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  Yes, that was what she wanted. She opened her mouth, bent her head to take his cock inside, and he pulled on her hands, lifting her up. She cried out. Not because the pull had hurt her, but because now she couldn’t reach him. He'd done that on purpose. She knew it. No freaking fair!

  "Sixty-nine is a two way number, you know?" She gasped as he feasted hungrily on her pussy, his teeth raking the sensitive flesh, his tongue lapping at her juices, drinking her even as he produced more fluid for his personal bar fest.

  "Ford, please!" She growled, wriggled, and squirmed. Each movement was a small one. He held her that firmly in place. Really, the only thing she managed to do was drive herself wilder with the knowledge that she was indeed utterly under his control. "Damn it, I want to taste, too."

  "If I let you wrap those hot, wet lips around my dick right now, I'm going to blow, baby. I'm trying to make this last."

  She was all for making it last.

  Some other time.

  An idea sparked, her second moment of clarity, and she smiled. "Officer Ford Harris, you have the right to come. If you cannot control yourself once my lips are around your cock, permission will be granted to blow your wad."

  He laughed, the vibration of the sound and warmth reverberating over her pussy, chilling the cream soaked flesh even as it heated, and she groaned. Her mind scrambled for more words to finish her own set of Miranda Rights, but there was no need. What she'd managed to say did the trick. His hands gripped their respective spots and he pushed her body down, his cock sinking balls deep into her mouth even as his tongue drove inside her pussy. All laughter turned to moans and the purely pornographic sounds of sucking and licking as they both feasted until they came.

  It didn't take long.

  * * * *

  Michael stared at her and tried to keep his jaw from hitting the table. She had left Preston. God, he'd never thought he would hear those words from her incredibly sensual lips. But that's exactly what she'd just told him. Rhonda Ramsey, the woman of his every thought and fantasy for months, was single. He wanted to shout to the clouds. He wanted to dance. He wanted to yank her into his arms and kiss her for the rest of their lives.

  Damn, she looked good. Her blond hair was pulled back at her nape, her bangs ruler straight and falling just above her dark brows. Her roots were starting to show. He bit back a grin at that. He found he actually liked it that way, a hint of the natural brunette to accent the bleach blond. It added character, mystery, intrigue. She wore a thin layer of makeup. Not that she needed it. Her skin was flawless, glistening, and gorgeous. And her eyes, those large, rounded blue eyes he saw every time he closed his eyes stared back at him now, waiting for his reaction to her mind-jarring news.

  "How's Lucas taking it?" he heard himself ask and watched as all the surprise he felt was mirrored on her face. She hadn’t expected him to ask about her son. No doubt she'd figured he'd have instead the very thoughts he'd been having, the ones pertaining to acting out all of those heated, sweaty fantasies that had filled his nights almost since the moment they'd met. But his concern for her son was genuine and she obviously realized that, too.

  "Well. He's handling it well." She glanced at their hands still together on the table and flexed her fingers. Did she do that as a reminder to him that he still had a hold of her? Maybe it was her gentle way of trying to pull back without making a scene? "He's happy. And he gets to see Preston every other weekend."

  "That's good." Michael didn't let her go. He couldn't. Except, he knew he had to, perhaps in more ways than simply releasing her hand. She had left her husband and yet she hadn't called him, hadn't even sent him a freaking e-mail! "Separation can be hard on a kid. I'm glad he's okay with it. He's a great kid."

  He meant it, too. Michael had felt an instant connection to Lucas Ramsey when he met the young boy in the cereal aisle that day that simply wouldn't erase itself from Michael's memory. Intelligent, quick witted, polite, and sweetly spoken, Lucas had made one hell of a lasting impression. So had his mom.

  Michael had thought he'd made a lasting impression on her, too. The way she'd looked at him through her large blue eyes, the small boy-I-would-love-to-do-you smile that had played at the corner of her incredible lips, the soft sigh he was nearly positive he'd heard her make as they'd shaken hands.

  He'd purposely extended his left hand for her to take instead of his right, knowing she would have to do the same. His intention had been to check for a wedding band without making it obvious. He'd failed. She'd known exactly what he was doing, known that he'd make note of the fact that her ring finger was bare. She'd looked him dead in the eyes and, with a voice so full of disappointment he'd felt it in his soul, told him things weren't always as they appeared.

  He'd understood what she meant. She was married despite the obvious fact that she didn't wear a ring. He'd backed away gracefully, letting her know by the inflection in his voice and the expression on his face that he found her lack of availability a real shame. Then he'd grabbed his box of Rice Krispies and left her and Lucas standing in the aisle.

  Michael hadn't expected to see either of them again. Only there they were, at the boat docks in the middle of the rescue shit storm that unfolded after getting back Timmy Walker to discover Ryan Magee missing. They'd talked. He'd confessed to reading one of her stories on the Internet. He'd also learned that no one in her family cared enough about her creative talents to read anything she'd written. The fact that he, a complete stranger she'd met in a grocery store and a guy to boot, had been interested enough to read a romance she'd written had obviously meant a lot to her. That's when she'd told him to e-mail her and he'd been certain all the way to the soles of his feet her invitation to correspond had been more than casual. He'd offered his assistance with research, too, even before her invitational e-mail, and she'd gone to Adrien instead.

  Things aren't always as they appear.

  Had he been wrong all along? Had he somehow misinterpreted the electric shock that sizzled between them at the slightest touch? Had he misconstrued the unspoken but seemingly obvious connection and attraction when their gazes met?

  Michael stared at her now, his thumb lightly grazing her fingers, and searched for the truth. He couldn't have been wrong. No way could he have gotten the wrong idea about anything that had passed between them in their short interludes. He was far too good at reading people and he knew what he'd seen then. The same thing he saw now, attraction, desire, heat, and want.

  "How are you? How are you handling the separation?" She looks happy. His own words spoken last night in his office echoed in his memory. Adrien had said the new picture of her on her website was recent and she did look happy in that photo. She looked content, at peace, too, in the picture taken at the park.

  "I'm good. Great, actually." She gave a half laugh. "The separation, well, even you knew it would coming sooner or later, and we don't even know each other."

  Was that a dig? We don't even know each other. Was it a thinly veiled invitation to remedy the situation? Michael studied her as she averted her gaze and slowly pulled her hand from his. Everything he knew, all his years of skill and training screamed it was both a dig and an invitation. Hey, we don't even know each other, but I'm single now. How about we get together, talk, share some likes and dislikes, and land in a cool, soft bed? Okay, his hopes and fantasies ran rampant with that last part. Besides, if she really wanted that, wouldn't she have called him instead of Adrien?

  She was right, though. They didn't know each other. Any Intel he knew about her, he'd gathered from her website, blogs, interviews, and those two short meetings what seemed like a lifetime ago. She drank coffee and lots of it according to Lucas. She was on a low-carb diet, or at least she had been when he'd met her at the grocery store. This, too, came from Lucas. And she wrote romance novels. That came from both Lucas and Rhonda herself.

  Michael thought for a moment. Surely that wasn't the only things he knew about this amazing woman! Okay, yeah, she was married, separated. She was
best friends with Tina Walker and a waitress at this restaurant. And that about summed it up for his Intel on Rhonda Ramsey. Christ! That was pathetic!

  "Are you sure I'm safe? That Lucas is safe?" Rhonda pulled back and Michael snapped out of his dismal realization of just how little he knew about the woman who monopolized his every breath. She folded her hands in her lap rather than on the table where he could reach her again.

  "No." He wasn't going to lie to her. He couldn't. Her eyes widened slightly and a quick flash of real fear moved over her face. God, he hated this! This was not the way he'd imagined seeing her again. And he had imagined it over and over again. He'd played out plenty of scenarios while lounging on his sofa trying to concentrate on a television program instead of reading excerpts posted on her website or staring at her picture. For Pete's sake, he was worse than obsessively pathetic!

  But, just like he couldn't lie to her, he couldn't lie to himself, either. He was crazy about her. Hell, it was possible he even loved her if the whole love at first sight thing really did happen from time to time. He'd pictured running into her again at the grocery store or the gas station or passing her on the street. Each of those chance meetings always began with the exchange of implied looks and insurmountable heat that mirrored their first encounters.

  And, yeah, many of those stumbled upon moments had proceeded far past the implied looks to the blunt spoken desires that led straight to his bed, or his second floor balcony, or his car. But none of them, not a single one, ever began with him entering the restaurant immediately after her shift to drop a bomb of this magnitude on her gorgeous head and scare all the color from her lovely face.

  "I'm not sure, Rhonda. Geezus, I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you yes, but I don't want to lie to you. I would rather you be on your guard because I scared you unnecessarily than to get a call telling me something happened to you, or God, to Lucas."

  She looked at him again and all the attraction and longing he'd seen in her eyes moments before was buried in a dark swirl of fear. She nodded. "I understand and thank you for telling me the truth."

  "It's unlikely," he heard himself rushing to assure her. Damn it, he hated seeing that terror in her eyes, hated more knowing he'd put it there. He'd had to tell her the truth, but he wanted her to know everything. "Chances are these bastards," he tapped a fingertip on the men in the photo, "don't even know you exist much less that you saw them in the park. You and Lucas weren't the only other people there." She was just the one who happened to be in the right position to be caught in the shot.

  She nodded again. "I know and you're right. I'll be careful, though. I'll make sure we stick to public places for awhile. That sort of stuff."

  "If you want, I can get someone to…" Watch over you, be your bodyguard, keep you safe, stay with you. He wanted to be that someone. He wanted to protect her and her son from all the horrors in the world, not just Phay's men and this other hired goon. But she was already shaking her head.

  "I don't need protection, Michael, but thank you. If we're looking at this as merely a precaution, then I'll be cautious. If I get worried, I'll go to Tina and Ryan's or, heck, I'll call Adrien."

  "You could call me." He hadn't meant to say it. The words slipped out before he could stop them and, oh, man, the flames that lit in her eyes at that. "Rhonda—" he began but she cut him off.

  "I don't think that's such a good idea right now," she said softly and held his gaze for only a heartbeat before looking away again.

  Right now. Michael's mind latched onto those words like a lifeline. She didn't think it was a good idea to call him right now. She hadn't said ever, just not right now. And he realized with a sudden rush of clarity that made him feel both childishly giddy and stupid as shit at the same time, what was going on here. She was separated, yes, but not single. He hadn’t asked what finally made her leave Preston. What had been the preverbal straw that broke the camel’s back? He hadn't asked how long ago she'd left Preston, but it couldn't have been more than a few months, three or four at most. She'd still been with the guy when Michael last saw her and that had only been six months ago.

  She needed time. Why hadn't he realized that sooner? She needed time to get over Preston. As much as Michael hated to think it, he knew she must have loved the guy on some level. She'd been married to him for over seven years. She needed time to live the single life for awhile, to get accustomed to thinking of only herself and Lucas. Then, if Michael was lucky and, he hoped he was lucky, she needed time to get to know him.

  "Adrien then," he finally said. "You should definitely call Adrien if you feel at all insecure for even a second. Promise me you'll call him, Rhonda."

  "I will, I promise." She met his gaze again and he saw the echo of that promise in the blue depths of her eyes. He saw an apology, too, for the way she'd just shot him down.

  "I understand." He wanted to make sure she knew that was true, that he really did understand why she wouldn't call him, why she said what she had.

  "Thanks." Her lips curved into a shaky smile. They were lips he'd imagined so often kissing or feeling wrapped around his cock. But right now, just seeing them move into even the slightest hint of a smile made him feel as though he'd reached the peak of sexual fulfillment. "Don't worry, okay. If I need to, I can stay with Ryan and Tina and I live next door to a detective with the local PD now."

  It took everything Michael possessed not to pounce on that information. Where did she live now? Obviously, not the same apartment in which she'd lived with Preston. And what detective with the SSPD? It wasn't Ford. Michael knew that much for certain. The narcotics detective would have recognized Rhonda in the photo. Michael could easily find out, of course, without even asking. Adrien surely knew and there was always the computer. He had access to any information he wanted with a few strikes on the keyboard.

  He didn't tell her that, didn't ask her to elaborate. Maybe he would torture himself later and put in the second and a half of research it would take him to find out. Truth was he really did need to know. If something went down, it would help to know exactly where she lived to get there quickly.

  Rhonda glanced at her watch. "I really need to get going. Lucas is expecting me. We have a date."

  The word date instilled a surge of envy greener than the Christmas Grinch in Michael. Stupid really considering it was her seven-year-old son she talked about going on a date with, for crying out loud. "Where is he taking you?"

  Her smile widened and Michael's heart tripped. What he wouldn't give to be the one to bring such a bright, happy, lively smile to those tantalizing lips. "Dinner and bowling. I think he's decided on a burger at the golden arches followed by a game of bowling. He actually thinks he's going to stomp my tail and wipe the lane with my buns."

  Michael chuckled. He didn't know Lucas well, but he could picture the kid's enthusiasm as he made such plans with his mom. "I'm surprised he isn't dragging you to the movies. The new Star Wars animated movie came out in theaters last week, didn't it?" The kid loved Star Wars. That much Michael did know. They had discussed it in some depth in the cereal aisle the day they'd met. Lucas even fancied himself named after George Lucas. A fact Rhonda let him believe, though Michael was pretty positive it wasn't true.

  "Actually, it came out two weeks ago and, yeah, we've been there and done that." She shook her head and laughed. "Four times."

  "Four times! It must be good."

  She shrugged and stood. "It's Star Wars. That's all that matters to Lucas. It was good to see you again, Michael." She didn't extend her hand for him to shake, didn't reach to hug him, didn't move to touch him, but the look in her eyes told him she fought hard not to do any of those things. "I miss, uh, well, it was good seeing you," she said again.

  I missed you. She'd nearly said it. God help him. Michael held her gaze and knew no way had he ever misinterpreted anything from this woman. Everything he'd sensed and saw since second one remained between them. All of it was evident in her eyes along with something more now added to the mix
. Hope. Yes, a large aura of hope surrounded them now. He was a patient man. She needed time. He had plenty of that, too. And with that hope and patience, he knew in that moment he could give her all the time in the world.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Buzz if you're spending more than just a few calendar hours with a certain B shift EMT." David Karlston winked at Rayne, his shapely lips curving into a grin and she snapped the shot.

  She peered around the camera and flashed him a grin right back. "Actually, I haven't had much time to chat with Terri Vega. She seems really nice, though. Too bad I can't use her in the calendar. You know, being that she's a female and this is a men of the SSFD thing."

  David cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and shot her a look. It was a sexy look, a quietly amused, ha ha look, and Rayne bit her cheek as she snapped another picture. "You're a real laugh riot, Rayne." A lock of his dark hair fell over his eye and he gave his head a jerk to jostle it out of his line of vision. "I meant Terri's partner, Cory, but you already knew that." He hefted the pike pole, a long metal pole with an arrowhead and hook on one end, that she'd leaned against the side of the partially burned house.

  "Of course I did." She framed the shot, taking a moment to study the way the afternoon sunlight glinted off his oiled muscles, the way it seemed to catch the light flecks in the soot and dirt she'd rubbed over him before starting the shoot. Funny, she thought as she pressed the button to take the picture, handsome and ripped as he was, she hadn't felt an iota of hormone stirring excitement when she'd worked to transform him from a clean, pretty boy to the hard edge, fighting a fire guy she'd wanted for the calendar. Not like the almost debilitating waves of longing she'd had to fight when she'd gotten her hands on Cory the first time.