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  “Listen, bitch,” he hissed, and grabbed my arm, pulling me up against his smelly, blubbery body. “You don’t want to fuck with me.”

  “Excuse me,” a very familiar voice called from about ten feet away. “Is there a problem here?”

  “Get lost, buddy,” my wannabe paramour slurred. “She’s with me.”

  “Interesting,” Luke said, holding his ground. “You good?” he asked me. His hands were clenched at his sides and I knew if I said no, my drunken attacker would most likely be lying dead on the ground in seconds flat. The fact that he didn’t just step in and end my drama made me tingle inside and want to stick my tongue down his throat. God, a shrink would have a heyday with me . . .

  “I’m good.” I grinned and gave the sexiest and most considerate man alive the thumbs up. His returning grin made my knees week.

  “You heard her,” Drunkie snorted in victory, and wobbled unsteadily on his feet. “She’s good with me. She’s knows she’s gonna get it real fucking good.”

  “Actually,” I stated calmly, “I said I was good with the situation. Definitely not with you.”

  “Wait, what?” he asked, completely confused. Deciding I meant let’s get it on, he began to unzip his pants.

  Was he for fucking real? I was so glad it was me he was trying to rape instead of some poor unsuspecting girl who’d had a little too much to drink and couldn’t defend herself. The more I thought about it, the more furious I got.

  For a split second, I considered pulling my gun and making the inebriated asswipe pee his pants, but decided kneeing his balls into his chest cavity would be more fun. Plus, I had an audience. Leaning in as if I appreciated his disgusting attention, I pushed his head back. His hips jutted forward to balance his lumbering body and my knee went into action. I think I actually heard a crunch when I made contact. Having no real time to dissect the fact he may have had glass testicles, I quickly slammed my stiletto down on his instep and straight-armed my palm to his upper lip and nose. He screamed like a baby and went down like a huge rotting sack of potatoes. Out like a light. I hadn’t even broken a sweat.

  “Goddamn, that was hot,” Luke yelled, pulling cuffs from his back pocket. “Let’s get your friend over to that pole and leave him out here for the cops. Agree?”

  “Agree.” I laughed, more attracted to him than I’d thought possible.

  “I’m pretty sure you broke his balls,” he said with a grin.

  “They did kind of crunch.” I wrinkled my nose and wondered if we should check. Nope, that was even too gross for me.

  “You wanna press charges?”

  “You bet,” I said, dragging the lump of shit to the pole. “He needs to pay.”

  “Allow me.” Luke effortlessly pulled the loser to the pole. I stood and admired the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he worked. He cuffed the drunk and pulled out his phone. He made a quick call to the police, explaining the situation and that I would be calling in to press charges.

  “You seem to know the cops pretty well,” I told him, waiting to see if he would elaborate and tell me exactly what he did.

  “The cops seem to know you pretty well,” he countered, waiting for me to spill my secrets. I stayed silent, but something started to bother me. What the hell was it?

  “I do believe we have a date to get to.”

  “A drink,” I corrected, trying to remember my plan and figure out what was off. The simple fact that he was so beautiful was making my brain short out. “Should we leave him?” I asked, eyeing the unconscious jackass.

  “Absolutely, it’s all taken care of.”

  I snuck a glance a Luke. He looked a little thinner than the last time I’d seen him and he had a tan. Had he gone on vacation? Did he even live in Minnesota?

  “You look gorgeous,” Luke complimented me as his eyes roamed all over my body. “I mean, you’re always hot, but this is hot.”

  “Um, thanks,” I muttered, now out of my element. Destroying testicles and fighting injustice was easy. Making small talk with the sexiest man alive was torture.

  Luke held out his hand and I took it. A zing of pure delight shot through me as I realized I was holding hands with a guy who still thought I was hot after I’d lodged another guy’s nuts into his esophagus. Maybe I was being a little hasty. Maybe I would just see where this went . . .

  Chapter 5

  Mario’s was a cute little Italian joint, dimly lit and full of romantic circular booths. This was my neighborhood. I wondered if Luke lived nearby too. We both slid into the booth and put our backs to the wall, ensuring that if anything went down we’d be certain to see it. Clearly, we were both in law enforcement. Or I was in law enforcement and he was a criminal . . . Our ingrained habit also ensured that our bodies were wedged together like we were conjoined twins.

  “Hi,” he said, looking down the front of my dress. “You wearing a bra under that?”

  “No, and don’t you think that question is a little forward?”

  “Not really,” he said with a grin, and ran his finger along my bottom lip. God, I was tempted to suck on it. Plus, he was right—he’d seen me naked more than anyone had in years.

  “Luke what?” I asked, pulling back. I was slightly angled away from my perfect vantage point to scan the restaurant, but I was dangerously close to straddling him if he kept touching me.

  “What do you mean Luke what?”

  “I mean”—I rolled my eyes—“what’s Luke’s last name?”

  “Oh, Luke’s last name is Blakely,” he announced grandly, clearly enjoying speaking of himself in the third person.

  I giggled. Under the threat of death, I would never admit to him how much his cocky ego turned me on . . . or his hair or his teeth or his chest or his ass . . . He really was a ridiculous work of art. He had to be about six foot two. I was five foot ten and he had a good few inches on me. His eyes were a deep green and his sandy blond hair was just a little too long for him to be a regular cop. But his body? His body was to die for, and I’d seen it au natural.

  “Hi there,” a busty waitress purred to Luke, ignoring me as if I were invisible. “What can I get you, big boy?”

  “I’ll have a scotch, and my wife, who happens to be a rock star in the sack, will have a . . . ?”

  I was speechless. My wife? Rock star in the sack? I mean, I appreciated his putting Boobs McGee in her place, but this was a little much.

  I realized a very depressed Boobs McGee was now acknowledging my presence along with my husband’s, but my voice was still MIA.

  “Sugar lips will have a margarita,” Luke volunteered. “Is that good?”

  I nodded mutely and scoped the restaurant for alternate exits. He was a better player than me, and I was in over my head. Boobs McGee pouted, adjusted her namesakes, wrote down the order, and left.

  “There are two exits. The door we came in and one in the kitchen. The kitchen is to your left through the swinging doors.”

  “How did you know what I was thinking?” I gasped. Was he a freakin’ mind reader? I slid farther away and tried to think of nothing.

  “I can read you like a book.”

  “No, you can’t. I have a poker face,” I insisted, desperately trying to regain my composure.

  His intense stare made me feel naked and uncomfortable. “Maybe at work you do, but not in real life.”

  “My work is my life,” I huffed. What a jerk. He was starting to sound like my boss, Steve.

  “Now that’s a sad state of affairs.” He shook his head and moved closer.

  I considered scooting farther away, but I didn’t want to and I’d land on my ass on the floor if I moved another inch.

  “You’re making me nervous,” I said, and then slapped my hand over my mouth. Where was my filter? Oh right, I didn’t have one . . . Could I be less cool? This was a disaster. I wasn’t cut out to flirt and date and be normal. I was cut out to shoot people. Standing up, I opened my mouth to make a lame excuse before I made my escape.

  “Sit,�
� Luke ordered.

  I slowly eased my butt down on the edge of the seat as far away from him as possible.

  “I have waited a year for you to make a move that didn’t include a hotel room. You are going to sit here and get to know me and I’m going to get to know you in more than just a biblical sense. If I hadn’t lost my cuffs to the fat bastard outside, I’d cuff you to me so you couldn’t run.”

  “Um . . . okay.” Shit, the thought of him cuffing me made my panties go damp.

  There was a silence. A stupid, damn silence . . . so I filled it.

  “You must get hit on all the time by humongous boobs, shit, I mean humongous women. Goddammit, I mean women. Women must hit on you a lot.” My mortifying observation ended in a whisper.

  Luke threw his head back and laughed. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me.

  “How in the hell can someone who looks like you be insecure about anything?” he asked, still chuckling.

  “I’m not,” I snapped. I am, I wanted to scream. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Well, it wasn’t really a question, more of a statement. And yes,” he conceded, “I get hit on, but no more, I’d imagine, than you do.”

  “I don’t get hit on much.”

  “That’s good because I’d probably beat the hell out of anyone who looked at you.”

  “Possessive much?” I asked, wondering if he was serious.

  “Occasionally,” he said quietly.

  Oh. My. God. He was serious. Uncertain whether to be pissed off or ecstatic, I decided pissed off was a safer emotion. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know me.”

  Luke blew out an exasperated breath. “That’s what I’m trying to do here, but you’re making it rather difficult.”

  He was right. I was so tangled up inside at having stepped so far out of my element, I was being bitchy. “I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” He grinned and took my fidgety hands in his. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

  “I’ve been . . . um.” In the hospital recovering from a knife wound after I fucked up a drug bust. I almost lost my job because I’m too tightly wound up in my work and I haven’t been able to find anyone to have sex with because I’m too caught up in you . . . “I’ve been fine. You?”

  “Fine. I wanted to call you, but I’ve been away,” he said.

  Staring at the grooves in the worn oak table, I contemplated my next move. I could stay and talk or I could excuse myself to go to the bathroom and crawl out the window. That would be kind of a pussy move, and I’d destroyed a lot of clothes crawling out of windows. I really liked my dress, and heels were a bitch to climb in. Furthermore, I realized I did want to know him . . . or at least enough to feel less ho-like when I banged his brains out in about an hour. Fine, I could do this.

  “Are you married?”

  “Not even a little bit. You?” He was laughing at me, but that was a crucial question in my book.

  “Nope and never gonna go there,” I replied with confidence.

  “It’d be a damn shame not to make some babies and pass on your genes.” His lazy grin made my girlie parts jump to attention. Why did everything he said make me think of tackling him and making him see Jesus? Questions. Ask him questions. Guys loved to talk about themselves.

  “Do you live in Minneapolis?” I retrieved my hands and sat on them. I didn’t trust them. He was too pretty, and he smelled really good.

  “I do, but I travel a lot.”

  “For work?” I asked.

  He grimaced and looked up at the ceiling for a long moment. “Here’s the deal, I can talk about every aspect of my life except work. Anything you want to know is fair game except that.”

  This was an interesting twist, but I couldn’t talk about my work either. I didn’t love that restriction, but I got it. There was just one potential problem . . .

  “That’s fine, but you have to tell me one thing.” I leaned in close and he sucked in a quick breath.

  “Baby, if you get any closer, we’re going to get arrested for public indecency.”

  “That could be awkward if you answer my question incorrectly.”

  “If I answer it right, can we go back to my place? I’m in a little pain here.” The evidence of his problem was obvious and delighted me to no end, but . . . Wait, how was I supposed to handle this? Shit, it had been so much easier when I knew nothing about him. Although, I still didn’t know all that much . . . It was clear he was funny, sexy, and he had put Boobs McGee in her place. He had an ass to die for and he wasn’t married. He was honest about his work—kind of. He was amazing in the sack and he liked the fact that I could basically castrate someone with my knee . . . What in the hell was I worried about? He was perfect.

  “Yep.” I grinned and ran my tongue over my bottom lip.

  “You’re killing me here, Candy. Ask the goddamned question,” he hissed.

  “Fine. Are you on the right side of the law with your cryptic business or the wrong side?”

  He blew a huge sigh of relief and grinned. “I’m on the right side. Can we go?”

  “Do we know enough about each other?” I teased, getting hornier by the second.

  He shoved me out of the booth and kept his hands on my hips as he quickly moved us through the restaurant. “We can talk the entire time,” he said tersely. “Shit, the drinks.”

  “Just hand Boobs McGee some money and let’s get the hell out of here.” I was dangerously close to jumping him. His hands were burning themselves into my hips, and my knees were in danger of giving out.

  “Hand who what?” He laughed, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and ransacking it for cash.

  “The waitress with the knockers,” I snapped. “The one who you falsely informed I was your wife.”

  “I thought that was a smooth move.” Luke copped a feel of my ass and steered me toward the bar. He slapped fifty bucks down on the counter. “Hey, John.”

  “Luke, my man,” the bartender shouted over the noise. “What can I get you and your lovely date?”

  “She’s my wife.” John’s eyes grew huge. “Just give this to the gal with the large chest and tell her we had to go.”

  “You got it, buddy. And congrats.”

  “Thanks,” Luke said, rerouting us toward the door.

  He was going to have to stop it with the wife stuff or I was out of here. Although a tiny part of me loved it. Could I really marry someone? Hell, could I really maintain a relationship more than a month? Before now I hadn’t wanted to, but this crazy fool had me all confused.

  Yes, I could do this.

  I wanted to do this.

  “Wait,” I shouted, skidding to a stop in the parking lot, which was now empty of the fat bastard who’d attacked me. “What did you call me?”

  “My wife?” he replied sheepishly.

  “No. Before that.” The feeling I’d had earlier that something was wrong returned with a vengeance. “Um . . . Sugar lips?”

  “No, Luke. You called me Candy,” I said, backing away.

  “Of course I did. That’s your name.” He shook his head in confusion and ran his hands through his hair.

  “You’re right, that’s my name, but I never told you my name.” I waited for the explanation.

  “You must have told me,” he said with a lot less confidence.

  “Nope.” My eyes narrowed and my brain raced.

  “Okay,” he conceded. “I know your name. What’s the big deal? You know mine.”

  “You told me your name. I did not tell you mine, which leads me to believe something is really fucked up here.”

  The suspicion bothered me and made me feel wary. My reaction would be considered extreme in normal situations, but my life was full of abnormal situations and trusting my gut, as scarred as it was at the moment, was how I survived.

  “What else do you know besides my name?” I asked, hating everything at the moment.

  “Confidential,” he said quietly.

 
WTF? Confidential? All sorts of horrific scenarios blasted through my mind. Was he connected to someone I’d put in jail or, God forbid, killed? No, he would have taken me out long ago. Was I being monitored by the government? What the hell could I be monitored for? Was it because I’d fucked up a couple of times this year? “How long have you known about me?”

  “A while,” he admitted, and began to pace the parking lot. I tried to block out the way his jeans hugged his butt and how stupidly gorgeous he was. I needed to erase the fact that he made me laugh and that I’d just mentally prepared myself to try to have a real relationship with him. The joke was on me. Again.

  “Is any of this real?” I demanded, willing myself not to cry. I’d thought he liked me. Was I a job? Was I an easy lay?

  “It’s real, Candy. Very real.” He took two steps toward me and I took two steps back.

  “You said you were on the right side of the law. I’m willing to believe that, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m so out of here.”

  “I can’t.” He sighed in frustration and shoved his hands in his back pockets.

  “Clusterfuck doesn’t even begin to describe this.” I shook my head and pulled my keys out of my purse. “This was beyond a mistake and you have me completely freaked out. I’m going to walk to my car and you are not going to follow me. If I see you again, I will introduce your crotch to my knee.” Son of a bitch, I was going to have to call Steve tonight and find out who Luke Blakely was and what he wanted from me. This absolutely sucked.

  “Candy . . .”

  “Nope. You can’t call me that. You didn’t earn it fair and square. Have a good life, and if I’m a job for you, good luck. I will make your life a living hell,” I snapped.

  “Jesus Christ.” Luke threw his hands in the air. “Aside from the fact I can’t tell you why or how I know your name, I don’t really see a problem here. I’m crazy about you and I know you’re crazy about me, or at least my oral skills.”

  “Oh my God,” I shouted. “You are the most conceited ass-hat I’ve ever met. Turn the situation around. Would you be okay with this?”

  He was silent. He couldn’t answer the question because he wouldn’t be fine with it either. I threw him one last withering glance and walked to my car. I turned my back on him, which could have been my last move ever, but for some reason I knew he wouldn’t harm me—at least physically. Emotionally he’d just leveled me, and I didn’t even know why.