Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(35)

Good God. When had his brilliance turned to shambles?

For once in his life, Austin didn’t think. He reached for Polly and laid her down lengthways among the rumpled comforter, attempting to situate her in a comfortable manner, no idea if his actions were strange or necessary. It just seemed to him that since he wanted her to stay and be comfortable, he should see to it. When he was satisfied that she wasn’t going to launch herself from the bed, he took his place across the pillows. Going on impulse, he reached behind her and drew his fingers up and down her spine, striving for nonchalance when she sighed with enjoyment.

“Okay,” she husked. “Just in this room.”

Austin blew out a slow breath and attempted to ease closer without her noticing. “Don’t think for a while,” he said.

She yawned. “You either.” Oh, he’d thought Polly in a skirt was his kryptonite? Sleepy, sated Polly had just taken the motherf*cking lead. “We’ll talk about everything when we wake up,” she murmured.

Austin made a sound of agreement, already knowing he wouldn’t let the conversation happen.





Chapter Eleven


Polly tried to appear her usual unruffled self as she scrolled through old emails on her department-issued phone. She saw none of what appeared on the screen, but it beat the hell out of watching the door, waiting for Austin to arrive at their scheduled squad meeting. He’d been gone when she woke up sometime in the middle of last night, disoriented and alarmed by the total darkness. Usually the screen saver from her laptop served as an adult version of a night-light, and the pitch black had catapulted her into a panic. Then she’d remembered. And her panic had been replaced with an even more unacceptable emotion. Hurt.

Austin’s postcoital vamoose had resulted in today feeling like the world’s longest walk of shame, although her rational brain told her it was ridiculous. She’d been the one holding the belt, after all.

She sat up a little straighter in the fold-up plastic chair, swallowing a gasp when her core pressed against the hard seat. Sensitive. So sensitive. It almost embarrassed her how much one fleeting memory of Austin’s treatment of her body could provoke such delicious swelling between her legs. His knowledge of the female body and how it reached the peak of pleasure should have turned her off. But alas. It did not. Recalling his rapt interest in every shiver of her body, every moan and clench, the way he’d attacked those weaknesses at the slightest show of enjoyment…nothing worked to subdue the craving for more. Again. More.

Yeah. Not even happening. She’d let him glimpse her weaknesses, begged in front of him, and even slept beside him. The ultimate show of trust. And he’d bailed, delivering a serious blow to her feminine pride. He’d even left a single teabag on his pillow, in lieu of his big, dumb, gorgeous head. A taunt? She didn’t know. Worse, even when he finally deigned to grace them with his presence at the meeting, she probably wouldn’t have a damn clue what his leaving without a word meant. Last night had been a fluke. Today, he would be hiding everything behind a smug mask once again.

The one not-so-minor detail preventing her from feeling totally played? She hadn’t been the only one to let her guard down in that hotel room. Not only his guard, his…will. He’d handed it to her on a gilded platter. Polly wasn’t so seduced by Austin that she couldn’t see his agenda. He’d gotten her into bed by utilizing what he knew. It was how he operated, whether his decisions were conscious or not—and she’d dropped her armor that night in the club long enough for him to see her desire to be in charge. As long as she was aware of his con, she wasn’t being conned. Right?

Only, the con had been absent in the hotel room. His need for atonement had shone through in his words, his actions and reactions.

Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that belt, do it.

If it pleases you.

Yes, ma’am.

Polly gulped down the remainder of her tea. What would she do now that he’d unlocked that part of her? It had only been lingering in the shadows until last night. A suspicion, not an actuality. Now a demand blazed like a comet from one end of her belly to the other, burning brighter with each trip.

“Polly,” Erin prompted from across the room. When had she gotten there? The blonde sat perched on Connor’s lap, waving out a lit match. “I ate pancakes alone this morning. What gives?” Connor grunted words meant only for Erin, making her laugh. “Hey, I might have done a run-out, but I went back and paid.”

“Only because I made you,” Connor said, battling exasperation. “And I don’t think they found it funny when you tried to pay with Monopoly money.”

“Ah, they did, too.”

Erin waved off Connor’s lecture just as Bowen and Sera entered the room, followed after a moment by Henrik. Still no Austin. Polly forced her hands to remain still in her lap, but they longed to fidget some more with her phone.

“Damn. Does the captain ever show up on time anymore?” Bowen paced in a circle, hands on hips. “I’m starting to feel a little slighted, if you want to know the truth.”

Henrik gestured toward Bowen with the paper coffee cup in his hand. “What is that on your knuckles?”

Bowen scratched the back of his neck. “Paint. What of it?”

“Nothing. I just had no idea you were an artist.”

“He is,” Sera broke in. “An amazing one.”