“Don’t I know it. Carry on then.” She wiggled against him, loving the moan her movement caused. “Keep working on your night moves. You’ll hear no complaints from me.”
He pinched her nipple, making her gasp. She tilted her head into the pillow to allow him better access to her neck. “Although,” he said, “it would probably be more apt to say I’m working on my morning moves. You know, since it’s nine a.m.”
Nine a.m.?
Her eyes popped open, and the first thing she saw was sunlight streaming in through the window. She turned and looked at the glowing numbers on his alarm clock. They read 9:07.
Shit!
“Shit!” She tossed back the covers and vaulted out of bed. Her head gave a dull throb, reminding her of the injury she’d sustained, before it faded away.
Ozzie blinked at her. “Was it something I said?”
“Get dressed!” She lobbed his jeans at him even as she hopped into her own. “There’s no time for a shower or breakfast. I have a noon deadline on that story Charlie wanted to bump. If I don’t make it, he probably won’t run it at all. And I refuse to let that sleazy jerk of a businessman get away without having his perfidy immortalized in print. People lost their jobs and retirements because of him. They deserve for him to have his dirty laundry publicly aired.”
“Say no more.” Ozzie kicked his legs over the side of the bed.
Samantha allowed herself a couple of seconds to take in all six-plus feet of his tan, golden, sex-mussed self. His hair was going every which way. There was a faint shadow of a hickey on his neck. And his dick was fully engorged and bobbing hungrily. But he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t complain. He just pulled on his jeans and walked over to open a drawer on his dresser, grabbing a clean blue T-shirt and pulling it over his head. When he turned around, she could see it sported a picture of Spock and read: I find your lack of logic disturbing.
Sweet merciful fuck, is there anyone more wonderful than Ozzie? Ozzie with his big, beautiful Navy SEAL body—she was still wrapping her mind around that. Ozzie with his big, beautiful computer-hacker brain. He was equal parts god and geek, and to her, that made up a perfect whole.
She wanted nothing more than to shove him back into that bed and have her way with him. But justice—and the Chicago Tribune—waited on no one.
Reaching for the red bra lying atop his dresser, she blinked when he snatched it out of her hands. “Nope.” He shook his head. “This one’s mine. A souvenir of our first kiss and the first time I made you come.” He bent to pick up the apricot bra she’d been wearing the night before. “This one you can keep.”
She cocked a hip against her hand. “And do you keep souvenirs from all your conquests. If so, that’s a little creepy.”
He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “Just you, sweetheart.”
A thrill of delight skimmed through her. He might be bullshitting her. But she didn’t think he was. “Good answer.” She winked. “In fact, it’s such a good answer that as soon as I turn in the story, I plan to reward you by taking you into the storage closet where I’ll work on my afternoon moves.”
* * *
Tribune Tower
“Your left eyelid is twitching,” Ozzie said from the spot between her and Donny’s desks. The bullpen was its usual controlled chaos. And the air was heavy with the tangy scents of stress sweat and bad coffee. “What’s got you pissed?”
“Is my tell really that obvious?” Samantha frowned. “Or are you just that observant?”
“Little of A, little of B.” He shrugged. “But it was the litany of curses you whispered under your breath that really gave you away.”
“Charlie wants to cut this quote.” She pointed a finger at her computer screen where a red line drove viciously through her article’s money shot. Just looking at it made her blood pressure spike. “When the douchecanoe businessman goes on the record saying his ties with the mayor are what made him a target for all these trumped-up charges.”
“Your editor probably knows better than to drag the mayor’s name into this mess. Things start to get sticky in this city when—Ow!” He slapped his cheeks. “Okay! Okay! I take it back. Stop trying to fry my face off with your fire eyes!”
“That’s right. Don’t forget whose side you’re on.”
“Your side.” He crossed his heart. “I’m always on your side.”
“Exactly.” She turned back to her glowing screen. But when Ozzie’s stomach grumbled for the bazillionth time, she looked over at him again. “You know, there’s a Starbucks a block north. You could run down and snag us some breakfast.” The clock on her computer read 11:09. “Maybe by the time you get back, I’ll have this damned article done, and we can take our coffees and muffins into the storage closet.” She waggled her eyebrows and leered.
He pushed out of his seat, wincing and absently rubbing his thigh. It was strange… Ozzie was so stoic about his injury, never complaining, rarely even mentioning it. In fact, were it not for his subtle limp or the occasional flash of pain across his face—or last night’s nightmare?—she would never know he was hurt.
“Promise me you will not move from this spot?” he asked. “We still don’t know—”
“This seat and my ass are two sides of a Velcro strip,” she swore. “I won’t get up even for a potty break. Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “And skip the coffee with cream and sugar. After last night, I need a double shot of espresso.” While strong and bitter, the break-room coffee hadn’t done the trick today.
Ozzie grinned down at her, pleased with himself that he was the reason she needed the caffeine equivalent of a mule kick to the backside. “As you wish.” He snapped her a salute before sauntering toward the elevators.
