Love On The Line (10 page)

             
“Will it keep in the refrigerator?” he asked, taking one of the bags per their usual routine.
Yeah, think cold. That’ll work.

             
Violet bit her lip, and shit, cold was a non-option. “Why? Aren’t you hungry?” Her forehead pulled into a delicate crease above her eyes, her confusion and concern so obvious, Noah’s gut panged in response.

              Ah, screw it. He was no good at anything other than the straight-up truth anyway. “Yeah, but you’re not cooking tonight.”

             
“But it’s my job,” she protested, the silver hoops in her ears swaying against her hair as she shook her head. “And if you’re hungry—”

             
“I’m cooking, Morgan.”

             
Her lips fell into a perfect, peach-colored
O
of surprise. “You are?”

             
Noah dipped his chin in a single nod. “It’s nothing fancy. Just spaghetti. But I thought…” He broke off with an internal curse. “Look, I’m not really good at this. I know you don’t normally eat with your clients, but I’m making dinner, and I’d really like it if you’d stay.”

             
Violet blinked, but then a smile tugged at the corners of her lush mouth. “I’d love to. Can I help?”

             
Relief snapped through his veins as he walked down the hall and into the kitchen, where a healthy column of steam rose from the stock pot on the burner. “Nope. All I have to do is make the pasta.” Not that it was a gimme, of course, but now that Violet had agreed to stay, Noah was determined to get it right. After all, he could solve even the most complex crimes. How hard could spaghetti really be?

             
He got the pasta into the stock pot and trailed a wooden spoon through the store-bought sauce in its smaller counterpart, turning the heat as low as possible so it wouldn’t splatter. Violet propped the bags on the far side of the counter, giving him plenty of space to cook.

“I’ll just leave this stuff here for tomorrow, then.” She unpacked with ease, orbiting around him in the kitchen as if it were the most natural thing on the planet, and the tension thrumming through Noah’s muscles began to unwind.

“So Jason calls you Blue,” he said, voicing the curiosity that had been tumbling around in his head for the last few days.

             
Violet laughed. “It figures you’d notice that. It’s from the kid’s poem. You know,
roses are red, violets are blue
? It started when we were little, and then the nickname just stuck.”

             
“Ah.” Noah nodded. “Do you call him anything back?”

             
“No,” she said, but her mischievous smile gave her away. “Well, not to his face, anyway.”

             
“You two have always been close,” he returned, and even though it wasn’t a question, she answered regardless.

“Yes.” Violet shook out the fabric grocery bag with a snap, folding it, then re-folding it before continuing. “I guess we’re closer than most siblings, but it’s been just me and him for the last seven years. He’s all the family I have.”

              Noah knew the story about their father—hell, everyone on the force did. Detective Jack Morgan had been gunned down in broad daylight while working a lead on a homicide. It had been one of the most brutal police crimes Brentsville had ever seen, striking fear into the most hardened cops even now, seven years later.

Realization crept into Noah’s brain, his thoughts clicking together like magnets. “That’s why you hate the job, isn’t it?”

              “Do all your conversations turn into interrogations, or am I just special?” she asked, although not with heat, and shit, he really shouldn’t have pushed.

             
“Sorry.” He stirred the sauce hard enough to send a splash over the side of the pot, where it fell into the burner with a hiss.

             
But Violet brushed her fingers over his arm, steadying his motions and sending enticing heat clear up to his shoulder. “Don’t be. I’ve been around cops my whole life. I’m used to it, and anyway, you’re not wrong. I know it’s selfish, but Jason’s all I have left of a family. I hate that he’s a cop, even though I have to respect it. I just wish…” She trailed off, dropping her hand from his forearm. “Anyway. Yes, that’s the reason.”

             
“My dad was a cop too.” The words were out before Noah realized it, but somehow, they weren’t hard to say.

             
“Really? I didn’t know that.” Violet’s eyes went wide, and Noah tapped the spoon on the side of the saucepan before bending low to get the colander out of the cupboard.

             
“Yeah. And all three of my brothers on top of it. So I hear you on being used to the Q and A thing. It’s kind of hereditary.”

             
She cracked a tiny smile, and it arrowed all the way through him. “Okay, I can barely handle one brother. You have three?” Violet pointed to the pasta pot in an unspoken
should I drain this
, and Noah stepped back to concede.

“Yup. They’re all in Chicago. Ben and Ian are both on vice, but Gabe’s kind of the black sheep of the family.”

She flipped the colander to the sink, tipping the heavy pasta pot over it with ease. “Fraud or special victims?”

Jeez, she was good. “Fraud.”

They moved together through the space, Noah putting the finishing touches on dinner and telling her about his brothers while Violet set the small table in the corner. His gut panged as he realized, too late, that he didn’t have anything to serve the spaghetti in other than the original pot. But then Violet scooped up the plates she’d set out and brought them over to the counter.

             
“I always liked the feel of serving right from the pot. It’s nice and personal, don’t you think?”

             
She smiled, not just a standard-issue polite gesture, but one of those wide-open, full-bodied stunners that made Noah want to forget about dinner and taste every inch of her instead.

             
Nice and personal had
nothing
on this.

             
“Sure,” he managed, mashing down on his inappropriate thoughts before taking the plates to fill them and ushering her back to the table. Sharing a meal with Violet felt oddly comfortable, like they’d been doing it forever, and she was as easy and open about eating as she was everything else.

             
“Nice job on dinner,” she said, looping a bite of spaghetti around the tines of her fork and taking an appreciative bite. “I’m not sure you need me anymore.”

             
Unable to help it, Noah chuckled under his breath. “I followed the directions on the box. It barely counts.”

             
“Making somebody a meal is more than the sum of its parts, Blackwell. It always counts.”

             
Her words popped deep in his chest, and he lowered his fork to the table. “I wanted to thank you for all your help. I didn’t really know how else to do it,” he said, the honesty of the emotion tasting strange on his tongue.

             
But Violet just grinned, canceling out his unease. “This is perfect. Thank you.” She took another bite of spaghetti before asking, “So let me guess. You’re the youngest, right?”

             
“Second youngest,” Noah corrected, and man, she looked cute when she tried on a scowl.

             
“Damn. I was hoping for a kindred spirit. Jason’s older than me by six minutes, but you’d think it was six years with all the older-brother stuff he pulls.”

             
He sat back in his chair with a knowing laugh. “My oldest brother
is
six years ahead of me. Trust me. It’s not pretty.”

“Really?” Violet’s blue eyes sparkled with genuine interest. “Do tell.”

The conversation fell into a steady back and forth of brotherly-love/hate stories that left them both laughing and trying to one-up each other. It lingered long after the food was gone, and finally, Violet pushed to her feet, her skirt rustling in a whispery swish as she collected Noah’s plate.

             
“Hey. I invited you to dinner. You can’t do the dishes.” He reached for the plate, but she dodged him with a graceful sidestep and headed toward the sink.

             
“Come on,” she teased. “You can’t shut me out of the kitchen completely. I’ll get the shakes.”

             
Whether it was the ease of their long conversation or the way her blouse dipped down when she moved to loosely reveal one shoulder, Noah wasn’t sure. But something in her sweetly sexy smile dared him to push his luck, and he was out of his chair in the span of a breath.

“Oh yes I can. It’s my kitchen.” He stepped in to nudge her out of the way with one hip, but he barely got the faucet on before she laughed and bumped him right back from his spot.

              “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I made half the mess.” Violet ducked his reach, squirting soap under the steady stream of water and plunging her hands into the suds.

             
Noah barked a laugh through his shock, and oh yeah. It was
on
. “I’m warning you. You are in such deep shit right now, Morgan.”

             
  “Uh-huh.” She rolled her eyes, turning fully toward the dishes. “Bring it, spaghetti boy. What are you going to do, forcibly move me?”

             
The taunt had barely left her mouth when Noah swung her around from behind, pulling her into his right side as he lifted her clear off the floor to switch their positions at the sink.

             
“Noah!” She flung her arms around his neck, soaking them both with warm water and suds before her feet touched back down. “Are you crazy? You could’ve really hurt yourself.” She brushed her soap-slick hand up his left arm, worrying crowding her features, but he wrapped her in tighter to capture her attention.

             
“I picked you up with my right arm, see? I’m fine. In fact, I haven’t felt this good in a long time.” The admission flew from his mouth without a second thought, and only then did he realize how true it was.

             
And that he was standing in his kitchen, dripping with bubbles and starving for the woman in his arms.

#

              Somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind, Violet knew that if she didn’t let go of Noah’s leanly muscled shoulders, the two of them were going to take intimate to a whole new level. But sitting with him tonight, laughing and eating a meal he’d made as a simple gesture of thanks showed her he wasn’t just a short-spoken cop. Beneath that exterior, he was a good man, and right now he was looking at her with unmistakably bad intentions.

             
So she gripped him even tighter.

“Noah.” The word collapsed into a breathy sigh as it pushed past her lips, and the feel of his chest hitching in response sent a shot of heat through her blood. Violet arched up to brush a kiss over his mouth, the bare hint of contact making her own lips tingle with want. “You’re soaked,” she whispered, running her hands over the cotton clinging to his shoulders.

“Yeah.” He dropped his forehead to hers, the warmth of his mouth tantalizingly close. “So are you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, even though she wasn’t, and Noah’s smile went as dark and seductive as his eyes.

“No you’re not. But I’m not either.”

He closed the last sliver of space between them in a hot rush, testing her bottom lip with his tongue before adding his teeth to the mix. He soothed the sweet sting of the tug with another provocative sweep, sending hard waves of pleasure through Violet’s chest. She returned the kiss measure for measure, nibbling and stroking and surrendering until Noah pulled back with a ragged exhale.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” His voice raked over her, low and full of gravel. He tipped her chin to pin her with a look that matched, but she met it with certainty.

“I’m sure. Take me to bed, Noah.”

Without hesitation, he arced against her in a firm line, fitting their bodies together while guiding her deftly across the kitchen floor. Her fingers slid to the spot where his chest met her breastbone, making quick but clumsy work of the first few buttons on his shirt. But then Noah stopped in the dusky alcove in the hallway, pressing her against the wall with a thrust that stole her breath, and she pulled at the damp fabric around his midsection with a decisive yank. Two buttons popped free to hit the floor with a delicate clatter, and his wicked smile spread all the way over her skin.

“Did you just rip my shirt open?” Not waiting to hear her response, he ground his hips to hers again, and her nipples tightened to hardened peaks as she gripped his belt loops to hold him in place.

“Yes, and I’m going to do it to the rest of your clothes too if you keep it up.”

A deep groan rumbled from his throat, vibrating over the spot where his mouth brushed her collarbone, and he edged his fingers past the already low neckline of her gauzy blouse. “That is insanely hot,” he said, holding her fast to the wall with his hips as his hands traveled down to cup her breasts.