Cuff Me (20 page)

Vin rolled on top of her, hands sliding beneath her hips as he angled her just right…

He thrust inside her with one firm, smooth stroke that had her arching off the bed.

So. Fucking. Tight.

And perfect. She was perfect.

When he was all the way buried inside her, he stayed
perfectly still, feeling her clamp around him, his breath hot and urgent against her neck.

He pulled his hips back slowly before thrusting forward again. Repeated the process again, pulling out slowly, thrusting in hard. And again. Jill picked up his rhythm immediately.

Vincent tried to keep the pace slow and deliberate, but when Jill’s legs lifted, her ankles locked around his ass, arching up to him, he lost it.

His hands held her hips, pinned her lower body to the bed as he buried himself again and again in her small, hot body.

He came harder than he ever had before, erupting with an inhuman roar as he exploded inside her.

Perfect. Fucking perfect.

His mind went blank with pleasure then, and when consciousness finally returned, he was slumped on top of her and she was moving uncomfortably beneath him.

He pulled back. “Sorry.” His voice was gruff. “Too heavy?”

“No,” she said, her own voice raspy. “It’s just… your buttons.”

Vincent glanced down and let out a little laugh as he realized that he was still completely clothed, his pants down around his knees like a high school virgin who couldn’t wait even five seconds longer.

He rolled off her, starting to pull his pants back up, but her small fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Getting dressed?”

Hers lifted right back. “Take it off, Moretti. All of it.”

The command was casual—joking, but the sentiment behind it…

“You want me to… stay?”

Goddamn, but he hated how hopeful his voice sounded.

Still, he braced himself for her to kick him out. To tell him that this had been a mistake, a onetime fling to scratch the itch…

She smiled, slow and intimate.

“Yeah. I want you to stay.”

J
ill was resting lazily on Vincent’s chest when her phone on the nightstand buzzed.

She reached for it, feeling both a flicker of guilt and amusement at the text message on her screen.

“Tom said he forgives you for almost breaking his nose.”

Vincent’s hand clamped around her wrist as he lifted the hand holding her cell phone up to his face. “Tell me you’re not texting your ex while you’re lying naked beside me.”

“Of course not,” she said, pressing her lips to his shoulder. Then she did it again, just because she could. “He’s texting me.”

Vincent made a growling noise and plucked the phone out of her hand, tossing it back on the nightstand before he rolled over her.

She ran her fingers over his shoulders, surprising herself with the greedy need to touch him. Jill wiggled beneath him suggestively, noting the unmistakable flare of heat in his eyes.

But instead of taking the hint, he stared… no, glared… down at her.

“Jill.”

She froze at the serious note in his voice, her hands falling back weakly to the bed. She had a pretty good idea what was coming, and even though it was a conversation that needed to happen, she was dreading it.

Still, his voice was gentle, and his gaze softened slightly as he looked down at her, so that helped.

Vincent propped his elbows on either side of her head. “Tell me.”

She brought her hands to rest on his forearms. “Tell you…”

He toyed with a strand of her hair. “What happened with Tom?”

Jill licked her lips. “It… it didn’t work out.”

“Obviously. But I need a bit more than that. I just slept with a woman who up until a few hours ago I thought was engaged. Hell, up until two weeks ago you
were
engaged.”

Jill slapped her hands over her eyes and groaned. “Oh my God. When you say it like that, I sound like such… such…”

“A hussy?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, even though his voice was teasing. “I feel icky. Like a man-eater who jumps from one man’s bed to the next. Although you should know, it had been awhile with—”

He laid a finger over her lips. “I don’t want to know. Not about that.”

“So what
do
you want to know?”

He looked down at her then, his expression hesitant and Jill had a pretty good idea why. Communicating with their bodies was one thing—gasps and moans and really good sex… well that was easy, in a way.

But this—the emotional stuff—was harder. Especially for a man like Vincent.

And not particularly easy for her either. She knew how people saw her. As an open, heart-on-her-sleeve kind of woman.

And she sort of was.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t every bit as afraid of heartache as other people.

Throwing her love—if it had even been that—at Tom had been easy. He’d been open and wanting to receive it. And even had he rejected it, Jill supposed she’d always known on some level that getting rejected by Tom wouldn’t crush her.

She dropped her gaze to Vincent’s Adam’s apple.

Throwing something as powerful as love at Vincent…

That was risky. Scary.

She knew that he’d never intentionally hurt her, but that didn’t change the fact that Vincent Moretti was perhaps the only man on earth who could crush her.

Jill returned her eyes to his gaze, found him watching her.

“Why didn’t you tell me? When it ended… you could have…” He swallowed nervously. “It would have meant a lot to know.”

Jill’s heart squeezed at the admission, and guilt racked through her. “I was scared.”

He frowned. “About what?”

She took a deep breath, wondering how much to tell him. She started to look away, but his palm cupped her face. Brought it around to face him. “Jill.”

“There were two parts to it,” she said slowly. “The first was about me… I wanted to be damn sure that you weren’t just a rebound. I wanted time to think before, well… this. And the second was about you. I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure if you’d only wanted what you couldn’t have.”

His gaze darkened. “Explain.”

“I’ve been right in front of you for six years,” she said softly. “Right there, this whole damn time. But it wasn’t until after I got serious—really serious—about someone else that you seemed to want me back.”

He was silent for several moments, then dipped his head with a soft oath before he rolled off of her so they were lying on their backs, side-by-side.

Vincent lifted a hand to his face, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Here’s the thing, Henley… if I tell you the truth… you’ll have no reason to believe me.”

“Try me,” she said, rolling onto her side and looking down at him.

He dropped his hand and met her eyes. “When you were gone for three months, I was… I felt…”

Vin blew out a breath, then tried again. “That day you got back from your mom’s, I was going to ask you out. On a date.”

Her jaw dropped, and he rolled over so they were face-to-face. “I swear to God, Henley, my wanting you has nothing to do with you getting engaged to Tom. It took me a while, yes. It took me far too damn long to realize that I wanted to be more than your partner, but I
did
realize it.”

She reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand. “And then I came back… engaged.”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“What about now?” she asked softly. “Do you still want to ask me on a date?”

“I do, but—”

Her heart dropped.

“I’m not a hearts-and-flowers kind of guy. I don’t… I don’t know that I can be what you need. Or want.”

“Well what can you be?” She forced her voice to stay light. To keep from pushing him too hard in a direction she wasn’t sure either of them wanted or knew how to handle.

His gaze turned warm as his hand moved forward, settling on her bare waist. “Well, for starters, I can be your partner.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked as his hand moved down slightly, resting on the curve of her hip before moving back up again. “Is that all?”

He moved closer, his mouth settling into the hollow of her throat, and she sighed. “I can also be a decent friend—beat up your fiancé when he goes to dinner with other women, things like that?”

His lips moved over her neck and she arched toward him even as she let out a little laugh. “I guess I could use a friend.”

“What about a lover?”

“Nah,” she said flippantly. “I’m good.”

Vincent’s hand moved up, covering her breast. His thumb drifted over a nipple and she moaned.

“You’re sure?”

“Mmm hmm,” she managed.

Vincent moved down her body until his mouth was even with her chest, his thumb continuing to toy with her before he let his hand fall away, so she felt only his warm breath.

“I guess you don’t want my mouth here then,” he said, moving imperceptibly closer.

Jill arched toward him, but he moved back, just out of reach. “What’s this? Changing your mind?”

“Vin,” she whined.

He looked up at her, his eyes hungry. “Thought you didn’t want a lover.”

“I lied,” she whispered as her back arched again so that her nipple brushed his lips. He rewarded her with a soft lick before he pulled back again.

“See, I don’t know that I can work with a liar, Henley. Seems to me—”

Jill shoved him onto his back, rolling on top of him. She maneuvered his big arms to his side, her hands pinning him to the bed and he let her, just for a moment, his eyes gleaming mischievously up at her.

“Ah, so you
did
change your mind.”

Jill didn’t bother responding. She was too busy moving her lips over his shoulder. His pecs. Her teeth grazed his nipple and he hissed.

“What about you,” she said, her mouth moving slowly down his torso. “Do you want a lover?”

Her hand closed around his cock as he groaned. “Ah—”

“What was that?” she asked innocently, stroking him.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes what?” she moved farther down, her lips brushing against the tip of him, relishing his guttural groan.

“Yes,” he said, his fingers tangling in her hair. “Yes, I definitely need a lover.”

She couldn’t resist the small smile of victory before her lips closed around him.

Lover was good enough.

For now.

I
t was typical that the moment one thing went right in Vincent Moretti’s life, another would go horribly wrong.

“I can’t believe they’re closing the case,” Jill said for the hundredth time around a bite of her turkey sandwich. “We were so close!”

He gave her a look as he took a drink of Coke.

“Okay, so we weren’t
close
,” she said, mouth mostly full. “But we were getting there. We always get there.”

He dragged his fry through ketchup, barely registering that the fry was cold and that he didn’t even like ketchup.

Vin threw the fry back on the plate and took a deep breath. He was trying not to be pissed. He really was.

But it was the first case that his superiors had ever pulled him from.

And the worst part was, he didn’t even blame them.

Not only had they not solved the case—they hadn’t
gotten fucking close. If you held a gun to Vin’s head and told him to name the killer—he couldn’t.

He didn’t have a fucking clue who’d killed Lenora Birch, and the lack of control made him irritable. Itchy.

Pissed.

Jill took a sip of her iced tea, only to pull it back when she realized her glass was empty. She looked around for a server, then sighed. “I miss when Maggie used to work here.”

“You’re just saying that because of the free pie,” he said.

She had a point though.

Much as he was happy that his new sister-in-law had gotten out of her dead-end job as an under-appreciated waitress at the Darby Diner, the weekday lunchtime gal who’d taken Maggie’s place had proven to be a good deal more interested in her iPhone than her customers.

Jill set her empty iced tea glass aside and reached for his Coke, taking a long sip before digging back into her sandwich. “How come you’re not more mad about this?” she asked.

“It’s diner food, Henley. Our bill’s not going to be more than twenty dollars.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not about the diner. About the case.”

He reached across the table to take her fry. It was every bit as cold and soggy as his.

“I am upset,” he muttered. “I just don’t know what ranting about it’s going to do.”

“You rant all the time.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Usually
I
rant and you sprinkle glitter on everything. But since you’re ranting on this one, I figure it’s time for a role reversal.”

“Oh, got it,” she said. “So if I’m the grumpy one today, and you’re going to take on the positive one”—she glanced around dramatically—“I see no glitter. Or even a smile.”

He forced his mouth into a farce of a smile, which coaxed a giggle from her.

Her giggle then coaxed an
actual
smile from him, and before he knew what was happening, they were staring across the table grinning at each other.

It had been like that in the week since they’d started sleeping together.

One minute they were their usual old bickering selves, and the next minute, it was, well…
happy
.

Vincent’s smile slipped a bit as the thought that had been quietly nagging him for days crept up once again.

What if this thing between him and Jill was part of the reason they hadn’t solved the case.

Technically, they separated their personal and professional life.

He didn’t cop a feel when they were on the job, much as he wanted to. They didn’t kiss in between coffee breaks, didn’t talk about
them
while they were on duty.

But if he was honest—really brutally honest—his head hadn’t been in the game since Jill had returned from Florida with that damn ring on her finger.

And now that the ring was
off
her finger—

Well let’s just say it was even harder to concentrate on the job when half the time he wanted nothing more than to toss her in the backseat and screw like teenagers.

He blew out a breath as he faced the truth looming in the back of his mind.

What if Lenora Birch’s killer was going to go free
because Vincent had spent the past two months thinking with his dick instead of his brain?

“Uh-oh,” Jill said, pushing her plate away and crossing both arms on the table. “I know that look. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“No, we don’t get to do
nothing
,” she said. “Not as partners, not as lovers.”

He glanced around. “Jesus, keep your voice down.”

She lifted her eyebrow. “First of all, there are only six customers in here right now. None are in hearing range. Second of all, why so jumpy?”

He pulled his wallet out of his pocket. “Are you done?”

“No, I want more iced tea.”

“We don’t have time for Joyce to get back from her smoke break.”

“Really?” Jill crossed her arms. “We don’t have time? Where exactly are we running off to? Last I checked, we don’t have a case—”

“Because we fucked up,” he said, standing and heading toward the door.

Jill caught up with him when they were outside, grabbing his arm and pulling him around. “Why do I feel like that was a loaded statement?”

He ran his hand through his hair. “We lost this case, Jill—we let a killer go free because we couldn’t find the clues.”

“It happens, Vin. I don’t like it any more than you do. I’m beating myself up too, but it had to happen to us sooner or later—”

“And isn’t it interesting that we got dropped from the case the very week we started screwing.”

His words were harsh. He didn’t mean them to be, they just slipped out.

She said nothing, and he reached out a hand, relieved when she didn’t step back.

If anything she looked… amused?

Jill’s lips twitched a little as she took a step closer. “Is that what this is about? You’re
actually
doing that cliché guy thing where you think your brain didn’t solve the case because it was sex-addled?”

“Maybe,” he muttered.

Jill smiled softly, her fingers briefly touching the tips of his before he let his hand drop. Before someone saw them.

“It’s not like that, Vin. Whatever was going on with us didn’t change the fact that the killer hasn’t left us a single clue.”

“Or we missed something,” he said as they walked to the car and climbed in.

“Or that,” she said. “But we have to let it go. Not only for our sanity, but because it’s an order. Another case will come up tomorrow, or the next, and—”

Both of their phones buzzed just as the police radio crackled.

Five minutes later, Jill and Vincent looked at each other and grinned.

“Well, whadya know, Henley—looks like we just got ourselves another case.”

She clicked her seat belt into the buckle. “We do indeed. Maybe your famous instinct will actually work on this one.”

“Maybe. Assuming I’m not distracted by a cute blonde with a mouth like a—”

Jill turned her head and gave him a look.

“Lady,” he finished. “A mouth like a lady.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hell if I know,” he muttered as he turned the ignition. “But it’s better than what I was going to say.”

But Jill wasn’t listening. Her phone was already up to her ear as she called in to their superiors to tell them they were on their way.

Five minutes later, they were pulling up to the curb of a mid-rise apartment building in Spanish Harlem. Jill jumped out of the car, notebook already in hand.

Vin paused a moment, taking in the swarm of cops, the yellow tape—the curious onlookers, the just-now-arriving media.

And then there was Jill.

His eyes sought and found his partner. She was wearing a simple black suit, her hair pulled back in its usual ponytail.

She’d already scooted under the caution tape, deep in conversation with one of the uniforms. Her pen was moving across the page of her notebook as she nodded along to whatever the officer was telling her.

Then she flipped her notebook shut and glanced around until she saw him. Their eyes met, and she held out her hands in a
what’s the holdup, get your ass over here, Moretti
kind of way.

Vincent couldn’t help it. He smiled.

Yes, there was a dead body inside that building, yes, he’d just had his first unsolved murder go on record, but right now, those didn’t seem to matter as much as the woman in front of him did.

Jill was his.

The only question was…

For how long?

How long until she realized that he needed her light a hell of a lot more than she needed his darkness?

“Dude, Moretti. Get a move on it,” she called. “Even you can’t solve a case by standing in the street.”

Instinct told him he didn’t have much time with her.

And since his instincts were never wrong, he fully intended to make the most of the time he did have.