Protecting What's Mine(71)

There were several emotions flickering in rotation on that lovely face. Most of them varying shades of annoyance.

“I’m concerned that there’s something wrong with you that goes far beyond my medical expertise,” she told him finally.

“Full disclosure. I fell on my face jumping that stupid fucking fence this morning. Landed in a shrub.” He stroked a hand over the scrape on his jaw. “Felt like I needed to solve the problem with a chainsaw.”

Mack laughed.





33





The man was not lying about his bed.

Nor his shower.

She’d helped herself to the latter last night after two athletic rounds of very satisfying sex. They’d forgotten to fight. But she’d beat him in number of orgasms and considered it a win.

As for the bed, it was a big, beautiful dream. The king mattress took up most of the space in the loft. Soft enough to gently hug any sore body parts but firm enough that she didn’t feel like she was being swallowed by a cloud.

The sheets were good quality and clean. And there were pillows. Many, many pillows. They were a decadence she’d forgotten about in her years of deployments or bunking in tiny air ambulance lounges. But she remembered now. Pressing her face into the one Linc’s head had vacated, she sighed.

Spending the night wasn’t her plan. But the man singing Beyoncé in the shower had proven to be far more convincing than she’d given him credit for.

Mack stretched as the rising sun lightened the room.

The room was spartan, which her orderly sensibilities appreciated. There was a non-descript dresser on the wall facing the bed and a pair of matching nightstands. Two baskets of clean, folded laundry were stacked in the corner.

She helped herself to a BFD hooded sweatshirt and tiptoed downstairs so as not to disturb the amusing rendition of “Irreplaceable.”

The concrete floors were chilly under her bare feet. She found a Keurig on the counter and was pleasantly surprised to find a box of green tea K-cups sitting next to it. There was also a mug that seemed suspiciously new.

World’s Okayest Trauma Doctor.

She snorted and powered up the coffee maker.

While she waited for it to warm up, she snooped. The kitchen was barely bigger than her own. One wall of cabinets and countertop. Simple gray cabinets. White counter. She opened the cabinet next to the stove.

Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one to snoop. An unopened container of her preferred protein powder sat on the shelf next to Linc’s bulk tub of manly firefighter muscle producing stuff. She found acceptable smoothie ingredients in the fridge and freezer and went to work on making a double.

By the time Linc came downstairs, dressed in his BFD polo and cargo pants and now whistling what sounded like a Hall and Oates ballad, she had two protein smoothies ready to go.

He was unfairly gorgeous. Sexy. Cute. Looking at Chief Reed was rapidly becoming a favored pastime.

“I like this,” he said, spinning his cap around backward so he could kiss her unimpeded.

“What? The little woman barefoot in the kitchen?” she teased when she drew back. Surprised that her body could get that revved that fast from a little morning peck.

He pinched her bare ass under the sweatshirt.

“Smartass. You wearing nothing but my sweatshirt with your hair all messed up and your eyes all dreamy.”

“Shut up. They are not all dreamy.”

“Wish I could stay and prove you wrong,” he said, picking up the smoothie and giving it a testing taste. “Mmm. A hot doctor in my sweatshirt and a healthy breakfast. I might just save all the lives today.”

“You better.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, a mechanical machination of cogs and gears. “You’re heading out early.”

“Gotta pick up Sunshine from my sister’s. Bec’s not a morning person on her days off,” he grinned.

“I can pick her up,” she offered. She’d be home most of the day anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to have some fluffy company.

Linc’s face lightened.

“Don’t read anything into it,” she said defensively. “I like your dog. I’m off today. I can pick her up at a reasonable hour. This is not a marriage proposal.”

He glanced down at his watch and then back up at her with a wicked grin. “That saves me fifteen minutes that I could use to do something else.”

“Like what?” she asked with suspicion.

He slid down her body to kneel on the floor in front of her.

“Oh. That,” she said breathlessly.

Those big, calloused palms slid up the outside of her thighs until they caught the hem of the sweatshirt. The soft material bunched as he shoved it to her waist.

Stepping her feet wider, Mack complimented herself on being so accommodating and respectful of Linc’s truly excellent morning routine.

“I dreamed about fucking you with my tongue last night,” he said, his breath hot on her bare skin.

She watched in fascination as he pressed his mouth to the apex of her thighs. Blue eyes on her as he did so. The whimper clawed its way free from her throat when his tongue, that goddamn talented tongue, darted out and slipped into her cleft.

“I can’t get enough of your flavor.” As if to demonstrate, he sank two fingers into her. She spread wider for him and watched as he pulled out and then sucked them into his mouth. Her knees quaked, and he took notice.