“What’s that about?” she asked as they started down the stairs.
“What’s what about?”
“The sound. The one you make when something amuses you but you don’t feel like sharing with the class.”
He caught her hand and pulled her against his side the instant they exited the stairwell. “You sure you want in my head, babe? You might not be able to handle what you find in there.”
She slid her arm around his waist and shot him a triumphant smirk. “I proved I can handle you by agreeing to go on this boring, no-blowjob-in-the-bathroom date, didn’t I? How much worse can it get?”
His laugh drew the attention of a small posse of would-be thugs near his car. Right now, he didn’t give a shit about them. His smart-mouthed date was the main attraction in his world.
“I was thinking about how those sexy-as-fuck boots you’re wearing are going to feel against my back while my face is buried between your legs.” He grinned at the wobble in her step that had nothing to do with the condition of the sidewalk underfoot. “If that’s not too boring for you.”
“It’ll do.”
His response got shoved to the back burner when a whistle and accompanying, “Fuckin’ hot” rose from the young men hovering near his car.
Curtis opened the passenger door for Sara, closed it behind her, then took two steps toward the group. “I’m going to assume that assessment was in reference to my car, and none of you are stupid enough to disrespect the lady that way.”
“Sure, whatever,” the closest punk said.
Inadequate as that answer was, Curtis would’ve accepted it to get on with his evening.
However, the, “Hope you got some Viagra, old man,” that followed as Curtis reached the driver’s door—no way was he accepting that.
He opened the car and leaned in. “Any of these mouthpieces out here matter to you?”
“No, but—”
“Stay in the car.” He closed the door before her pretty red lips convinced him to turn the other cheek. Some situations required a more direct resolution.
In the half-dozen strides it took to reach the group, he’d formed an assessment and plan. Five males of varying descent. Heights between five-ten and six-one. Average weight, none overly muscular or particularly thin. Approximate probable age range—seventeen to twenty-five. Three wore baggy pants or shorts with plenty of places to stash a weapon. Two were shirtless, both sporting an identical crest on the shoulder. Not local gang colors, he was well-acquainted with all of those. Just really lame matching tats.
He left a one-foot buffer between him and the pack. Slowly and methodically, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves to the elbows. Five pairs of eyes noted his ink, which covered both forearms to the wrists.
“Boys.” He cracked his knuckles. Crossed his arms over his chest and leveled each cocky young face with his stone-cold cop stare. “Anybody else with advice for the ‘old man’ can step right up.”
“Lighten up, it was a joke,” one of the guys on the farthest side of the pack said. “Besides, any guy would want extra staying power around a chick like that. Get your money’s worth that way.”
If the bigmouth in the back expected his buddies to protect him, he’d overestimated their allegiance, because when Curtis moved forward, they hopped out the way pretty damn fast.
He chest-bumped the mouthy punk and knocked him back a couple feet, a gap he then closed by immediately getting in his face. “Did you just call my girlfriend a prostitute?”
“G-girlfriend?” Up close, the guy’s acne and braces gave him away. So did his quivering bottom lip and the terror in his eyes. He couldn’t be more than twenty-one, tops. “S-sorry, I didn’t know she had an actual boyfriend. Everybody around here thought—”
“Shut up, man. You got a fucking death wish?” the obvious leader of the pack shouted.
The counsel came too late.
“Everybody thought what?” Curtis made the demand through bared teeth, glaring down at the little shit.
“Nothing. Nothing. We must’ve mistaken her for somebody else. Easy to do around here.”
That statement alone proved the shithead was lying. Fill a room with gorgeous, sexy women and Sara would still stand out. She was more than a pretty face and hot body. She had something extra, and it made her unmistakable. Unforgettable.
Curtis gave the little prick another shove. “You and your friends will not even look at her again. If she’s walking toward you, you will cross the street. If you find yourself suddenly and accidentally anywhere near her, you will freeze and stare at your goddamn feet until she is out of the area. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the guy said, his voice cracking mid-answer.
“Louder. So I know we’re crystal fucking clear.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better. Now get the hell home and change your shorts, you smell like piss.”
The guy’s cohorts laughed, ribbing him mercilessly as Curtis strode to the Mustang.
Inside the sanctity of the car, Curtis blew out a long breath. He gripped the steering wheel and squeezed it hard.
“Bonus points awarded. That was the least-boring start to a date ever.”
He didn’t look at her, didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with the stuff swirling around in his head at the moment. Those idiots thought Sara was a hooker. Why, because she dressed sexy? Or was it more than that?
His pulse throbbed against his temples. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, demanding some sort of release.
“Hey. Curtis.” Sara’s fingers coasted over his bared forearm.
He jerked his head around. Met her questioning eyes briefly, before lowering his gaze to her tits filling out the low-cut, black satin. Lower still, to her thighs, slightly parted and entirely inviting.
Punching something to relieve the tension wasn’t an option. Touching Sara was. He could get her off right here, in a matter of minutes. Hell, he could tell her to blow him. She’d do it, of that he had no doubt.
Maybe there was a reason she had no inhibitions. Fuck, he hated thinking the worst. Of her. Again. Made him almost as much of a prick as those shitty little wannabe thugs.
“Are you a stripper?” He loosened his death grip on the steering wheel. Even managed to take one hand off completely, and let it rest above his knee. Totally calm. Almost. “I’m not judging, I just want to know.”
“Is that what those asswipes said to make you go Dirty Harry on them?”
“No. They said you’re a hooker.”
“Those fucking bastard sons of—”
He grabbed her before she could get the door fully open. “You don’t go near them, got it? I gave them notice. They dare to even look at you again, you call me. If I have to school them a second time, they’re going to regret it.”
“Relax, you’re off-duty. And as hot as you look in über-alpha mode, dressed in that killer-sexy white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, I don’t need protecting.”
“I’m sure you don’t. And I’m equally sure I don’t care.”
“You don’t care what I need? Way to woo a girl, lawman.”
He hooked her by the knee and dragged her half onto his lap. Wedged between his chest and the steering wheel, she had to feel the hard-on she caused merely by existing. Hand cupping her jaw, he stole her choice to look anywhere but his face. “You’re with me—I’m going to protect you. Not because it’s a side effect of my job, or I think you can’t handle things on your own. Because I want to.”