Chance of a Lifetime (2 page)

The car was a sleek and deadly-looking black Trans Am. It didn’t answer what a city cop was doing way out here, though. Then he unfolded and straightened from the car and she lost the desire to wonder about anything.

Holy God.

As if she’d been going so fast the world had spun on its axis and now was going way, blissfully slow, his first few steps toward her were like the movies where the hero’s initial walk-on scene was in slow motion.

He wasn’t wearing a uniform. With her earlier thought of a sexual predator posing as a policeman, that should have alarmed her. But when dormant hormones surged to life as they did now, like a pack of wild dogs out of control, it sort of cancelled out brain cells.

His well-creased jeans moved with his hips just right, the badge flashing at her from where it was clipped to his belt. He wore a shoulder holster and his snug dark T-shirt was tucked in, capturing the sharp, authentic look of a cop, despite the casual wear. It also emphasized a broad chest, wide shoulders and flat abdomen that drew the eye back past his waist down to other things the jeans held well. He had a black baseball cap with gold PD lettering pulled down low on his brow and wore concealing sunglasses against the setting sun. His jaw line was hard and clean as creek rock, just a hint of five o’clock shadow that went with the dark close-cropped hair she could see beneath the cap. His arms. My God, she’d just dwell on those arms for days, the sinewy strength they conveyed.

If she could program this moment like her DVR, she’d pause and rewind so he could walk toward her forever. She’d worship the cable company like gods.

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Joey W. Hill

The baseball field. She remembered now. As she was headed out of town, there’d been a mixture of cop cars and vehicles with police and fire association bumper stickers.

The police and firemen ran a series of six games every year, a benefit for the children’s center. This guy was likely off duty, heading home. So why did he mind if she was doing a little careless joyriding? Was he one of those tight-assed sticklers for the rules?

He’s a cop, Stacie. They enforce laws. That’s kind of their job.

But he wasn’t on duty. The whine, even in her own head, made her wince. It just wasn’t fair.

From the way he approached the car, she knew he was doing that quick assessment police people did to ensure she wasn’t going to pose a threat. Or pull a gun from her micro-sized evening bag.

Oh
hell
. She had no license with her. She’d left it and her wallet at home because she was with John. She had a clutch purse with a few toiletries in it and that was it. The thought came to her a moment before he made that final step to the window. Tapped on the glass.

Reluctantly she turned the key and let the window roll down.

“Ma’am, were you aware you were going a hundred and thirty miles an hour?”

Holy shit. She couldn’t help it. A giggle burst from her. She clapped her hand over her mouth. Well, no wonder he’d stopped her, even if he was off duty. She might as well have sauntered past his window and waved a bag of cocaine.

When he frowned, she had a sudden, explosive urge to nibble on his firm lips. What was the matter with her? She bit back more of that inappropriate laughter. Seems all the men in her life, including this newest addition, didn’t approve of her laughing. Well…f-fuck them. In fact… Her gaze coursed over him. That would be a really good idea.

Those jeans looked like they contained something quite capable of inappropriate behavior.

“Ma’am, is something funny? Have you been drinking?”

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“No. No.” She shook her head, smothered another nearly hysterical hiccup of laughter. “I should though. I should drink
a lot
.”

His brow raised, that stern expression deepening, and oh my Lord. Her panties dampened, a shocking reaction. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let herself think about the possibility of good sex. When she and John did it, she tried not to think about what they were doing at all because that would make her realize exactly how horribly unsatisfying it was. His touch barely roused her. He knew enough to get her lubricated so they could accomplish the act. She preferred to call it that versus “wet”

because “wet” implied excitement, emotional involvement.

When he finished, he never even asked her if she had reached climax. Which she didn’t mind actually, because if he thought she expected that, he might try doing it longer. God help her.

Was this cop really masterful like this? Or was it just a trained persona, something he took off like his badge and gun at the end of the day? Did he become a man as lackluster as John, an unimaginative couch potato?

“Ma’am, I need you to get out of the car.”

The laughter faded from her mind, leaving a sense of hopeless desolation. Reality had intruded and the gorgeous cop was going to give her a ticket. Another thing to deal with, another thing she’d have to resolve with her brothers because she’d wanted one frigging moment to breathe. Something surged up in her so fast and hard it was like a bad reaction to the evening’s hors d’oeuvres and just as alarming. Much worse than vomit.

A muscle flexed in her jaw. “Officer, I…” She swallowed. “Can you go back to your car just a moment, please?”

He lifted a brow.

“I’m going to cry now. I don’t want to cry. It actually…d-doesn’t…help anything.

And…and…I’m not a crier!” She blurted it out as she felt the first tears start to well 11

Joey W. Hill

from her eyes. “I don’t…try to get out of tickets and…I d-don’t w-want…please. I’ll take the t-ticket. Just… Oh hell. Go away.”

She hit the window control. She needed a “Come back in five minutes” sign like they had at the bank. Why couldn’t she have had this one thing? Why did it have to be this way, always? What had she done wrong?

* * * * *

Jake Chance blinked as glass whirred back up, shutting him out. She turned away from him, burying her face in her hands.

Well, that was a first.

When he’d told her how fast she was going, he’d wanted to add she’d been handling the car damn well at that speed. He’d pulled up to the road right as she passed. If not for that and the fact he’d immediately pulled out behind her and turned on his siren to get her attention, she likely would have been over the crest of the next hill and out of his sight before he could react.

He’d expected a face shellacked with wealth and was surprised the pale countenance staring back at him was lightly touched with makeup, though not enough to cover shadows and worry lines she was too young to have. Her shoulder-length hair was pushed back in a simple style. The dress she wore, what there was of it, was an elegant black short thing with spaghetti straps, the kind cut to show off a delicate nape, the fine line of the shoulders, a modest but intriguing amount of bare breast. It was the type of dress that teased a man with a lot of leg.

Her change in expression had alerted him, made him draw his attention away from enjoyment of her body. Her face was too thin, and suddenly it was thinner, drawn in on itself. He knew the signs of stress. He’d had women do all sorts of things to dodge a ticket, but his gut told him that wasn’t what was happening here. The circumstances were wrong. A pretty woman all by herself in the middle of nowhere, eating the 12

Chance of a Lifetime

pavement like she was outrunning the fires of hell. Going nowhere as fast as she could.

She wasn’t trying to play him.

In fact, the look in her eyes roused a protectiveness in him, a second sense he had when he knew someone needed him. But even with that, it had been a long time since a woman had made him want to do the asinine thing he did now.

She hadn’t locked her door. Opening it, he unbuckled her seat belt, his fingers brushing her silky hip. She smelled like one of those light floral body sprays with a hint of talcum powder. Gently he took her elbow, went to one knee. Because the Porsche was so low to the ground, it was simple to turn her and find she fit perfectly against his chest.

She hardly reacted. No jump, no stiffening. She was having a full-out flood, and it was the easiest thing in the world to wrap his arms around her.

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

Stacie knew she should have been shocked, but she no longer had the energy to do what was right or proper. The arms around her felt good. Strong. Able to hold her together so she wouldn’t break. Until he’d put them around her, she hadn’t realized how fragile she felt. He smelled of sweat from the baseball game, a faint soap and aftershave smell.

“No…it’s…not. But it doesn’t matter. I still have to keep on going, and I’m s-so af-fraid I c-can’t. That I’ll l-let them d-down.”

“Sshh…sshh… Just let it out.” She had her arms folded between them, protecting herself. Pushing her head onto his shoulder, Jake tightened his hold on her and let her sob. Her words struck him oddly. Here she was, pretty as a picture and driving a Porsche, and yet her words reminded him starkly of his own job. It wasn’t okay, but you still had to keep doing it. Battered wives, homicides over old grudges, kidnappings, robberies, kids gunning each other down in the street…

She had a lot built up and he found he didn’t mind holding her through it. So often he couldn’t reach out, couldn’t help. She might be crying over something utterly 13

Joey W. Hill

shallow, like she’d run up too much credit card debt, but somehow he didn’t think so.

The shoulders quivering under his hands were even now trying to snap back to regain control, to reel it back in. He watched for the signs, ready to ease up. When she lifted her head at last to look at him, or rather to hastily wipe her eyes before he could see her, he caught her wrist. While he didn’t have a kerchief, he supposed the hem of his T-shirt would do. Pulling it loose, he brought the edge up to her face. As he did, her hand fluttered down, landed soft as a summer butterfly on his bare stomach, just above the belt holding his jeans.

Rather than jerking away, she went still. Carefully, he kept dabbing under her eyes, but he could feel every ounce of pressure from her fingers.
Christ, Chance, she’s upset
about something. Give her a break.

He was rock-hard muscle, was Stacie’s thought. She fought the irresistible urge to spread out her fingers, enjoy the flat stomach, the silken trail of hair she knew would arrow straight down toward his groin. Her thumb was on his belt. She should feel emotionally drained after such a cry. Embarrassed and ready for ice cream and female-only solitude. However, as her hand made that intimate contact, hard want pulsed between her thighs, telling her exactly what she was ready for.

Like her desire to speed in the Porsche, she wanted to ride fast and hard, as fast as she could, higher and higher. She didn’t want to have sex. She’d given up on making love. She wanted to fuck. Like she’d read about, dreamed about. She wanted to fuck this sexy, gorgeous cop with gentle hands and hard muscles, who’d been enough of a good guy to know when she needed a shoulder. Something John wouldn’t recognize if her parents dropped dead, her house burned down and she discovered she’d gained twenty pounds—all in the same day.

With his arms bent like this, his biceps swelled into nice firm curves. His hands were long-fingered and looked rough, strong. Well, lackluster and unimaginative he might be, but a couch potato he wasn’t. She didn’t care that a man might be a little soft, but right now she wanted a man the way a fantasy demanded him to be. A man who 14

Chance of a Lifetime

would spread her legs with relentless determination and sheathe himself, drowning her in pleasure. Take her over, allow her to think only about his cock and the climax he’d send screaming through her every nerve ending.

Okay, she was taking this fantasy way too far. He’d straightened to his feet and extended an open palm. He could be kind, but he was still going to do his job, make sure she wasn’t intoxicated.

Taking his hand, she put her heel to the pavement. Getting out of a Porsche in a short dress didn’t allow modesty. She hesitated as he tightened his grip on her. Insisting she was going to get out of that car.

Well, why not? The speed she’d been going, the exhilaration she’d felt at the sheer freedom of it, came surging back through her. What was she worried about?

Clasping his fingers, she let his leverage bring her to her feet. Her slender fingers and wrist looked consumed by his grip. The skirt hiked up past the lace top of her thigh highs briefly before she rose. While she couldn’t tell for sure, she thought he’d looked.

Suddenly her protective cop had the intimidating look of a pissed-off Clint Eastwood. Before she could step back, startled by the shift in his expression, his hands slid to her upper arms, holding her fast.

“Baby, who left those bruises on your neck?”

She blinked. The cop had just…he’d just used a possessive endearment, and heat rushed up through her at the way his jaw hardened, telling her he damn well expected an answer. It was like a sign. He wanted her too. Or was she having a delusion?

“Oh—no. It’s not what you think. My father has dementia. His current meds aren’t working so well, and he flies into rages. He caught me unprepared.” Would have strangled her if she hadn’t been able to use an umbrella to break his grip. She thought she’d patted on enough makeup to disguise it. “I take care of him.”

“Sounds like you need some help. Isn’t there a nurse?”

“I am a nurse.”

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Joey W. Hill

Stacie gave him the information distractedly, already not thinking about that anymore. She moistened her lips. If she acted like this
was
a fantasy, then if she made a fool of herself tomorrow she could pretend it had all been a dream, right? Unless she woke up in jail, of course.

When he removed his glasses and hooked them in his shirt collar, she saw he had flinty gray eyes to go with his dark hair streaked with brown.

She cleared her throat. “I think you were going to determine if I’d been drinking.”