Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(22)

“Stop. Stop talking.” Polly’s belly shuddered almost violently against his palm. “Jesus. I have to think. I can’t think when you’re—”

For once in his life, Austin didn’t think. He shot forward and cut Polly off with his mouth. Not kissing her, but keeping their lips interlocked. One joint breath. Two. If she needed a push, he’d give her one. “You sound like a coward.”

She slapped him across the face. The bite of her palm echoed below his belt, making his erection bulge against his fly. Goddamn. The disapproval in her expression was fleeting before it transformed into shock, but something in him had already been germinated. His cheek throbbed in time with a telltale erotic pulse.

Polly looked down at her hand and started to back away, but Austin followed. “Don’t. In this one thing, Polly, we’re not playing a game. Look what you do to me.”

She pressed a fist to her mouth, closing her eyes for a beat. Then he let her hand drop and took a deep breath. “You’ll give me anything I need?”

“Yes.”

“Show me what’s in the locked room.”





Chapter Seven


Growing up, Polly had been an indoor kid. Once she’d been introduced to computers, her fathers hadn’t been able to tear her away. Still, like every high school student in America, she’d been forced to endure physical education class. Justin O’Malley had been a grade higher than her, but forced to retake the class due to numerous suspensions. He’d fixated on her from day one, needling her with derogatory nicknames, poking her in the ribs when the instructor’s back was turned. By the middle of the semester, his treatment had gotten so bad, Polly would get physically ill in the bathroom before class started.

Common sense dictated she alert an administrator. She’d needed to. But that semester had been right on the heels of Charles Reitman divesting her fathers of their life savings. Adding to their already sky-high stress level had been out of the question. So she’d endured well past her breaking point, which had come during a game of capture the flag. He’d called her “pudding.” Polly still didn’t know why that nickname in particular caused her to see red, but it had, especially combined with him pinching her waist every time they passed on the field.

As soon as she’d made the decision to put Justin in his place, calmness had settled over her like a woolen blanket. Having been given up for adoption as a young child by a mother she couldn’t remember, her own destiny never felt within her grasp. Until that moment, standing beneath an overcast sky in ratty gym shorts and tube socks. She’d waited for the perfect opportunity, right in the middle of a down, the football on the opposite side of the field distracting the instructor. Then she’d gone up behind him, grabbed Justin’s balls in a death grip, and twisted. As he’d writhed around on the ground in pain, she’d experienced a sense of exhilaration. There’d been nothing sexual about her triumph at the time, but her show of assertion had woken something up. Feelings that multiplied as she’d gotten older.

Now, with her palm tingling from the force of the slap, with liberation pirouetting in her stomach, Polly acknowledged the truth. Her truth. She liked harnessing control. Austin’s glassy eyes and harsh breathing left no doubt he liked giving that control up to her, and months of attraction, months of trying to explain an unshakable connection, became all too easy to decipher.

And she was petrified down to her bones. Austin Shaw was the last person on earth she wanted to feel an affinity toward. She didn’t want to feel anything but resentment and loathing for him. His chosen career. Unlike her, Austin didn’t work by a code, stealing only from those who’d earned the loss by being cheats or liars. Oh no. It had taken her all of ten minutes to hack into Chicago PD’s database and read his case file. With the exception of one encrypted file to which she was still working on gaining access, she’d read his record front to back, same as she’d done for all her squad mates. Austin’s was the worst by far, in the sense that his crimes lacked a conscience. He hadn’t been a victim of shitty circumstances like Bowen, Erin, or Connor. Hadn’t been bankrupted and poor like her. He’d created his own corrupt lifestyle and lived it to the fullest.

Yet as he stood in front of her, hands curling into fists as if he wanted to reach out in her direction, she was tempted. More than tempted to explore the side of her he’d successfully goaded to life a moment ago. A moment she couldn’t snatch back. Was the chance to delve deeper into her secret desires worth working on the same side as Austin? A man who represented everything she’d spent years bringing down? For all intents and purposes, Austin was another Charles Reitman.

Wasn’t he?

There it was, a hairline fracture in her foundation. A moment ago, she’d wanted Austin to go on touching her forever, wanted to embrace the new self-awareness she sensed on the horizon, but she forced herself to step back. It was so much to take in and happening all too fast. She needed to breathe.

Polly realized her pants were still unbuttoned and quickly did them up. The jerky action caused the seam of her jeans to shift against her center, which had grown damp and needy. The gasp that fell from her lips had Austin stepping forward into her personal space. “Let. Me.”

“No.” She staved him off with a trembling hand. “I meant what I said before. I need to think. Spontaneity isn’t really my jam.”