Asking for Trouble (Line of Duty #4)(40)

Eyes scanning his face, her lips parted just slightly, telling him he’d done a poor job of hiding his inner thoughts. He didn’t care. The caveman was rearing its head, urging him to rip off his shirt and let her look her fill. Let her see who’d come to take her to bed. The protector in him demanded answers. Demanded he find out why she’d been crying. Find out what could possibly put that forlorn expression on her face, distress her to the point she felt compelled to act out this way. So unlike her usual self.

He sensed, however, that an interrogation was the last thing she needed. So doing his best to tame the caveman, he opened his arms, relieved when she simply walked into them. She stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck, stretching her body flush against his, and he held her, swaying them on the dance floor.

After a few minutes of silence between them, she spoke haltingly next to his ear. “I’m so happy for Daniel and Story, you know. So happy. I just…” Her fingers slid into his hair and his eyes shut. Brent could hear the ever-so-slight running together of her words and put her at about four drinks. Not drunk exactly, but her decisions would be influenced. He needed to remember that. “But it must be amazing, you know? Getting exactly what you always wanted. Having so much…control of your future.”

Brent frowned against her head. If anything, a girl like Hayden, money and influence coming out of her ears, got any damn thing she wanted. He focused on the second half of what she said instead. “Who’s got you feeling out of control, duchess?”

Hayden shook her head, knocking against his chin in a way he found so endearing, his throat hurt.

“Tell me so I can set them straight.”

She looked up at him then, all traces of vulnerability gone. He recognized that look. She’d worn it the night she cuffed him and slowly stripped herself of clothes, and him of his sanity. She wanted to distract him from his questions and…shit. It worked. As her attention snagged on his mouth, her body slid down low, pressing firmly into his on the way back up. He couldn’t stop himself from tilting his hips so she could feel what she’d done to him. Her fingers traced over his shoulders and down his chest, undoing the top button of his shirt, then she kissed the exposed flesh. She traced a path with her lips up his neck and over his chin, ending where their mouths met. Brent kissed her hungrily, starved for the taste of her, his inner caveman pounding his chest again as he claimed her as his own in the middle of the dance floor. When she moaned in her throat and shuddered, he reluctantly pulled away.

“I’m still pissed at you,” Hayden said, head pressed to his chest.

“Everyone’s always pissed at me. It’s just part of my charm.” He released his own unsteady breath as Hayden laughed. How he could make a joke when he felt so painfully turned-on his knees might give out at any moment, Brent had no clue. She’d needed to laugh, that’s why. It was fast becoming obvious that he’d put himself through a dozen varieties of torture to give her what she needed. When had that started? Why didn’t he want it to end?

“So you didn’t really change your mind, then? You still…?”

Brent tipped her chin up. “Hayden, look at me. I’m dancing. You think I’d dance for a girl unless I wanted her like crazy?” He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, groaning when her tongue darted out to lick him. “I guess you haven’t figured it out yet, huh? This week alone, I let you cuff me, stuff me into a suit, and inflict me with Blue-Ball Syndrome.”

Her lips quirked up. “Is that an actual medical diagnosis?”

“Yeah. It is now,” he growled. “They’re naming it after me, too. ‘I got a case of the Brents.’ People will be saying that for centuries to come.”

Hayden’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, you said ‘I let you cuff me’?”

He winked at her. When she sputtered in disbelief, he cut her off with a kiss. She sagged into him almost immediately, actually managing to knock him back a step. He caught her around the waist with his arm. “Hey, how much have you had to drink?”

…

Hayden bit her lip and looked up at Brent with mock innocence. He looked all noble and protective standing there, waiting for her answer, a concerned frown marring his forehead. It made her want to climb up his body and whisper very bad things in his ear until he cracked. She might have a few drinks buzzing through her brain, but wanting Brent naked wasn’t a product of her over-imbibing. Before she’d even set foot in the bar she’d wanted that, so she wasn’t about to let him get away with this whole honorable-policeman act. Not by a long shot.

One teeny little product of her loosened inhibitions was her sudden determination that she needed one more hot, tear-up-the-sheets night with Brent. If she agreed to consign herself to a lifetime as a trophy wife, she wanted to experience his brand of passion one more time. So she could tuck it deep into her memory bank and call on it whenever needed. The part of her brain hanging on to the cliff’s edge of sobriety warned her this was a bad decision, but she tuned it out. She needed him so bad, her body ached. Her breasts, her hands, the flesh between her thighs all begged for contact with him. He’d know what she needed, even if she herself didn’t know right then. Just knew that Brent would give it to her.

“I’ve had three drinks.”

He grunted. “More like five.”

She tried again. “How about four?”