Bad Girl by Night (25 page)

“Are you kidding?” she said, wide-eyed and gorgeous. “That’s possibly the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Yeah?” he asked, still not feeling quite as cool and secure as he generally did.

“Definitely. And I love the winterberry bush.”

“ ’ Cause . . . I figured the best thing anyone had ever said to you was when I called you sweetie pie,” he joked.

“Now,
that
was corny,” she informed him. “Even if I’m weirdly starting to like it a little, too.”

And there was something about her eyes just then—or maybe it was her whole demeanor, the way she now balanced honesty with the simple unassuming confidence he was still getting accustomed to in her—that made him say, “I know we planned to walk down to Schubert’s for burgers, but can we go upstairs first?”

She raised her eyebrows. “What for?”

“Because I need to be inside you. Like . . . now.” He’d been aroused
enough
on his walk here, but this was something beyond that, beyond normal—edging closer to what he’d felt the night he’d come banging on her door and ended up fucking her senseless against the back wall. And on the stairs. Somehow the utter purity he saw in Carly, mixing with the bright new sparkle in her eyes, drove him a little wild.

“Um . . . okay,” she said breathily, and her eyes said she was turned on now, too, that fast.

Once in her apartment, they fell on the bed together, exchanging instantly hard kisses and tugging at each other’s clothes. He murmured that he had to sink his cock into her hot, wet pussy before he lost his mind. She closed her hand around his erection like a warm vise and whispered, “Fuck me, Jake. Please fuck me hard.”

And then he was pushing her to her back, pinning her to the bed as he plunged inside her. And they were both moaning, groaning, thrusting. Until the moment when he least expected her to do what she did—roll him, shove him, over onto
his
back.

And then
he
was the one who was pinned, his wrists caught in her small fists as she hovered above him, grinding, undulating, so hot and beautiful. She was actually pretty damn strong for a girl, but he could have overpowered her at any moment. And he . . . wanted to. Damn, how he wanted to—every fiber of his being urged him to get her back under him. But he didn’t.

Because she was going to come soon—he could tell. And God knew he didn’t want to stop
that
.

And because . . . he knew he had to let her have
some
control.

The truth was, over time, she’d mostly let him take the lead; she’d become somewhat submissive to him in bed. But then moments like this always came, reminding him that—deep down—they both had that same need to be the one with the most power, the one who ultimately controlled the sex. And they both always would.
That’s exactly why Dr. Jim would tell me this is a bad idea.

Yet when she climaxed, crying out, clawing the tips of her fingernails into his skin to send an extra ribbon of heat rippling down his spine, he forgot about all that. For a few hot, satisfying seconds anyway.

When finally she collapsed on his chest, breathing hard, nestled against him, his arms closed around her and he found himself threading the fingers of one hand through her hair, gently stroking, caressing—and trying to hold back. Just long enough to let her recover from her orgasm.

Until he couldn’t anymore, and then he flipped her over, taking back that blessed control, and pounding his aching cock into her hot, slick cunt, just like she’d asked him to, until he was no longer thinking about anything at all—he was just fucking her, like an animal, like the animal they each became with the other. Her deeply pleasured cries, along with strangled-sounding words like “Yes!” and “God!” fueled him, and he rammed himself into her over and over, every pore of his body wild with it, until finally he toppled over the edge, too, biting off, “Fuck yes, now, now,” as he began to explode in the tight glove of her sweet pussy.

And then it was
him
crumpling against
her
pliant body, lost in sated exhaustion, melting into the warmth of her skin as he tried to come back to himself.

Finally, she whispered, “That was better than hamburgers.”

And he let out a laugh against her shoulder as dusk began to slowly fall across Main Street outside the windows, dimming the air around them.

Jake didn’t know how much time had passed when Carly said, “Do you ever hate that you’ve gotten involved with me, with so much drama?”

He lifted his head from where it rested on her plump breast, blinking down at her. “Where did
that
come from?”

She shrugged against a pillow. “I was just thinking. That this hasn’t exactly been a . . . normal sort of relationship, has it?”

He let out a sardonic chuckle. “Not exactly, no. And . . . at first, I was telling myself to avoid you because, after Detroit, I thought I was ready for a drama-free life.” Then he rolled to his side next to her, propping up on one elbow to peer down at her. “But hey, we’ve all got drama, right? Hell, things are so quiet in Turnbridge that maybe I even
need
a little drama. So—no, honey, I’m definitely not sorry I got involved with you.” Although he concluded by slanting her a knowing grin. “And if I’m concerned about
anything
. . . it’s that we both want to be on top.”

She bit her lip. “Not always,” she whispered. “I’ve gotten a lot less bossy in bed than on the night we met, don’t you think?”

He ran his palm lightly over her stomach in a soft caress. “Yeah, you have. The problem is . . .
I
feel bossier lately than I have in years.”

“Because I opened up an old wound?” she asked.

He just shrugged. “Maybe. But
you
didn’t do it.
I
did. I chose to tell you. And it’s only fair that we both give a little, and we both take a little, when it comes to who’s calling the shots. I just wish I was doing better at that, not feeling the need to control so much. Since I know when we get into these silent little struggles in bed that it’s because we
both
need it.”

“Is . . . my sometimes needing to control things . . . a big problem? For you?”

Jake thought it over. That
wasn’t
actually the problem. It was only a symptom of the much bigger issue on his mind—that two people with their pasts would
always
struggle a little, would never be equipped to help the other forget, or completely get over it. But in reply, he simply said, “Doesn’t matter one way or the other—because it’s too late to stop it now.”

“What do you mean?”

Then he told her the truth. The only truth he could come to in all of this. “The fact is, Carly, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

C
arly sucked in her breath. Had she heard him correctly? She was pretty sure she had, but . . . she hadn’t heard those words from a guy since she was eighteen years old. And that was her fault. All her fault.

But wait, no. It was . . . her father’s fault. She was still getting used to that idea—that all her weirdness about sex had a reason, an explanation. One that didn’t originate with her.

And now . . . she’d somehow begun letting go of all that and opening up to a man, a man who seemed almost too good to be true at moments. And who was . . . in love with her? Finally she said, “Really?” Because his words seemed too good to be true, too.

Next to her, Jake lowered his gaze, stilled his hand on her stomach. “Yeah.” Then he sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. Maybe you don’t want to know something like that.”

Because all this was so new? Because he thought she didn’t feel the same way? Whatever the case, he had it all wrong. “Jake, I’m in love with you, too.”

He brought his eyes back to hers. “Yeah?”

She nodded against the pillow, a little nervous suddenly, her chest tightening. She was even less accustomed to a discussion like
this
than she was to good, normal sex. Or maybe it was because she suddenly
felt
how much she loved him. Maybe she was just now
letting
herself feel it because it was suddenly safe to do so. “How could I not be? I mean, you’ve been . . . so amazing. Patient. Kind. Understanding. And . . . perfect. I was … a total mess, and yet you’ve given me everything I could possibly want or need.
Of course
I love you.” And that was when she hugged him to her, tight, realizing . . . she’d be lost without him now. He’d become such a pivotal force in her life. Every good change, every revelation, every desire to fix herself was all because of him. He was the foundation, the underpinning to all of it. “I love you like crazy, Jake Lockhart.”

“Aw, baby,” he murmured deeply in her ear, and she could feel the heat rising in him again, just from that—and they were soon lost in each other once more. And it was nearly midnight before either of them remembered that they’d never made it to Schubert’s for burgers.

 

 

L
ife was good. Carly was busy planning Dana’s shower for next month with Beth Anne, sales at Winterberry’s were up—she couldn’t make enough heart-shaped boxes to keep them on the shelves—and she had a lover. More than that. A man she was in love with. Who also loved her. For the first time ever, she was having sex on a regular basis. Really
great
sex. How could life
not
be good?

Everywhere she went, in everything she did, Carly continued feeling freer than ever in her life. And it wasn’t that all the bad feelings had just disappeared—as Jake had told her, she knew they’d always exist. But she was processing them now, and she’d really begun letting go of the hurt, at least as much as possible. She was moving on from the things that had held her back for so long.

As she snuggled with Jake on his couch watching a movie, she wondered if he’d be surprised when he found out what she wore under her tank top and shorts. For the first time since getting together with him, she’d gone into the drawer of lingerie previously reserved for trips to Traverse City. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice the lacy bra and panties more than any others she wore, but to her, it felt like . . . another turning point. She knew she’d been bold with Jake at times since he’d moved here, but putting on the lace bought strictly for a Desiree seduction felt daring to her in a different way. One more step toward leaving the past behind. And just having that lace against her skin for the past few hours had made her feel even more . . . powerful, a little like Desiree, but still more like Carly.

It probably shouldn’t have surprised her to learn that movies about cops were at the top of his list. Sometimes, when he was so gentle and understanding, it was easy to forget he was an officer of the law. But the look in his eye as he watched the wide-screen TV reminded her. He was into the action-adventure story big-time, clearly more invested in seeing the downtrodden fictional cop catch the bad guys than she was. She liked that about him, though—how seriously he took his job, how important it was to him to help people, to save people. She’d meant it when she’d told him
he’d
saved
her
. And she thought he saved her a little bit more every single day.

When the credits began to roll, Jake muted the sound and said, “Now,
that’s
the kind of cop I want to be.” Then he pointed to her empty wineglass. As was often the case, they’d made a dinner of pizza and wine. “More to drink?”

She shook her head, then replied to his comment about the movie. “Because he was in danger and you miss that? Or because he got the bad guys? Or something else?”

Reaching for a piece of cold pizza, Jake leaned back on the leather couch and appeared to mull it over. “He had conviction,” he finally said. “And . . . he made a difference in the world. Maybe that’s the main thing—that he made a difference.”

She tilted her head, thinking he looked a little bummed out. “You don’t think you make a difference?”

He shrugged and offered a shallow grin, clearly trying to play it off. “Hard to make much of a difference in Turnbridge. That’s the one factor I guess I didn’t weigh when I made the decision to leave Detroit. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like it here. But there are just moments when I wonder if I’ll ever really be satisfied doing nothing besides issuing speeding citations and writing up accident reports.”

Wow. She hadn’t realized he felt this strongly about it. “Accidents matter,” she said.

“You’re right, they do. But . . . hell, I even exaggerated
that
by making it plural. I’ve written up a total of one fender bender since I’ve gotten here. And it’s not that I
want
people to have accidents, but damn, Carly—do you know what I did today?”

“What?” she asked.

“I was called to the intersection of Grant and Whitewood roads to help a family of ducks cross the road. Seriously,” he added as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

Carly didn’t mean to laugh—but she couldn’t help herself. “So we like ducks here. And you
helped
the ducks. And you helped the people who were
worried
about the ducks.”

This drew a small, more playful smile onto his handsome face, tonight unshaven and sexy with stubble.

“And you like the people here, don’t you?” she went on.

“Sure. I like Tommy and the other guys on the force.” In fact, they’d gone to Tommy and Tina Gwynn’s for lasagna last Friday night. “And I like
your
friends, too.” They’d run into Dana and Hank just a few nights ago at Angelo’s Pizza Parlor and the guys had ended up playing pool while the girls watched and chatted.

“Well, whenever there
is
trouble, you’ll be extra glad you were here to help because you’ll know the people you’re helping.”

He gave his head a tilt. “Tommy once told me something like that, too. I guess I just . . . feel ineffective as a police officer after the stuff I dealt with in Detroit on a daily basis. It was stressful, but . . . it mattered, you know?”