Running Free (Woodland Creek)(5)
“Can I help you?” I snap after I jerk open the door.
The man who called me a boy stands in the shadows and unease trickles through my veins. I hate strangers and so far he’s a strange one lurking around after closing time. If I have to gut his ass, I won’t even think twice about it.
He takes a step forward and the light from inside the bar washes over his perfect, olive-colored face. My eyes lock with his dark chocolate ones, which widen slightly at seeing me before he takes his leisurely time skimming his gaze down my body all the way down to my feet.
“Been playing in the dirt?” he questions with a raised brow and steps from the shadows, fully revealing himself.
My breath catches in my throat. The man towers over my short frame. He’s easily several inches over six feet tall. His black T-shirt stretches over a chest full of chiseled muscles and defined lines with his midnight black leather jacket attempting to hide the deliciousness underneath. Having not been laid in some time, my body quivers with pleasure at seeing the good-looking man. His scent is musky with a hint of soap and when he grins at me, I get a whiff of his cinnamon gum which causes my skin to grow warm.
He’s hot but I’m not interested. I do best when I stick to myself and not let my hormones take over. Since we’re closing in on a full moon in a few days, I’ve been overwhelmed with the desire to copulate. And he looks like he could use a few nibbles, especially along the cord of muscle on his neck…
He clears his throat and I jerk my gaze back to his and find myself hypnotized by his dark orbs that dance with humor. Is he a f*cking wizard or some shit? Otis says they’re smooth operators and this guy is as smooth as they come.
The man says something else but my eyes are already on a path to his mouth — full lips and dark smattering of hair shadowing his hard jaw and his cheeks have me craving to touch him. Everywhere.
“Bitch?”
His word snaps me from my visual sampling, my neck heating at his words, and I glare at him. “Excuse me?”
“Your collar — er — necklace says bitch.” His smirk weakens my knees and I attempt to add fuel to my inner rage that seems to have cooled while in his presence.
“Yeah, that’s my nickname. What do you want?” I demand, placing my hands on my hips.
He reaches forward and snatches my wrist, drawing it to him. I’m alarmed by his sudden movement and the way his touch sends curls of desire whipping through me has me at a loss for words.
“Both your hands and feet are dirty. Why?”
I blink away the shock and jerk my hand away. “Dropped my phone out back.”
He raises a smug brow and pushes past me into the bar. “I see. Why were you barefoot?”
Growling, even though it isn’t as fierce in my human form, I storm over to the sink to clean myself.
“I’m a free spirit, what can I say?” I bite out over my shoulder. “Why are you here? We’re closed.”
He walks around the bar and stands beside me at the sink, enveloping me in his delectable scent. If I were in my shifter form, I’d have probably already licked him. When I glance at him, all carnal, sexual thoughts dissipate to see that he’s holding a badge up. “I’m here on official police business, Detective Gunnar Mason. I need to ask you a few questions pertaining to the missing person, Acey Larson, Miss… ”
Police business.
Shit.
I’ve never meshed well with authority.
“Last name’s Aleen. You can call me Frankie,” I clip out as I dry my hands. “Acey didn’t show up for his shift. It’s not like him. Something’s happened to him, I know it. Now get out of this bar and go find out what it is.”
His dark eyebrow quirks up in amusement. “You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?”
Gunnar
I’ve pissed her off.
Her eyebrows are bunched together in a cute scowl and she clenches her teeth together as if she’s barely holding on to a string of vicious names she’s about to call me. I’ve been around enough hard-ass motherf*ckers — although usually men — to know when someone is attempting to scare me away.
But this chick?
She doesn’t scare me away with her little pout and fisted hands at her sides. Nah, she turns me right the f*ck on. This in and of itself shocks me.
It’s been four months since I left Chicago. And her.
My ex-wife Carla.
Having been married to the woman for nearly a decade, I’d thought we’d be together forever. I met her in college when I was just nineteen and we married the very next year. She was the love of my life. That is, until I found my captain in my bed with her. He’d suffered multiple punches in his goddamn face before Carla coaxed me away from him.
The * is lucky I didn’t kill him.
Thankfully, Chief suggested I transfer — start a new life without having to work under a man who f*cked my wife — and called in a favor to my current police chief, TJ Rickman. At the time, I was resistant but eventually made the move. Woodland Creek has been the quiet, peaceful retreat I needed to get my head back on straight. Women were off my radar — the one I loved the most was a traitor. However, seeing this dark-haired beauty before me, my dick, for the first time in months, thickens with excitement.
“Look,” I tell her with a half-grin and tug a card from my pocket, “call me if you see anything strange or hear anything. I’ll do my best to find this kid. In the meantime, try and be safe. Little women like yourself shouldn’t be answering the door to the big, bad wolf at two in the morning.”