Beneath the Badge (First Responders) (6 page)

He slid out of bed, treating her to a delicious view of his bottom as well as a broad, muscled back. With a minimum of fuss, he pulled on a pair of shorts but left his chest bare. Lindsay kept the sheets tucked beneath her armpits, nowhere near as comfortable with casual nakedness as Matt was.

After he’d disappeared around the corner to the bathroom, Lindsay got up and put on her underwear and jeans, then slipped into the T-shirt of Matt’s that she’d put on last night. It still smelled like his detergent and fabric softener and a different, unique scent from his dresser drawers, perhaps, or whatever he wore for aftershave that was never quite erased during washing. She made the bed and once she heard clanging and banging going on in the kitchen, she made her way out and to the bathroom.

She looked in the mirror and squeaked at the woman staring back at her. One eye had a smudge of yesterday’s mascara in the corner and her hair was a puffy, tangled mess. But there was a twinkle in her eye she hadn’t seen before, a color in her cheeks that was new and exhilarating. She looked like a
morning-after
woman. She felt like a morning-after woman. And she was finding it damned hard to feel sorry about that—even after the way the conversation had gone this morning.

Once she’d splashed some water on her face and tamed her hair into a loose ponytail, she made her way to the open space that made up most of Matt’s apartment. Dawn was barely breaking, casting pale shadows through the wall of windows. Matt had a light on above the kitchen counter as he beat pancake batter in a bowl. Beside him a griddle heated, and she watched as he reached over and dumped in a cup of blueberries and sprinkled on some cinnamon.

“Can I do something? Make coffee?”

“The machine’s right there, the water should be heated now. Just pick your flavor from the rack and have at it.”

“What would you like?” She spun the rack and grabbed a straight-up Columbian roast for herself.

“Surprise me,” he said with a smile, ladling batter onto the hot griddle. “You’re good at that.”

A few minutes later they were seated on the bar stools, drinking coffee and pouring maple syrup on their pancakes. Breakfast had never tasted so good—and Lindsay wasn’t deluding herself as to why. She was nervous and yet more relaxed and loose than she’d been in months. Sex really was an effective stress buster.

“What time do you have to be to the clinic?” he asked, shoveling a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

“Oh, around eight. I can’t stay long. I’ll have to go home and have a shower, change my clothes…”

“You could shower here,” he suggested, but there was a wicked gleam in his eye.

“And then I’d be late. Don’t you have to work today?”

He shook his head. “Not until tonight. I’m on night shift this week.”

She shouldn’t feel disappointed. This was a one-night-only event, wasn’t it? There could be no repeat performances. As great as it had been—and it had been amazing—the darkness she sensed beneath Matt’s glib exterior was enough to warn her off getting emotionally involved. There was no way in hell she wanted to get dragged into
damage drama
. She had enough of that all by herself.

“I should get going.” She pushed her plate away and slid off the stool. “Thanks for, uh, breakfast.”

Matt followed her to the door, where she picked up her purse and hooked the strap over her shoulder.

“Least I could do,” he answered, keeping one hand on the door so she couldn’t open it. “After keeping you up half the night.”

“Matt…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Don’t say what?”

He leaned in. “That this isn’t going to happen again. That it was a one-shot deal.” His lips were close enough she couldn’t help but stare at them. A whole body flush took over as she remembered everything those lips had done last night.

“Neither of us wants—”

“Come on, admit it. If you didn’t have to get to work we’d be in that shower together right now. You drive me crazy, Linds.”

He’d shortened her name again. No one ever did that. She was always Dr. Swan or Lindsay. Professional. Friendly but not intimate. Until now. He hardly knew her and he was taking that liberty. She knew she should mind and somehow she didn’t.

“I’ve gotta go,” she repeated. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“You say that in the hopes that I won’t follow up. But I will. You can count on it.”

He stepped back and let her open the door.

She’d squeaked through the narrow opening when his voice stopped her again. “Oh, and Lindsay?”

She looked up. The devil himself gleamed out of his eyes. The sensual memory of last night was so strong she could feel the hardness of his body beneath her fingertips. She was helpless against him. Lord help her if he ever realized it.

“I like red. As in lingerie. Though black will do in a pinch.”

Heat rushed through her veins, so fast and so demanding that she actually considered being late to work. But that wasn’t how she was built, not when it came to her job. Things were on time and organized and done to the best of her ability or they weren’t done at all. She merely smiled and took a step backward. “Duly noted,” she replied, and scurried off before he could try to change her mind.

Chapter Four

Four days had been too long.

Matt had been on night shift, which meant he’d slept most of the day and then been at work all night. During his few waking hours Lindsay had been working at the clinic. And on Sunday afternoon when he’d thought to catch her alone, she hadn’t been home.

He’d been thinking of her far too much. When she’d shown up at his place the night after the puppy-mill incident he hadn’t intended to sleep with her. It had been completely impulsive, driven by frustration and need. Now, though, his preoccupation was entirely driven by her. He wanted her again. And waiting had only made him want her more rather than cause his fascination to wane.

By seven o’clock he figured she’d be home from work. Freshly showered and dressed in his most comfortable jeans and a grey T-shirt, he snagged the phone from the cradle and punched in her home number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, gorgeous.”

The line turned electric. He could feel it. Good.

“Matt. What do you want?”

“This is your Tuesday night booty call.”

He heard her snort on the other end, finishing with a breathy laugh. “Funny.”

“I’m not laughing. I’m dead serious. And now that I know you’re home from work, I’ll be right over.”

“You can’t! I mean…I thought we weren’t going to do this.”

He pressed the phone more firmly against his ear. “Oh, we’re going to do this. I’ll bring a bottle of wine and see you in twenty minutes.”

“Matt… Jesus.” She let out a breath. “Make it twenty-five,” she conceded, her voice husky.

Satisfaction rippled through him, along with a healthy dose of anticipation. “I’m counting down starting now…”

The phone clicked in his ear.

He detoured to the liquor store and picked up a bottle of red wine, something that wouldn’t require chilling that they could open right away. And then stopped at another shop to kill time and bought a box of dark chocolate truffles. She was bound to like those, and if he had his way he’d feed them to her in bed later.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he made his way to her house, parked his car and took a breath.

He was nervous as a schoolboy, which surprised him. He never got this way. He was always sure of himself, laid back. And she’d capitulated when he’d called, just as he’d expected. So what was different?

When she opened the door his heart caught in his throat. She was so beautiful. She’d been the other times they’d seen each other too, but those times she’d been dressed in either her lab coat and work clothes or jeans and maybe a cute top. Tonight she was wearing a simple black dress that looked like it wrapped around her middle and tied at the hip, and her hair was up. Her feet were bare too, and he saw crimson painted toenails as one foot rested on the footplate as she held open the door.

It made her look feminine and willowy and slightly intimidating. Dr. Lindsay Swan was out of his league.

“Twenty-five minutes? More like twenty-two,” she chided, stepping back so he could enter.

“I tried,” he confessed, lifting his shoulders in a what-are-you-going-to-do? way. “And it was obviously long enough. You look good enough to eat.”

Ah, there was a little of his mojo back. Her cheeks colored prettily as her gaze skittered away from his.

The door shut behind her. Matt handed over the bag with the wine and chocolate. “I thought we might relax with a glass of wine first,” he suggested.

“First?” She lifted her eyebrows as she took the bag.

“Well…you know.” And didn’t he feel himself blush, the heat rising to his cheeks.
Him
. Blushing over a woman. He cleared his throat. “You want me to open it?”

“I can do it. Come on through.”

He followed her into the house. It was as gorgeous and classic as she was. She’d kept the dark woodwork but the walls were painted a pale, sage green. The floor was the same dark wood as the trim and banister that led up the stairs. To her room? Would he be making that trip later this evening?

The kitchen was at the back of the house and large windows made it much lighter and cheerier than the hall he’d just come through. Plants sat on deep sills, making the room seem more like a sun room than a kitchen. A carpet cat tree was in the corner, a few toys at the base.

“Mr. Boots,” she explained, following the line of his gaze. “He’s a rescue and fairly shy of strangers, so you may or may not even see him. He’ll probably hide out in the basement.”

She pulled the wine out of the bag and opened a drawer to retrieve a corkscrew. “Glasses are in there.” She nodded towards a glass-fronted cupboard. He reached inside and took out two gorgeous blown-glass goblets, deep red with gold accents.

“These are nice,” he commented, putting them down on the counter.

She poured the wine and smiled. “I got them a few summers ago from this little shop in Cape Breton. If they hadn’t been so dear I would have bought a whole set.” She held up her glass. “What are we toasting, Corporal Parker?”

He met her gaze. “Schedules that finally match up,” he murmured, touching the rim of his glass to hers. He took a deep sip of the wine, tasted the ripe fruit and chocolaty notes on his tongue.

“I was starting to think you didn’t like me,” she pouted, curling her lip down in an exaggerated expression.

“I was on nights, remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

“And I came by on Sunday but you weren’t here.”

A shadow passed over her face but she erased it by pinning on an unconvincing smile. “Oh, well, I had some errands to run.”

She took another sip of wine as the air grew uncomfortable. “Do you want to go into the living room and sit?”

He thought he’d rather throw her over his shoulder, carry her upstairs and forget the wine altogether, but that was a bit caveman-ish and she was clearly skittish. “Sure.”

Her living room was, for lack of a better word, rich. Not in the expensive sense, but in the feel of it. The dark wood was here too, and a huge throw rug covered the middle of the floor. It looked like an antique, the rich navy, burgundy and brown tones faded with age. Tasselled drapes hung at the windows and the sofa and flanking armchairs had curled arms and tufted seats—not that he could name the period or style, that wasn’t his thing. But they were old and not knock offs—he understood that well enough. As was the large bookcase against one wall, the books inside protected by glass doors.

“Is this all original?”

She smiled. “Some of it is. Some I was able to purchase. I add a piece here and there, but my budget is pretty limited. Most of the money goes to upkeep rather than decoration.”

“It’s like stepping back in time.”

Her smiled widened. “Do you think so?”

He nodded. “No TV?”

She chuckled. “With just me here, I only have one and it’s upstairs in my room. I have the best duvet ever and I curl up beneath it and watch all my guilty pleasures.”

He took another drink of wine and then put his glass down on a nearby table. “I can think of a few other guilty pleasures that have nothing to do with the television,” he said. He went to her, took her glass from her fingers and put it beside his. “I think we’ve covered the polite hellos, don’t you?”

“Matt—”

“You know why I’m here.”

Her chest rose and fell as if labored. “You said booty call…”

She was right, but it sounded so crass to say he’d come for sex even if it was true. It was more than that. But how much more? He didn’t want to dig too deep for the answer to that question. “I came because I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting you. I can’t get you out of my system, Lindsay.”

“I don’t do flings,” she said weakly, and he saw panic widen her eyes as he moved closer to her.

“Ever?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“But you don’t do relationships either, do you?”