Officer Off Limits (13 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Story stood inside the vast wonderland of color and texture, also known as Hayden’s closet, unable to properly appreciate the plethora of designer labels. Absently, she fingered the material of a gold-sequined ball gown, wondering why someone would spend that much money to be uncomfortable. She curled up on a white leather bench placed strategically along the closet’s wall, effectively ending her halfhearted hunt for a dress to borrow.

Hayden poked her head in from the bedroom, wearing underwear and half a face of makeup. “Hey now, you better get busy. We’ve only got a couple hours before the party and you’re still in yoga pants. Unless you’re trying to start a new trend, I’d go with something a smidge fancier.”

Story wrinkled her nose and stood once more. “Don’t you own a single article of clothing made out of cotton? It’s ‘the fabric of our lives,’ you know.”

“Oh, now. You’re just cranky because Daniel hasn’t come groveling at your feet like you thought he would. How long has it been now?”

“Five days,” she replied, throwing a silk scarf at Hayden for bringing up the sore subject. “Five long, nookie-free days and nights, my friend.”

“Oh, the humanity!”

Story fought a smile. “Hey, now, if I recall correctly, I left you outside Quincy’s last week with two seriously sexy, seriously
single
cops.”

“Correction. One seriously sexy, seriously single cop—nice alliteration, by the way—and one muscle-bound, potty-mouthed dickhead named Brent.”

“Noted. I shall endeavor to do better next time.” Hayden sniffed and plucked a dress off the rack, leaving Story once again to thoughts of Daniel. She’d filled her time by exploring the immense borough of Manhattan and going to visit Jack, letting him teach her the “art” of chess and catching him up on parts of her life he’d missed over the last decade.

But despite the valuable inroads she’d made with her father, nothing could stop Daniel from occupying her thoughts. So when Hayden had called her this afternoon to invite her to a cocktail party being thrown by her parents, she’d jumped at the promise of being distracted. To engage in mindless conversation and think about something,
anything
, besides him.

Dammit
, she really thought he’d have caved by now. But she hadn’t heard a peep from him since the day in the park when he’d left her panting after him on the sidewalk. Apparently, he was determined to stick to his plan to give her some space to think. If the last five days had taught her anything, it was that she
hated
space. Space and Story were incommunicado.

“So, have you actually taken the time to think about his request or have you just been moping around like a puppy with one of those giant cones on its head?”

“Moping with a giant cone, mostly. Some thinking.”

“And?”

“
And
, it’s crazy! I dated Fisher for three years and now? I feel like I barely knew him. I’ve known Daniel all of a week.” She blew out a breath. “Maybe an extra month isn’t that huge a deal in the grand scheme of things, but it feels…big. Soon and big.”

Hayden shrugged. “Felicity moved to New York for a guy who barely spoke to her during high school.”

“Oh my God. Loved that show.”

“Me, too,” she sighed. “It all went downhill when she got that ill-fated haircut.”

Story held up a hand. “But seriously, late-nineties television dramas aside, I can’t take a chance like that. Not right now. Besides, it’s possible he’s just having a crisis of conscience because he slept with the boss’s daughter.”

“Wow. Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

Eyebrows raised, she pointed a finger at Hayden. “Whoa. What was that tone?”

Hayden snapped her teeth at Story’s finger. “That was my wise, earth-mother tone. You like?”

“No. I
don’t
like. Knock it off.”

“Okay, I’m only going to say one more thing and then I’ll send the earth mother back to her hippie cave.” She made a broad gesture. “I have this huge place all to myself. There’s an extra bedroom with your name on it. We were all
kinds
of awesome as roommates before and we could be again. If you decide to extend your stay in New York, it’s all yours.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate the offer.” Story wandered across the closet, mostly to hide the sheen of tears in her eyes, and pulled a red halter dress off a rack. “I…miss him, Hay.”

“I know,” Hayden responded quietly, not even having to question her about which man she was referring to. She so obviously missed Daniel.

She held the red dress against her body for Hayden to comment, hoping she would allow the subject to drop. If they discussed it any further, she would start crying and be forced to admit just how deep her feelings actually ran for Daniel. Every day that passed without hearing from him only served to deepen them, not alleviate the void his absence created.

Her friend didn’t disappoint. “Nah. A blonde wearing red attracts the wrong attention. I have something perfect right here.” She unzipped a garment bag and pulled out an electric-blue sheath dress. “It’s loose and unrevealing on top so you’ll be comfortable. But it’s short to make up for it. You’re going to be all legs tonight.”

Story didn’t bother pretending she hadn’t fallen in love with the dress on the spot. She went toward Hayden with the intention of trying it on when something hanging on a rack caught her attention. “Is that a Mets jersey?”

Hayden glanced over. “Oh yeah, I got that at an auction. It’s too small, but the money went to charity, so…” She frowned when Story quickly began stripping off her clothes. “What’s happening here?”

Briefly, Story filled Hayden in on the wager she’d made with Daniel at the baseball game and watched the same idea register on her friend’s face. “I need you to take a picture of me with the jersey on. Use my phone.”

“I just want to say for the record that I am totally against this. You should call him and have a meaningful adult conversation to resolve your issues,” Hayden deadpanned, excitement shining behind her eyes. “That being said, you’re going to need some high heels and sexed-up hair.”

“Ooh. Sexed-up hair. Good idea,” Story enthused, stepping into a pair of black pumps. Then she flipped her hair over her head and tousled it with her fingers. Finished with her preparations, she stared across the closet at her friend. “What am I missing?”

Hayden rolled her eyes. “The fucking jersey, femme fatale.”

“Oh, right!” She grabbed the jersey off the rack, surprised at how small it looked and checked the tag. “Dude, this is a youth
small
.”

“Even better,” Hayden responded, raising Story’s phone to eye level.

Story pulled the jersey over her head, which barely fit through the hole, then shimmied until she’d gotten the garment all the way on. It barely reached her navel. She frowned at Hayden, who simply gave her a thumbs-up. What was she thinking? Was she really about to send Daniel a picture of her in underwear and a child’s shirt?
Maybe this is a bad idea…

Hayden snapped her fingers. “Hey, don’t even think about losing your nerve. This is too good. Do we need tequila? I have a bottle stashed somewhere.”

“No, no. I’m fine,” Story said unconvincingly. “Just don’t send the picture until I approve it. Deal?”

“Deal.” Hayden reached over and pressed a button on the wall. Out of nowhere, music pumped through hidden speakers into the closet. “Now move your ass. Show me what you got.” Story smiled sweetly and waved at the camera phone, making Hayden grimace. “This isn’t a yearbook photo. You’re going to have to do way better than that.”

Attempting to focus, Story thought about Daniel and the way he made her feel when they were together. Free. Unrestrained. Honest.

Once more, she ruffled her hair with her fingers, then stared right into the camera, picturing Daniel’s brown eyes glazed with lust. Vaguely, she heard the click of the camera.

“Let me see.”

Hayden looked at her sheepishly. “Oops, already sent it.”

…

Daniel stood behind the lectern trying not to glance down at his watch. The room full of uniforms in front of him blurred into a sea of navy blue.

Since Jack remained in the hospital, Daniel had been tapped to give the weekly lecture at his hostage negotiation class. Almost immediately, he’d grown sick of hearing his own voice, simply wanting to get the hell out of there.

And where’ll you go, jackass? Home to your depressingly empty apartment. Where you’ll sit and hope she calls like the previous five nights?

Every time he’d been tempted to pick up the phone to call her over the last five days, he’d climbed onto his treadmill instead, eventually losing count of how many miles he’d sprinted. Desire for her assailed him constantly, often in the most inconvenient places. Like now, in front of thirty uniformed officers. Every time Brent or Matt brought up the Mets’ historic comeback over the Padres, it made him wish he could go back to that night and fall asleep with her in his arms. Kiss her into wakefulness the next morning. Or two days later in the park, when she’d all but begged him to take her home. What had he been thinking? Walking away and leaving her there. Needing him.

Fuck it.
As soon as he got out of this four-walled prison, he was going to get her. This ridiculous stalemate, one
he’d
initiated, had gone on way too long. He missed her like crazy and it only got worse with each passing day. Going to bed each night knowing she was only a five-minute walk from his apartment had been sheer torture and he couldn’t face another night of it.

He’d foolishly thought denying them what they wanted would make her see him in a nonsexual light. Help her realize there was more to them than just unbelievable chemistry. He should have seen all along that sex with Story wasn’t him giving in to a weakness. The way it had always been his weakness before he met her. Their connection went beyond that. And he’d wasted five days realizing it.

Giving her an ultimatum had been a mistake. He’d panicked at the thought of her leaving New York and acted without thinking. Story just got out of a long-term relationship. He’d be lucky if she was ready to move on a year from now. Of course she wouldn’t be prepared to take a risk so soon, especially on someone like him. Someone who didn’t even know what a healthy, stable relationship looked like because he’d never encountered one.

She wanted a purely physical relationship with him? She could have it. He’d take whatever she offered him and be glad for it. But he couldn’t stay away from her any more. Every minute that passed made him more anxious to see her.

The class finally finished reading the assigned passage he’d distributed, forcing him out of his internal chaos. One by one, they refocused on Daniel at the front of the room. Doing his best to push thoughts of Story aside, he continued his lecture.

“We’ve spoken about the first two phases of a hostage negotiation tonight. The initial phase, usually ending in the hostage-taker’s demands. The negotiation phase, commonly referred to as the
standoff
phase, wherein we do our best do develop a relationship with the hostage-taker. Now, we’ll move on to the termination phase, where one of three outcomes is possible—”

His phone buzzed on the lectern with an incoming text message. From Story. His heart leaped in his chest. No way could he wait another hour to see what she had to say. Subtly, without pausing in his speech, he punched the view message option with his thumb.

The words died on his lips.

Story in tiny white panties and high heels, wearing a skin-tight Mets jersey short enough to reveal her taut, sun-kissed stomach. Blond hair in a tangled cloud around her face, her expression very clearly saying,
“Come and get me, big boy.”

“Class dismissed.”

No one moved.

Daniel cleared his throat, which currently felt about as tight as his uniform pants. In his current state, he wouldn’t be able to move from behind the lectern until the classroom emptied. Sweat beaded his brow as the officers exchanged confused glances with one another. Daniel couldn’t care less what they thought. His sole mission at this point was to get himself to Story’s location so he could peel off those little white panties and work out five days’ worth of frustration.

He held up his cell phone, careful to keep the screen hidden. “I’m needed at an emergency. Either Detective Brooks or I will pick this back up next week. You’re free to go.”

His words seemed to get through this time, but it felt like an eternity while each of them shuffled out of the room. He even made a show of gathering his paperwork as if he was in a hurry to leave. When the final officer exited, leaving the room empty, Daniel dialed Story’s number.

“Hi, Daniel.”

God
, how had he gone so long without hearing her say his name? His already-insistent erection swelled painfully at the husky tone of her voice. “Where are you?”

His abrupt question seemed to throw her. In the background, he heard a door clicking shut. “Hayden’s apartment. Locked in her bathroom, actually. Why?”

Thank God. She’d answered his unspoken question of who the hell had taken the picture. “You send me a picture of yourself looking like a
Playboy
pinup,
in a Mets jersey
no less, and have to ask me
why?
”

“A bet’s a bet.” A soft exhalation of breath. “I also sent it so you’d give in and call me.”

“It worked.” Daniel groaned, so unbelievably turned on he could barely form sentences. Unable to resist, he reached down and rubbed the heel of his hand against his weighty arousal. “What were you thinking of in that picture?”

“You,” she answered shakily, “and me.”

“
Good
, baby. What were we doing?”

Her breath came faster next to his ear. “I thought about the time…the time we were in the stairwell at the hospital. Only this time…” She hesitated.

“This time what?” Daniel urged. “Tell me.”

“We didn’t stop. When those people started arguing below. We kept going.”

Jesus.
Daniel couldn’t believe the lack of restraint behind her words. His girl had a thing for being bad in public and it delighted the hell out of him. He’d never been so hot and ready in his life. The need grew too urgent. Too insistent. He couldn’t wait. His fingers closed around the zipper of his fly and drew it down, causing him to grit his teeth as the pressure fell away, leaving no barrier between himself and his hand. He stroked himself, biting his bottom lip at the simultaneous agony and bliss.