She cut me off with, "Nope. Going to your house in the middle of the damn village is less awful than calling my family."
"You're sure?" I asked. I stroked her wrist as I crossed the street, wanting her to say yes. She murmured in agreement, her head still on my shoulder.
When I first moved here, back before I understood much about life in Talbott's Cove, I rented a house near the town center. It seemed like a great location, with glimpses of the ocean and a short walk to the station. What I didn't account for was having the entire town in my front yard. Residents liked to pop in with a plate of pot roast and potatoes—not that I complained about that, of course—or to gather my opinion on Old County Road's traffic issues. Others simply made my comings and goings their business. It wasn't uncommon for me to step into DiLorenzo's, the local diner, and field questions as to why my lights were on past midnight. They wanted to know if I was sleeping well enough, if I had company, if I was tracking safety issues. Apparently, I was the only guy around here who fell asleep on his couch, not more than ten minutes into the local news.
I had to force all of that from my mind as I hiked up the hill toward my house with Annette Cortassi plastered to my back and her lips on my neck. I was thrilled to have a near-moonless night.
Once inside, I shifted her off my back and into a chair.
"You sit here," I ordered, unbuckling my duty belt. "I have to—uh—handle a few things."
First order of business: adjusting the erection hammering away at my trousers. Next up, pulling every curtain shut. That would probably set off alarm bells of its own with the locals, but that was an issue for another day. Once the house was adequately buttoned up and my gear and firearm were stowed in the safe, I poured a glass of water for Annette and snatched a banana from the fruit bowl.
That was when things went pear-shaped.
Annette wasn't in the living room anymore. She was right behind me, standing in the middle of my kitchen, bare-ass naked. My fingers tightened around the banana. "Annette," I warned. "What—what are you doing?"
"I might be fragile," she purred, swaying a bit as she stepped closer to me, "but that doesn't mean I always want to be treated like I am."
I was working hard at keeping my eyes above her chest. I had a peripheral awareness of her nudity but I'd yet to allow myself the kind of long, quenching gaze at her lush curves. Goddamn, I wanted to look. I wanted to drop to my knees and press my face to the soft lines of her belly, drag my fingers up her calves and grab her ass like I meant it. I wanted to feel her spine arch under my hands and her body tighten around me. I wanted to get lost between her legs and never, never find my way out.
Clumps of pulverized banana filled my palm, and I turned away. "I'll get you something to wear," I said over my shoulder. I tossed the fruit in the garbage and then rinsed my hands at the sink, but I knew she was watching me. I felt the intensity of her stare on my skin, and I wanted to give it right back to her. I wanted it more than anything.
Turning, I said, "Annette—"
She wasn't hearing it. She flew into my arms and pressed her lips to mine, and for the second time tonight, I was paralyzed. Dumbstruck and frozen in place. But then my body and brain returned to me in pieces. I sighed into her kiss, forgetting my job, my duty, myself. She tasted of liquor and juice, and something succulent and special all her own. I couldn't help myself. I curled my arms around her torso, backed her against the refrigerator, and rocked myself into the valley of her parted legs.
I stayed right there, trapping her between the hard lines of the refrigerator and my body while I drank in every ounce she offered up. I couldn't even process the glory of her naked skin under my hands. It was one gift too many.
Annette broke away first, turning her head a few degrees and hiccup-giggling against my cheek. Then her hand slithered down my back and she slapped my ass.
At first, I was stunned into silence. That was becoming my default reaction to this woman. But then I remembered she was sloppy drunk, and I wasn't the type of man who capitalized on that condition.
Her palm cracked over my backside again, and another hiccup-giggle rang out. "You're so…hard," she whispered.
I surrendered to her words rather than my judgment and rutted against her core. If she wanted to know something about hard, I was happy to illustrate. "You have no idea," I replied. "Not a clue."
She tipped her head back against the refrigerator and gazed up at me, her lips parted and her eyes unfocused. "Whoa," she murmured. So beautiful and so drunk."Whoa."
Right then, my responsibility came down on me. It was lightning fast and there was no way I was coming back from it this time. Not tonight.
I tossed Annette over my shoulder and blocked out the sensation of her smooth thigh against my cheek. No, that wasn't true. I was keenly aware of her thigh. But I wasn't letting myself enjoy the thigh.
"Please tell me we're going to a bedroom," she called. "That would be fabulous."
"We're going to a bedroom," I replied, "and I'm putting you to bed. Alone."
"That's the story of my life," she whined, dragging her fingertips up and down my flanks. Goddamn, that felt good. I could die happy after nothing more than a night of her hands moving over my skin. "Me, in bed, alone. It's never my turn."
I wanted to argue with her, insist that she'd get more than a turn from me as soon as she sobered up. But it occurred to me that she was offering this information under drunk cover, and chances were good I wouldn't hear the same tune tomorrow. Annette had been pleasant to me since my arrival but hadn't given me much more than passing, platonic glances. She wanted someone right now, and I was that person only because JJ called me in to collect her. If he'd walked her home, he could be receiving the same treatment. He could've been the one getting her hungry kisses and gently demanding touch.
That idea did terrible things to me.Terrible. I tightened my grip on her thighs and gritted my teeth as I stomped through the house, barely fighting off the urge to throw her down and make her crave me the way I'd been craving her.
I could do it too. I'd lay her down on my bed. Make her comfortable. Kiss my way from those sexy ankles to her full lips, the ones that looked even more delicious now that I'd tasted her sweet smile. I'd skip the places she wanted me most. I'd make her wait the way I'd waited for her. She'd ache and squirm and beg, and then I'd hike her legs over my shoulders and show her everything I'd held back. And then she'd know. When I was deep enough to steal her words and everything else save for screams, she'd know I'd wanted nothing but her for months.
Instead, I set her on my bed and only allowed myself an extra moment with my hands on her body before turning away. I couldn't meet her hungry, needy gaze again. Not without tearing my pants off and feeding her my cock. I moved toward the door but couldn't leave. I stood there, my hands gripping either side of the doorframe while I stared unseeing down the hall. I needed this moment to gather myself, pull the loose threads of desire tight and sew them up. Set aside the urge to forget myself and take everything she was offering.
"Where are you going?" she asked. Her voice was small, almost childlike. "I want you to stay with me. You're not leaving. Are you?"
