her cobalt eyes grew wide. “Oh, my God. Is that…”
He set his mug down on the coffee table and walked up behind her, looking over her shoulder at the framed fifteen-year-old snapshot on his mantel. “Yeah, it is.”
“No way.” She put her mug down and reached for the frame. “How the hell did you meet Jon Bon Jovi?”
“Funny story, actually. It was years ago, as evidenced by my baby face in that shot there. I was working patrol at the time and this guy comes flying down Lake Shore Drive just as my shift’s ending. I pull him over, read him the riot act, and turns out it’s Jon’s drummer. They’d just finished a concert at the United Center.”
“How fast was he going?”
“Ninety, ninety-five.”
“On Lake Shore Drive?”
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s like one in the morning, the streets are deserted, I’m convinced he’s blitzed. Turns out he wasn’t, just blowing off steam from the set. After a while I give him a warning, I’m too tired to deal with the paperwork anyway, and to say thanks he invites me to this party he’s going to. I wasn’t gonna go but…” He smiled, shrugged.
She flicked a look over her shoulder that was so damn sexy, he curled his fingers in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “A warning? For ninety-five in the city?”
He shrugged again. “I plead insanity. I mean, it was Bon Jovi.”
Her grin was wide and awe-filled as she turned to trace her finger over the photo. “That is so cool.”
God, he loved the way she smiled. With her whole face, not just her plump, perfect lips. As he watched the shadows play across her features and toned body, he had a sudden urge to see her smile at him like that.
Not a good idea. Remember the last time you had that urge?
The little voice chanting in the back of his head brought reality back into sight, but he worked like hell to ignore it; was sick and tired of living his life by the push and pull of that voice even though he knew it was the only thing keeping him alive these days.
“Kinda ruined me,” he added, hoping to get her looking at him again as he moved dangerously close to her.
“Why?”
His smile returned when she shifted those glittering blue eyes his way once more, the ones that looked like the Caribbean on a cool day and reminded him of what he’d wanted to do with her in Puerto Rico. “I was like twenty-three when that happened. It was j
ust after I’d joined the department. I thought that was normal. Imagine how shocked I’ve been that no other rock stars have been beating down my door, intent on dragging me off to their wacked-out parties.”
There it was, that sparkle in her eyes and that broad smile that showcased her tempting kiss-me lips. Only this time she was looking at him, not a piece of paper. “Wild night?”
“The wildest.”
His groin tightened at the way she was studying him, and he knew he was walking a thin tightrope with her here, now, like this. Not only had it been way too freakin’ long since he’d been with any woman, but she was the trigger that seemed to shut down his brain. Realizing that fact was part of the reason he’d walked away from her three months ago in Puerto Rico. An even bigger part of the reason he hadn’t dragged her upstairs to his hotel room after his sister’s wedding and stripped her out of that clingy black dress with his hands and teeth and toes like he’d wanted to do that whole damn day. And the only reason he hadn’t contacted her since.
Her eyes slid to his lips as he moved just a fraction of an inch closer. “I should probably go,” she said. But she didn’t move.
“You haven’t finished yet.”
“Finished what?” she asked, never once looking away from his mouth.
“Your coffee.”
“Oh. Right. That.” A hint of disappointment edged her words, and when she licked her lips in a suggestive move that made him visualize her mouth running down his bare chest and abdomen, all the blood in his head went due south, straight into his cock.
He knew then, without a doubt, that she was feeling a little of the mind-numbing arousal he was. And hell if that didn’t jack him up more and shove the rational side of his brain to the wayside.
Don’t do it.
He rubbed his finger across her cheek and felt her tremor all the way in his feet. “I’ve got one question.”
“Just one?”
Her need-filled voice wasn’t helping. But before this went any further, he needed to know for sure. “Did you pick that bar at random, or did you know Players was my neighborhood hangout?”
“Lisa might have mentioned it. Once or twice.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
He framed her face with his hands, lowered and took her mouth like he’d wanted to do for months. Like he’d kept himself from dreaming about doing for way too long. Her lips were soft, her sigh so damn sexy, he had to force himself not to rush. He brushed his lips over hers, slowly, gently, until her sigh turned into a moan and she was opening to take him in.
Oh, man, this was why he hadn’t kissed her in Puerto Rico. One taste and he was a goner.
He took the photo from her hand and set it back on the mantel while he slid his tongue into her mouth and tasted the sweetness of her kiss. He moved closer so their bodies were pressed up tight and her heart beat in time with his. The stand on the frame didn’t catch, and the picture toppled to the floor with a thud that didn’t faze either of them. And when she moaned again, he responded by threading his fingers into her curly blonde hair, tipping her head the other way and kissing her deeper.
She was tall for a woman—close to five-nine, he guessed—but perfect against him where the tips of her breasts brushed his chest and the long line of her body came into contact with his. Her hands found his elbows, his stomach, his hips, and then it was his turn to groan as her tongue slid over and around his. And when she flexed her fingers to pull him close so his growing erection was pressing into the soft curve of her belly…the rational side of his brain that had been telling him this was a dangerous move shut down completely.
He wished he’d ditched his gun and shoulder holster. That he’d thought to put clean sheets on his bed. That he’d had the foresight to buy condoms.
Shit. He hadn’t bought condoms in over six months. Did he have any that were any good anymore?
“Maxwell,” she whispered.
He found the hem of her sweater and lifted, sliding his hands along the silky smooth skin of her abdomen, up higher until his knuckles brushed her satiny bra. He groaned again, cupped the heavy mass in the palm of his hand and squeezed just enough to make her gasp.
“I want you,” she whispered.
Oh, man. He wanted her, too. More than even he’d realized until right now. Her words ignited a fire in his gut, turned his blood to a roar in his ears. He shifted her body and pushed her back against the wall while he continued to kiss her like a man starved.
One hand slid to her leg at the knee, lifted so he could hook her inner thigh around his hip as he pressed himself between her legs. She gasped all over again, making him rub harder, pull back and press again. His lips found her throat and that soft, soft place just behind her ear. “Jesus, Hailey. You are so damn sweet. I want to taste every part of you. Here.” He drew her earlobe into his mouth. “Here.” He nipped her collarbone exposed by her V-neck sweater.
“Oh…”
She drew in a sharp breath that urged him on, so he pushed his hips into hers again, over and over, until he had to stop because he was on the verge of coming, just from that simple contact. He moved to sample her other collarbone.
“Maxwell…oh, God, this is a bad idea.”
“The worst.”
She ran her fingers up to his hair. “But we’re going to do it anyway.”
“Absolutely.”
She pressed into him on a moan and kissed him harder. Did it again. And again. Until he was light-headed from the contact. Her hands went up under his shirt, to the skin of his abdomen, around to his side, and brushed the scar on the right side of his ribs.
He flinched. Reeled as her touch registered. Caught himself. Only for the split second her fingertips had feathered that scar, he wasn’t in his apartment. He was in a hole-in-the-wall, rat-infested slum with a knife sticking into his side and a smoking gun in his hand.
The image was so real, he had to push back quickly to clear his head. His legs hit the arm of the sofa, crumpled and went out beneath him. And even in that instant of oh, shit, he tried like hell to make it look like he’d planned to take a load off, not that he’d fallen on his ass like a complete pansy.
“Maxwell—”
He held up a hand to stop her from touching him, took two deep breaths and ran a shaky hand over his face.
Bad, bad, bad idea. Just like he’d known it would be. No wonder he hadn’t had a woman up here in a frickin’ eon.
“Did I do something?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Or at least he would be. When he was alone. Like he always was. His heart thundered in his chest. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He’d gotten over the panic attacks a while ago, but that jolt from past to present was sometimes so overwhelming, it left him more than a little off balance, like now.
She was studying him like he’d just grown a second head, and he felt like it. Like a freak of nature. Holy shit, this was the woman he’d been fantasizing about and he couldn’t even separate himself enough from then and now to…
He swallowed hard. Pushed that lovely thought away, and grappled for something to say. “Look. Sorry. That was…yeah. You were right. A bad idea. I mean, you’re you and I’m…”
Silence settled between them. And tension, as thick as molasses, zapped the sexual energy in the room and drowned all that heady arousal.
Yeah. Now he was just making this worse. He chanced a glance at her stricken expression and realized, Way to go, dumbass. Why don’t you just slap her while you’re at it?
He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m…sorry,” he said again, for lack of anything else to say.
“It’s okay,” she finally said after a lengthy silence.
But it wasn’t. As she crossed her arms over her chest and glanced toward her coat, he knew it definitely wasn’t all right. Goddammit, this was why he’d walked away from her the first time. Because when he got close to her, he stopped thinking. And when he stopped thinking, he got dangerous. And then all kinds of
bad things happened.
“I should go,” she said, slowly walking toward her coat, the coffee and conversation and everything else, quickly forgotten.
“Yeah.” He stood. “I, uh…”
She pulled the door open before he could think of something that wasn’t totally lame to say, but when she glanced his way, the look in her eyes stopped him cold. “Just forget I was ever here. I’m going to as soon as I walk out that door.”
He stood where he was long seconds after the door slammed and her footsteps faded outside in the January chill. His heart was pumping a mile a minute, this time not from arousal or fear, but from something he’d seen in her Caribbean blue eyes just before she’d left. He recognized it because it was the same damn thing he saw every time he looked in a mirror.
Secrets. The kind that haunted a person and changed their life forever. She had one, and it was big enough to drive her to Chicago and into his arms before he’d driven her right back out again.
CHAPTER THREE
Hailey’s nerves were a jangled mess by the time she reached her rental car. She slid the key in twice before she found the ignition, then just sat with her hands gripping the steering wheel and the engine idling while she looked out into the darkness on the quiet Lincoln Park street.
Not exactly what she’d planned. All she’d wanted to do was maybe run into him. Possibly see where he hung out. Find out how he was doing. Prove to herself he wasn’t as fabulous as she remembered. Going back to his apartment was her first mistake. Learning he was as incredible as she remembered was the second. Kissing him was the third.
Kissing? Yeah. No. That wasn’t kissing. That was second base, rounding for third.
But, oh, God, that mouth. She lifted a hand to her lips, rubbed her fingers over the swollen tissue where he’d kissed her senseless. When he’d had his hands on her body, his tongue in her mouth and she’d been surrounded by all that sweet masculine scent, she’d forgotten everything else that had happened tonight.
Oh, man. She’d even forgotten her pledge that she was never having sex again. Apparently, Bryan’s little sexcapade hadn’t scarred her nearly as much as she thought it had.