I push my hips down, and smile when her pupils grow larger. “And you know about the second. Remind me again why we can’t fuck?”
“You mean, apart from the fact I said no?”
I grin. “Apart from that.” I lower down and press a feathery light kiss to the corner of her lips. We’re a few shots in, and we’re about to commit a crime of passion. A peck here, a peck there… it’s all okay. “Tell me, Allyson. Because from where I sit, it seems like a really good fucking idea.”
“Because I’m your therapist, and because you’re a client currently undertaking sessions because of a court order.”
“Imagine if I never fought that dude. You and I might never have met.”
“Exactly.” Weakly, she pushes me away so I roll off her and land on my bed with a huff. “We only met because of a crime you committed. That doesn’t feel like something that was meant to be. It sounds like you did something bad, and I’m supposed to be your warden and your guide, not your nasty little fling while incarcerated.”
I push up to sit when Ally goes into my closet and starts flicking through my shirts. Her bracelet glitters from the light in the ceiling. Her hair dangles, dark and dangerous as the red tones remind me she can kill me with little more than a glare.
Settling on a tank, she pulls it from my closet with a semi-drunk “Aha!” and shrugs into it like wearing a man’s shirt four sizes too big is normal. The arm holes are so big that her bra is still exposed. The fabric is too long, so she reaches down and ties a knot in the side, effectively ruining my shirt, but fueling the next year of sex dreams and filthy fantasies.
The tank is black; I guess she’s preparing for our night of crime, but I think she forgets that her skin is white, and that tank barely covers a damn thing.
But who am I to tell her she’s wrong? What kind of self-respecting man would I be if I told her to change, and denied myself the next few crime-filled hours of seeing her in my brand?
Too bad for her – I suspect she has no clue my gym brand is plastered all across her back.
“Alright,” she turns and grumbles when I make no move to get off my bed. “It’s time to get this done. Chester has been away from home for too long.” She takes a step toward the door. “You ready?”
“Yup.” I jump up, lithe as a cat, and tug her closer until she slides under my arm with a harrumph. But her hand goes to my opposite hip. Instinctively, reflexively, and without a single complaint.
She’s already half in love. She just doesn’t realize it yet.
“Shh…”
For some reason, it seemed easy to grab a six-foot-tall llama statue and run away from a crime scene amid cackling laughter and zero concerns for who saw. But trying to return that sucker is a whole other kettle of fish.
“There’s police tape!” Ally hisses as we round the corner onto Main and get a glimpse of the front of Dixie’s shop. “Dammit, Luke! She’s got a full police investigation going on here.”
“We’re gonna dump and run.” I step up closer to Ally, rest one hand on her hip – and stretch my fingertips around to touch her stomach – and with my other hand, I caress Chester’s rump, and push him along the uneven concrete. “There are no cops up there, just an old crime scene, so we—”
My phone rings, loud and cheerful, and sends Ally jumping two feet into the air. The street is practically empty, she has no reason to freak out, but she dives for my pockets now, and touches me in ways that force my eyebrows up high with surprise.
“Shut it off. Shut it off!” she panics and fumbles the phone out of my front pocket. She turns the device over for just a moment, scrambles to hit the silence button, but the name on the front brings me up short.
Frowning, I snatch the phone and bring it to my ear. “Sophia?”
“Hey there, Devil. You doin’ something illegal right now?”
“Who the hell is Sophia?” Ally snaps. “Are you seriously taking another woman’s call right now?”
“She likes you,” Soph singsongs. “There’s absolutely no reason a smart, educated woman would be out in the dark with you right now unless she liked you.”
“She gets a little possessive when she’s drunk or tired. What’s up?”
“I see you, fool. Why are you putting the llama back?”
I look around – up, down, and across the street in search of the cameras Sophia Solomon of Checkmate Security has illegally installed all through this town. “Why do the cops even need to investigate crimes anymore? If you’ve got this town covered, why don’t they just come to you and ask for footage?”
“You mean apart from the fact very few know about my system?”
“Yeah,” I snort and crowd Ally against the llama. Our legs twine, and her breath tastes of something delicious I’d like to devour. “Apart from that.”
“Cops need a warrant to take my stuff. No warrant, no love.”
“But you love the cops. You literally eat dinner with them at least once a week.”
“First of all, I don’t love the cops. I barely tolerate cops in general. It’s just lucky that I like these few, what with my sister-in-law being related to them. And second, that thing I said about warrants. If I happen to catch a crime that offends me, I’ll make a recording, add a label, drop it into the post, and make sure our local boys and girls in blue get it. That way, no warrant is needed. Anonymous tips are perfectly acceptable. If, however, the crime I catch is that of an idiot, and the woman he wants to bang, stealing something hilarious, I stop recording, and instead, grab a bowl of popcorn. If the criminal is extra lucky, I might call him while he’s on the job, and ask if he knows what he’s doing.”
“I think we’re okay over here.” I smile when Ally’s patience wears dangerously thin.
Her body vibrates with rage at being ignored. I’m talking to another woman, and she’s pissed about it because I won’t explain myself.
But really, how does one explain Sophia Solomon and her illegal ways in this town?
“But my accomplice ain’t happy.”
“She looks cute in your shirt.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” I bring my left hand down and stroke the inch of bare stomach where the knot in the shirt pulls the fabric up. “Soph, can I ask you for a little relationship advice?”
Ally growls. Like a pissed-off mongrel dog, she bares her teeth and snarls.
Soph merely laughs. “Sure thing, handsome. Though I’m not sure I’m an expert in the area. I’m married to Jay Bishop, and he’s just… well, I don’t even know what it is we have. Is it a relationship, or is it a hostage situation?”
“Well…” I hesitate. “Who’s the hostage? You or him?”
“Ya know, I don’t actually know. Perhaps our daughters. But he and I like each other, we hang out, and the sex is phenomenal, so I’ll probably keep him for now.”
“And there you have it. So if I’m seeing this chick, and I think she’s pretty fucking phenomenal in every way, how do I get her to like me back?”
Instead of growling, Ally’s eyes now search mine.