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  "You're perfect."

  Okay, not only could her hands revive his heart, but her gasped words could stop it in an instant. Perfect? What the? Forgetting himself, forgetting who she was, he lost himself in that breathless moment and the flurry of heat and promise in her eyes. "You're pretty perfect yourself." He was still holding her hand and he gave it a light squeeze, grazing his thumb over the smooth warm flesh.

  She blinked again and then her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink that was as arousing as it was cute. He expected her to yank her hand away then, but instead, she surprised him.

  "Do you have any plans for the evening?"

  Hey now! Miss Not Penthouse might be blushing, but she was apparently not as shy as those pink cheeks implied. "Pizza, beer, and ESPN." He stopped himself just short of inviting her to join him. Yes, it was what he wanted right now more than a cure for cancer, or hell, even world peace, but he couldn't have it, couldn't have her. There was a rule among smoke eaters when it came to women. A man didn’t bang a guy’s girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, or sister without crystal clear permission. Somehow, he doubted he’d have Max’s permission for the things he wanted to do to his sister.

  "Why don't we share that pizza and beer over here?" Her gaze danced over his face in a way that made his flesh tingle. It felt as if she were memorizing every line and freaking pore. Having her study him that way was such an amazing turn-on, he nearly forgot the set-stoned rule for not throwing her down on the floor, ripping off her clothes, and shoving his aching cock deep inside her sweet, hot pussy.

  No. He should say no. He couldn't stay here and have pizza and beer with her because while he ate and drank and watched ESPN at his place, he also had to wash the dog he didn't have, count the stacks of hundred dollar bills in the cabinet of his end table, write a new amendment to the U.S. Constitution.

  "What about ESPN?" He heard himself ask instead. As if he really cared about watching sports with this woman around.

  Her lips twitched and she shrugged. "I'm a girl. I'll compromise and we can go for whatever is playing on Action Max." She finally pulled her hand from his. He curled his fingers into a fist at his side to keep from reaching for her again. "After we talk."

  "Talk?" Okay, had he missed something? Damn, with his hormones on shrilling high alert anything was possible.

  "Talk." She took a step back, her gaze sliding down the length of him in pure seduction. "I have a, um, proposition for you."

  Chapter Two

  Freaking paperwork!

  It made no difference to Ford that it now came in electronic form. That only made him hate it more. Give him a pen and paper any day. He'd happily shove this computer keyboard up the inventor's ass sideways.

  He hit a wrong key and cursed under his breath as he searched for the backspace. He'd taken typing classes. These days, they were actually taught at the academy. But just because one took a particular class didn't mean the skill would take to them. He'd managed to improve from one-finger-typing-r-us to the use of all his digits, but a sixty word per minute typist, he was not. And, to top it off, they actually expected him to think while he typed! Even his fairly-easy-to-multi-task brain couldn't accomplish that one without mistakes. Hello, backspace and delete. His two favorite keys. Keys he used yet again when his mind drifted to Rayne Jacobs.

  Damn it! Even if he couldn't keep his concentration focused on this blasted mountain of paperwork he needed to catch up on, there were other things demanding his attention besides a so-nondescript-it-made-her-sexy-as-hell woman he would likely never see again. Unless he looked her up, a voice—devilish little thing—encouraged him in his head. He was a detective. It wouldn't be hard. He had all her information in his citation book.

  No, no, no, shithead! Paperwork, cases, that's what he should be looking up. He was hot on a case, working with an agent in the DEA, the latest facts of which had crossed his desk this morning while he'd been fulfilling his obligations of traffic duty. Freaking traffic duty. Freaking speed limit. Freaking woman who broke the speed limit and now wouldn't get the hell out of his memory!

  Tawny tendrils loose and made springy from wind and sweat, huge gray eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, a face full of expressions ranging from utter shock to the pure invitation of trying out the various positions in the Kama Sutra, Geezus, it was keeping him in a state of arousal! His cock stiffened, throbbed, and he actually considered a trip to the john for a meeting with Rosie palm and her sisters.

  Even as his palm itched to do just that, he attempted for the umpteenth time to push everything about Rayne Jacobs out of his thoughts. He read the last sentence he'd typed on the screen. The five short words contained seven typos and he'd put the information in the wrong box.

  "Shit, shit, shit!" He muttered the words as he punched the backspace key.

  "Wow! A triple shit. Someone's in a mood tonight."

  Ford gritted his teeth over the nasty retort to the amusement in the voice and glanced up. It was completely unintentional the way his gaze landed on the fuchsia pumps walking toward him and climbed up the bare, shapely bronzed legs to the mid-thigh, black wraparound skirt, the trim hips perfect for a man's hands, the hourglass curve of the waist. His gaze stopped and lingered on the generous breasts clad in a fuchsia silk camisole, the neckline dipping way low to expose the bronzed edges of the breasts answering the unspoken question that yes, it was an all over tan.

  "How did traffic duty go?"

  The shoes continued toward him and he jerked his gaze to a face no less stunning and distracting than the body. Chestnut hair, cut in the latest style popular in Hollywood, accented cool green eyes that could make a man weep, and a pair of lips painted do-me red that could make a man beg in a variety of ways and sounds.

  Why didn't he fall to his knees at her feet and start begging? The fact that she was a fellow cop was only a small part of the reason. The other was the crystal clear image of one Rayne Jacobs of 3619 Beach Boulevard, Billings, MS 39555

  that kept him glued to his chair. Geezus, forget looking it up. He had her freaking address memorized!

  "Uneventful, long, and blessedly over." Ford snarled and returned to pecking away at the blasted keyboard. Was he really only a third of the way through this damned report? "What are you doing here this late?" He glanced at her as she perched on the edge of his desk, her hands on either side of her incredible hips, her legs crossed at her ankles.

  He couldn't kid himself by thinking the sight of her didn't move him. If anything, it damned near pushed the erection he'd been fighting to nightmare territory. Still, as badly as she turned him on, it wasn't her he wanted. Leave it to a sexy vixen like Theresa Keaton to plant a freaking goddess like Rayne Jacobs in his memory to taunt and tease him with fantasies of nefarious behavior. And it was certainly nefarious behavioral acts he'd pictured Rayne engaging in during the day. But when had she become a goddess in his head? A librarian would be a far more apt description. Okay, an oddly sexy, arousing, temperature raising librarian. And great! Now he would have the fantasy of her reading to him naked.

  It was the vixen's fault. Thanks to Tess, he found himself completely unable to stop thinking about Rayne. Didn't it figure?

  "I thought I'd stop by to see if you wanted to kick up a game of poker tonight." There was a trace of humor in Tess's voice that had him narrowing his eyes at her, his scowl deepening.

  Therein lay the reason his hormones had gone on sexual overload for a tawny haired, wire-rim-glassed, grey-eyed goddess. Tess and her blasted poker games.

  "Not on your life." He hit a few more keys, cursed under his breath when the combination of his lousy typing skills and her sultry laughter caused him to make another typo.

  "Actually, I'm waiting for Samantha. We're going out for dinner and drinks. You're welcome to join us."

  Dinner and drinks with the amazingly hot, ruthlessly sexy Theresa Keaton. A man would have to be a flipping idiot to turn that down. Or he'd have to be principled and completely unable to stop thinking about a certa
in intriguing speeder and her silly dog Sunshine. What had possessed her to name a solid black mutt Sunshine? Did it have anything to do with the fact that her name was Rayne? Sunshine and rain, hmm, maybe.

  "Thanks, but I'll pass. I've got…" He trailed off and jerked his head at the computer screen. Boring paperwork over dinner with a sexy number like Tess, principled or not, he was starting to think he might be certifiable.

  He'd made a decision early on in his career—had it been back in his stint in the academy?—that he wouldn't date anyone he worked with. Even if the department didn't frown on fraternizing, and the Silver Springs Police Department didn’t as long as it wasn't between boss and subordinate, he'd steer clear of women in the work place. There were a bunch of them these days, at least a handful or more of them exquisitely packed like Tess Keaton.

  Tess. Who was waiting for Samantha Becket. Okay, maybe he didn't have to be principled in her case. He thought back, trying to remember seeing Tess with a man since she'd joined the force. He came up empty. Of course, it wasn't like he spent any time at all tailing her. She was a beat cop, barely out of rookie status. As a detective, their paths crossed and they'd hung out a time or two, like the poker game that doomed him the other night, but it wasn't as if they were partners or even close friends.

  Still, many believed Samantha Becket to be a lesbian. ‘Believed her to be’ were the operative words. The rumor had bounced around the station for several years, but the truth of the speculation had never been confirmed. Not that it mattered to Ford one way or the other. Samantha was a damned good detective. Who cared what did it for her in the bedroom?

  "Now that's an unlikely friendship I would never have expected." Giving up on the report for the moment, he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach.

  "Me and Samantha?" Tess chuckled. "Tell me about it. I owe her a lot."

  Including her badge and uniform, Ford knew. Even after a year of having Tess on the job, he still wasn't quite sure how that happened. Tess had once been at the top of Samantha's suspect list for burglary, arson, attempted murder, and a slew of other charges when the family owned and operated Keaton Aire fell under ruthless attack. Tess had also been the one to crack the case in the end and bring the culprit down by putting a bullet through his skull.

  "Maybe initially," Ford agreed, also knowing Samantha had helped Tess get into the academy and then on the SSPD, "but you've made a career out of this yourself. You're a good cop, Tess."

  The expression that moved over her face was indescribable. "Thanks." She chuckled softly. "Who would have thought it, huh? The failed actress turns cop and she's actually pretty damned good at it. Man, if you would've told me two years ago I'd be itching to lose my designer dresses for a police uniform that isn't a costume for a movie set, I would've laughed in your face."

  "California wasn't your thing. The whole acting gig, harsh lights, and hundreds of lines." He shook his head. "This is." He knew he made it sound simple, a real no brainer, because he'd been there. He hadn't aspired to be an actor in Hollywood. No, he'd wanted to be a musician. To play screaming guitar on a stage before thousands of hard rocking fans. That had been his dream. He'd even started a band with his three closest friends. Then they'd fallen on their noses and each went for degrees in law, taking separate paths that all intersected at one point―public service. Like Tess, Ford had found his calling at the SSFD and never looked back.

  "Sure you don't want to join us tonight?" Tess offered again.

  Ford chuckled. "Tempting but no, thanks. Pulling traffic duty today put me further behind than I already was."

  "Poor baby," Tess cooed and pushed herself off the desk. She slapped him playfully on the shoulder and turned, her gaze raking over the desktop. She stopped, swallowed, took a deep breath. When she finally spoke, her gaze was on the photo at the corner of his desk rather than on him. "I didn't know." She shook her head and only then did she look at him. "I honestly didn't know about Stewie."

  The nickname hit Ford like a razor sharp knife to the gut. He actually felt the double-sided blade slide into his flesh, piercing his insides then slicing up to his heart as if someone gave the hilt a vicious jerk upward. He looked up at Tess through the pain, at her solemn and completely apologetic expression. One thing he liked about the woman was her uncanny talent for being direct.

  "You couldn't have." She touched his shoulder again, a gesture to comfort this time, and he closed his hand over hers, gave it a light squeeze. "It was a long time ago."

  "Maybe, still, if I had known, well, I wouldn't have stuck you on a ten hour traffic duty shift of hell."

  Traffic duty shift of hell. Yeah, that was a good description for what the day had been like. It had been ten grueling hours of memories, pain, and guilt. He looked away from Tess, his gaze landing instead on the photo she'd spotted. The knife twisted deeper at the sight of himself and his two best friends. They'd been three gleefully happy, young men with their entire futures ahead of them. Except one's future ended far too soon, irrevocably changing the other two forever.

  "Like I said, you couldn't have known." Ford snapped back to the here and now, gave her hand another light squeeze, and then forced a smile. "Besides, it wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't let you beat me."

  "Let me beat you!" Tess barked a laugh. Yeah, he knew as well as she that she'd won the game fair and square. "We'll have a rematch sometime, hot shot, and see who lets who win. And next time, we'll make it a different bet."

  They'd make it a bet that didn't include the loser picking up the other's shift for a day. It had been Tess's idea and she'd known she'd win. Otherwise, she never would've made the suggestion. Ford could cover a shift of traffic duty, no problem, however, letting a rookie cop cover a shift for a detective wouldn't fly.

  But Ford had been sure he could somehow turn the bet to his favor. Out of money with a hand he'd simply refused to fold, he'd taken her offer. And she’d proceeded to kick his ass two ways from Sunday by topping his four ladies with a royal flush. A freaking royal flush! How often did that happen?

  "Next time." Ford laughed. "Yeah, that'll happen."

  * * * *

  He was perfect. Rayne reached for another slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table, discreetly studying Cory out of the corner of her eye. Far more discreetly, she hoped, than the way she'd all but come on to him less than an hour ago. God, save her! Would she ever learn to think before she spoke?

  He sat on the floor mere feet from her. His long legs stretched out before him, clad in well-worn jeans and slip-on tennis shoes. A paper plate with three uneaten crusts and a fourth half-eaten slice of pizza sat on the carpet near his hip. He leaned back on his hands, talking with Max, who sat on the sofa, the pose stretching his solid grey Fruit of the Loom t-shirt over his abdomen, chest, and arms to perfection.

  Damn Skippy! The man was outrageously well toned. Add to the package the deep tan, hard lines, perfect nose, and Jolly Rancher green eyes all capped by a head of short dark hair, and he looked so sweet it gave her a toothache of a different dimension.

  Rayne bit into her pizza and, unable to keep her gaze off him, let it slide down. Oh yeah, he was definitely perfect. A quick flash of Detective Drink Me moved through her thoughts at that. What was this, her personal Meet the Hunks Day? First Detective Ford Harris and now EMT Cory Nox, both uniform wearing, exquisitely packed, totally bad for her endless diet delicious.

  Okay, she hadn't exactly seen Cory in his uniform. Yet. She chewed, biting into a jalapeno at the same moment her gaze landed on his crotch. That was the pepper heating her insides to the temperature of molten lava, wasn't it? But, oh man, uniform or not, she had no doubt just how exquisitely packed he was.

  "Is that what you had in mind when you said you had a proposition for me?" Cory looked directly at her.

  Rayne choked. Dear God! He didn't mean…She reached for her beer, making a half choked/half umph sound when Sunshine came barreling into the room and pounced in her lap. The dog was
instantly in her face, paws digging into her breast, an expression of pure doggie concern as if she could offer mouth to mouth or maybe the Heimlich Maneuver if Rayne didn't start to breathe soon. Rayne managed to put down the pizza, grab the beer with her other hand, mollifying Sunshine, and taking a long pull from the bottle all without losing her life. Thank you, Lord.

  "Down, Sunshine," she told the dog when she was able to get her voice, albeit a harsh and cracked sounding one. Sunshine gave a quiet whimper and then moseyed to the corner with her tail between her legs where she lay down facing Rayne, her snout between her paws and her large black eyes full of saddened worry.

  "Are you okay?" Cory asked with a humor in his voice that matched the smile in his eyes and the one he obviously tried to keep from his mouth. The corners of his lips twitched from the effort.

  Rayne closed her eyes, took another deep swallow of the beer and an even deeper breath. Yes, it was official. Today had also become her very own Embarrass Herself All to Hell Day.

  "Pepper," she told him, opening her eyes and lowering the beer bottle. "I…" Swallowed wrong, she'd been about to say, but, oh holy cow, after her proposition comment earlier and where she'd just been looking at him, saying anything about swallowing anything would sound like such a double entendre. But hey, at least she realized it before she said it. Snaps to her! "It went down the wrong pipe," she said instead. Only, did that really sound any better?

  "That's what you get for zoning out on us." There was a smile in Max's voice, too. When she looked at him, she saw he'd leaned forward on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes glinted with an amusement that told her he knew exactly where her mind had gone. Sometimes, he knew her far too well. He no doubt would've loved to watch her squirm too, but instead he covered for her. "Thinking about work again. She's a workaholic," he told Cory. "The woman's damned near obsessive, especially when she's on a project."

  "Guess that sort of thing runs between siblings, huh?" Cory winked at her and, sh-it, he was just too sexy. He obviously knew Max tended to get caught up in his work, as well.