Love On The Line (8 page)

“You never said anything either.”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“And you’re my partner’s sister.”

Okay, she had to give him that one. But still… “I’m also twenty-nine. As much as I love my brother, he’d better be able to cope with me kissing somebody.”

“Even me?” Noah’s stare went from gunmetal to glittering, and she dropped the bag of peas to the counter in a heap.

Violet swallowed, but her throat made her earn it. “Even you.”

Oh God, the heat of his body so close to hers in the tiny kitchen was driving her crazy. Desperate for a distraction, she whipped a spoon from the countertop, doling a scoop of dough into the stock pot with a less than graceful plop.

As if sensing her need for space, Noah angled himself a half-step back, lowering his gaze to her hands again. “You just put the dough in there uncooked?”

“What? Oh.” The sight of the lazily bubbling stew in the stockpot calmed her, and she nodded. “Yes. The broth is hot enough to cook the dumplings, even at a simmer, see?” She pointed to the lone dumpling bobbing through the creamy, golden-brown broth, and the motions of having food in her hands smoothed over the rough edge of her nerves. She finished the job with growing ease, setting the empty bowl in the sink with a soft clank.

             
“Did you really think I forgot kissing you?” Noah fit the lid over the pot on the stove before tipping his head to look at her, and the question was so point-blank that she answered without thinking.

             
“Yeah. I thought it was too much champagne and impulse.” Violet’s cheeks burned, but the tingle blasted into all-out heat when Noah wrapped his fingers around her forearm and turned her body toward his.

“It wasn’t.”

#

Noah’s pulse boomeranged through his veins, but he hooked a finger under Violet’s chin anyway. Everything about her was just so wide-open and honest and pure, from the way she glided through the kitchen to the cadence of her voice as she spoke, and even though he knew it was crazy, Noah wanted her all the way down to his bones.

“Why did you kiss me, then?” she asked, and her husky whisper did nothing to stop him from closing the last arc of space between their bodies.

“For the same reason I’m kissing you now.”

He brushed his lips over hers, just enough to catch the soft intake of her breath, and oh hell, how could something so wrong feel so fucking good? She tasted as sensual and tropical as she smelled, all suntan oil and sweet skin, and he wanted nothing more than to sample the rest of her, starting at the tawny-colored crown of her head and working all the way down.

Noah coaxed her mouth open just enough to stroke his tongue across the lush curve of her lower lip, and Violet arched up, angling even closer as she fit herself against the unencumbered side of his body. She swept her tongue over his to deepen the kiss, shredding his control with every pass. Violet’s soft mouth yielded to his harder kisses, returning them with enough intensity to make his lips sing and his cock ache with want.

He wrapped his free arm around her lower back, the heat of the skin beneath her thin red sweater sending a bolt of greedy need all the way through him as he swung her around and grounded her to the wall by the kitchen’s entryway.

“Christ, you feel so good.” Noah’s affirmation was half-whisper, half-growl, and the hazy sigh Violet gave in response turned his need into a full-on emergency. She lifted to her toes to tip her hips to his with suggestive friction, gripping his uninjured shoulder with tight fingers before setting her mouth right next to his ear.

“Then don’t stop.”

Noah’s hand shot upward to pull her closer still, cupping her neck as he dipped to kiss the curve of her jaw. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Why not?” Violet slid her hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, and his brain completely shorted out, save one base thought.

“Because now I’m not stopping.”

He returned to her mouth, need pumping through him in a steady wave as he kissed her hard enough to leave them both gasping. Her fingers moved deftly over the bare skin of his lower back, and yeah, they needed to take this from the kitchen to the bedroom. He wanted his hands on her, and he wanted them on her
now
, sling or no sling.

Noah scooped his arm around Violet’s body, maneuvering them from the kitchen toward his bedroom in a hot tangle of arms and legs and other body parts he couldn’t think about and still walk a straight line. He nearly stumbled when she traced the edge of his ear with a feather-light flick of her tongue, and when she bit down lightly on his earlobe, the hot swirl of pleasure-pain tore a groan from his chest.

“Woman, you are killing me,” he said on a rasp, and okay, maybe they weren’t going to make it all the way to his bedroom. Noah slanted his mouth back over hers even though they’d stopped halfway between the living room and foyer. Every part of him screamed to be inside her, and he reached down low for the edge of her sweater, desperate for the feel of her skin on his.

A loud, purposeful knock on the front door froze him in place with his fist over the fabric.

“Hey, dude, it’s me. I brought you all four
Bloodsport
movies. Open up!” Jason’s voice filtered past the front door, and he and Violet flew apart like teenagers at a party raid.

No way. This wasn’t happening. He had
not
just gotten cock-blocked by his best friend and partner, AKA the only living relative of the woman he’d very nearly stripped naked in his front hallway.

“Oh my God.” Violet’s hands flew to her kiss-swollen mouth, but there was no denying the flush that covered the rest of her.

“Violet,” Noah said, the word a steady whisper, but she cut him off with a curt nod, like she was shaking herself to awareness.

“You need to answer the door,” she whispered back. “If you don’t, he’ll just think something’s wrong and kick it in.”

Damn. She had a point. And damn again. Jason was going to murder him, and rightfully so. “Okay, but—”

“No buts, Noah. Please, just answer the door.” Her wide eyes dropped to his bandaged arm, still caught up in the sling, and she took a backward step toward the kitchen. “It’s for the best.”

The words hit Noah in the sternum with an icy pang, and he snapped back to peg her with a stare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re not just Jason’s partner, Noah. You’re a cop. I can’t…” She stopped for a deep breath, shifting her weight from side to side. “We shouldn’t have done this. I’m sorry.”

A hot flare of emotion banked through his gut, tempting him to call her out, consequences be damned. But then another knock on the door, followed by Jason’s worry-tinged voice, slammed the truth into place.

Emotion wasn’t his thing, and Violet was right. Jason was his partner.

And first and foremost, Noah was a cop. He had no business breaking the rules.

CHAPTER SEVEN

              Noah checked down every last strain of emotion before palming the doorknob and hoping like hell his partner wouldn’t see right through him.

             
“Hey! I was beginning to think your leg was busted rather than your arm. Everything okay?” Jason hit him with an up-and-down assessment, and even though it lasted no more than a second, Noah didn’t doubt its level of accuracy.

             
“Yeah. I was, uh, in the kitchen.” While his ability to select the part of the truth that suited his purpose was an asset in the interrogation room, right now it made Noah feel like a total dick. But it wasn’t a blazing lie, and anyway, if he didn’t play it absolutely cool, Jason was going to know something was up.

             
And wasn’t that ironic, because Violet had totally shut him down.

             
“Oh, hell.” Jason groaned, but a smile tugged at his mouth. “I probably should’ve warned you Violet might make you help. She’s weird like that when it comes to food.”

             
Mercifully, Noah’s answer was cut short by the sound of a feminine voice being cleared from the other side of the room. “You
do
know I can hear you, right?”

             
“Hey, Blue. I didn’t know you were standing there.” The exaggerated waggle of Jason’s brows said otherwise, but intentional or not, at least Noah was off the scrutiny hot seat.

             
Violet’s eyes flicked to the door, then back to her brother, so fast Noah almost missed it. “That’s because I’m not.”

             
He realized, more belatedly than he should have, that she’d put on her jacket and gathered her things in what had to be record time, and dammit, why did the thought of it make him feel like he’d done rapid fire shots of bottom-shelf bourbon?

             
“Funny,” Jason said, and thank God he seemed oblivious to Noah’s unease. “You don’t look invisible.”

             
“Ah, but I will in a minute.” Violet dodged Noah’s glance, and as stupid as it was, it bugged the hell out of him. Keeping her eyes firmly planted on Jason, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready, and there’s plenty for two. Think you can help me out and do the dishes? I’m cutting it close to get to Tessa’s, and she’s a pit bull about punctuality.”

             
“Okay, sure.” Jason took a step back to let her pass. “I’ll see you for lunch on Wednesday, yeah?”

             
Her softly-soled boots shushed over the floorboards as she fidgeted, but her bright smile and dash for the door covered the move right up.

             
“Absolutely. Have a good night.”

And then she was gone.

#

             
After three hours of cinematic asskickery, two bowls of the best chicken and dumplings ever to pass his lips, and one failed attempt to relax after another, Noah had to concede defeat. His arm was quickly eclipsing his pain threshold, and between yesterday’s memory teaser and tonight’s debacle with Violet, his brain was just as knotted up. He hadn’t mentioned the memory thing to Jason, mostly because he knew Lieutenant Martin wouldn’t let him work the case, even peripherally, until Noah came up with more than one sketchy image.

             
So until he could remember every detail, he’d just have to try harder. Not that he’d been sitting around playing Tiddlywinks. After all, he’d spent hours with Violet today, just waiting for another memory, or even better, the whole lot of them, to come crashing back. But instead of unlocking his temporarily buried recollection of events, they’d ended up wrapped around each other like pretzels, four seconds from detonation when her brother knocked on the door.

             
Christ, he could make a living on being frustrated for how good he was at it right now.

             
Noah padded into his dimly lit kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, setting it on the counter before reaching for the Ibuprofen. He popped the cap on both, knocking back a bit of each along with his aggravation. He’d learned the stubborn way that taking even low-level pain meds on an empty stomach was a bad plan, so he flipped the cupboard open for a quick scan. One perfect, sunshine-yellow square of cornbread remained from last night’s meal, and hell yeah, that would do the trick. Funny, Noah hadn’t realized it until yesterday, but he hadn’t eaten homemade cornbread in ages, probably since he was a kid.

             
His stomach let out an anticipatory rumble as he leaned back against the counter, taking a huge bite. Buttery and honey-sweet, the bread melted on his tongue, just light enough to be crumbly but still dense enough to pack that cakelike punch. His mom used to make cornbread like this, right from scratch, and you’d better be prepared to throw some serious elbows if you wanted seconds.

Or take them. Man, he’d gotten his first black eye over his mother’s cornbread, an errant shot from his brother Ben’s overly enthusiastic jockeying. Their mother had punished Ben the best way she knew how, too. Noah had gotten all the seconds.

Noah’s laugh sounded off through the quiet kitchen, and he took the last bite, the tension in his shoulders sliding free. Next time he talked to his brother, he’d have to give him a hard time over that. Maybe he could even—

The kitchen disappeared before he could even complete the thought, replaced by the laser-cut image of a door. Years of use and neglect had chipped away at its surface, taking it from bright red to the patchy, faded-out color of old bricks. Jason stood next to him, calm as always as he scanned their surroundings, head on a fully-ingrained swivel. The broken lock— kicked in, from the look of it— gave way to a musty, graffiti-streaked vestibule, and a warning twitched, low and hard in Noah’s gut. A row of metal mailboxes lined the wall, painted over enough times to make them thick and gritty, but the names were indistinct, too jumbled to read…

He landed back in his kitchen on a gasping exhale, and as hard as he strained to dial up what had happened after that, all Noah got was static.