Suddenly One Summer (FBI/US Attorney #6)(59)

She chuckled. “Just throw it away. I’ll split the rest of my pizza with you.” As he jogged over to a garbage can to get rid of the hot dog, she couldn’t help but think about the intriguing comment he’d dropped in there.

If it were that easy, it probably would’ve happened already.

“So why isn’t it easy for you?” She passed him her pizza when they were walking again. “Relationships, I mean.”

He shrugged. “I already told you why I’m single.”

“Ah, yes. I heard the laundry list of thirtysomething male commitment angst. But I think there’s more to it.”

“Hmm. Do you now?” He handed back the pizza.

She took a bite, saying nothing further. Naturally, she was curious. She’d slept with him, she was working with him on a case, and, oddly enough, they were sort of becoming friends. But if this was something he didn’t want to talk about, she wouldn’t pry.

She, of all people, could respect someone’s need to keep certain things private.

“For the record, there are some very valid reasons on that laundry list of male commitment angst.” He paused. “But it’s also been theorized, by some, that my ‘intimacy’ issues have something to do with growing up with an alcoholic parent.”

As someone who knew all about having a complicated relationship with a parent, she treaded lightly with her next question. “And what do you think?”

“I think . . . that we need funnel cake.” He slowed to a stop in front of a tent with a yellow-striped awning.

Apparently, they were changing the subject now.

Fair enough.

She smiled. “Funnel cake, it is.”

* * *

AFTER SPLITTING A plate-sized helping of sugarcoated fried dough, they bought a couple of beers and walked to the Petrillo Music Shell, the outdoor amphitheater in Grant Park. A folk-rock band was playing, so they took advantage of the nice evening and sat on the grass to listen.

At some point around the fourth song, Ford looked over and held her gaze, then reached out and gently tucked a lock of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear.

Victoria wasn’t naïve; she knew exactly what he was doing. The heated looks, the teasing, the playful touches here and there were all part of the dance—a fun summer fling between two people who were simply enjoying the moment.

So she leaned in and kissed him.

It was a slow, languid kiss, her lips moving over his as one of her hands rested on his thigh. He cupped the back of her neck, gently parting her mouth with his own. They were in a public place, so there was only so far the kiss could go, and perhaps that made it even more exciting. Because when his tongue brushed against hers in a barely there tease—she felt a zip of heat go straight to her core.

She pulled back, feeling flushed. “I think we should go.”

His eyes were as smoky as his voice. “I think so, too.”

Twenty-five minutes later, he had her pinned against the inside of his front door, both of her hands trapped in one of his as he kissed her neck and slid his free hand underneath her dress.

“I need my hands free,” she murmured, completely turned on by the feel of his lips and hands on her.

His voice was low and sinful in her ear. “I like having you at my mercy.”

“You’ll like the things I can do with my hands even more.”

Just like that, he released her. “All right. Show me.”

Her lips curved, she tugged his shirt over his head, dropped it to the floor, and smoothed her hands over his chest.

So beautiful.

Then her fingers skimmed down to the fly of his jeans. She held his gaze, watching as heat flashed in his eyes when she undid the button. Slowly, she slid the zipper down, her fingers brushing against the hard length of his erection.

She got down on her knees.

“Victoria.” His voice was low and guttural.

She slid his jeans and boxer briefs past his hips, wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, and took him into her mouth.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good,” he groaned, flattening one hand against the front door.

After a teasing lick, she looked up to meet his gaze. “I’ve noticed you like to talk during sex, Mr. Dixon. Just remember, the soundproofing is terrible in this place.”

He curled his fingers tightly into her hair, his eyes blazing down into hers. “I’m going to make you pay for this, you know.”

She smiled wickedly.

Oh, she was counting on it.

Twenty-one

VICTORIA SPENT MOST of Monday morning in a settlement conference, working out a custody schedule for the divorcing couple’s three children. It was hardly a pleasant meeting—both parties got particularly emotional when dividing up the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays—but for the sake of their kids, everyone at least remained generally civil to one another.

In her book, that was a major victory.

When she got back to her office, Will handed her a stack of messages. “The usual suspects. Oh, and Ford Dixon called. He said he tried your cell first.”

Interesting. She wasn’t expecting him to call. “I had my phone on mute during the settlement conference.”

“And how is our intrepid, Adonic neighbor these days?” Will asked cheekily.

Not bothering to dignify the comment, she simply gave him a look and headed into her office. She shut her door for privacy and flipped through the messages to make sure none of them were urgent.