Making It Right (Most Likely To #3)

He turned, and her heart stopped.

Good Lord, God broke the mold with this one. His goatee was trimmed, immaculately so. His lips were full, his jaw tight . . . and his eyes. Dark, almost haunting. Dangerous. He did a once-over, and when his eyes met hers, he lifted one side of his lips in a half smile. One that asked . . . who the hell are you?

She let her eyes linger, her mouth drop open the slightest amount.

She’d bet her badge he had priors. Warning bells screamed in her head as he took the first step her way.

The bartender took that moment to ask her what she wanted.

“Jameson on the rocks,” she said before turning her back to the stranger walking her way. “And a Stella.”

The bartender turned to collect her order.

He was behind her, she felt it before she turned.

Jo waited until the bartender handed her the drink before lifting her chin. “Hello,” she said, knowing he listened.

“A woman who knows how to drink. That’s rare.”

His voice was chocolate, not rough as she expected. The contrast excited her more.

“I graduated from wine coolers last week.” She turned and took in the full effect of the man. He was even bigger close up, his look of warning in sharp focus. Jo ignored the inner voice, the one that told her to walk away . . . the angel that sat on her shoulder, telling her it was a trap, needed to shut the hell up.

“Lucky me,” he said, his grin lethal.

She responded, all of her. She’d flunked chemistry in high school but knew it was hitting her upside the head now. Flirt, she told herself.

“And what are you drinking?”

The bartender set her beer down, along with a bill.

“Wine coolers.”

Jo leaned against the bar, noticed when his eyes found her breasts. She took a deep breath and finished the whiskey in one pull.

“Prove it.”

He signaled the barkeep.

Jo waited to see what he would do.

“Wine cooler.” The fact he said it with a straight face made the bartender turn as if he was asked for that every day.

The man nearly tripped as he turned back around. “Excuse me?”

Viking Man grinned, changed his order. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender, a skinny man with hair too long and a narrow face that matched, nodded. “That’s better.”

“I’ve never seen you here before,” Tall, Dark, and Dangerous said.

“Never been here before.”

“Do you plan on being here again?”

She met his eyes, eyes that she could fall into and lose herself if he was the right kind of guy. “No.”

“So you’re in DC for one night?”

“That’s about it.”

The bartender set his drinks down. Jo took a drink from her beer. The whiskey was already warming her head.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen. “Does it matter?”

His grin grew. “No, I guess it doesn’t. Saying hey you doesn’t work, however.”

“How about Anne?”

“You don’t look like an Anne.”

That was the point. “What should I call you?”

He hesitated a beat. “Rocco.”

Not his name . . . again, she’d bet her badge. “Rocco fits,” she told him.

“So I’ve been told.”

Her eyes moved to his chest, her hands itched to touch, to test his thickness.

Rocco tossed back his drink, chased it with his beer.

Her eyes lingered on his Adam’s apple, and as the beverage moved down, she dropped her gaze.

He stood perfectly still until her eyes took their time moving back to his.

He was smiling. Full-watt danger in a grin. “Like what you see?”

She looked again, really hoped he didn’t bulk up on stimulants. “I haven’t seen anything . . . yet.” The invitation was there, left open for him to take.

After reaching into his back pocket, Rocco slapped a couple of bills on the bar and grasped her hand. His lips reached the lobe of her ear. “Back out now if you’re going to.”

Instead of retreat, she reached out, grabbed a firm hold on his bicep.

He growled as he pulled her from the bar.



Rocco, for all intents and purposes, handed Jo his helmet before straddling his Harley. DC in spring was cold . . . at least at eleven o’clock at night. The diversion of discomfort would snap all concerns from Jo as he tore through the streets of DC on a mission. When he took the second, third, and fourth curve with sharp edges, Jo grasped his waist and held on. Only then did he ease into the drive. He was firm, everywhere. The thing she missed most about her life. The thing she told herself wasn’t important.

The long-term resident hotel they pulled into wasn’t a shock, but if Jo were honest, a disappointment, as Rocco turned into the lot and cut the engine.

He led her into his room, which was surprisingly clean. A single king-size bed, a dresser with an old TV, a small refrigerator, microwave, and two lamps rounded out the visual interest inside the small room. She had less than thirty seconds to study the interior before Rocco tossed the keys to his bike on the dresser and invaded her personal space.

“Can I get you a drink?”

She shook her head and licked her lips.

Rocco’s gaze swept her face. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said before disappearing behind the bathroom door. She heard the water turn on and switched her attention to the side table in the room. What would be in there? Did he have stacks of the same clothes he wore now? The desire to know more about him clashed with the desire to know nothing at all.

Jo sat on the edge of the bed to keep her hands from opening drawers and learning his secrets. There was a weapon in the room somewhere, she could smell it.

When Rocco emerged from the bathroom, his eyes fell on her and that half grin emerged once again.

“You look comfortable,” he said, his eyes lingering on her breasts.

She leaned her elbows back on the bed; let her girls reach a little higher. “I could be better.” It felt good to tease and say the things she wanted to without censure.

Rocco’s smile said he approved.

“A little thing like you should be scared.”

He approached slowly, like a predator. Only his grin gave him away.

“I can handle myself.”

He narrowed his eyebrows. “Can you?”

She had a few tricks up her sleeve to get away from a situation if she needed to. Hoped to learn a dozen more before the week of training was complete. The only thing she didn’t have with her was her weapon, but she didn’t think she needed it.

Instead of answering him, she looked at the ink on his arms. “Does that go all the way up, or have you just started?” In her experience, people that liked ink, loved ink. If they could afford it, they had more than one tattoo with the plan for more.

Rocco took her invitation to remove his shirt slowly.

Breath caught in Jo’s chest. He was gorgeous. Tight. His right arm had a band that looked like a rope, the left arm had a band that looked like barbed wire. His chest was bare, but she’d bet money his back was not.

She lifted a finger in the air and made a rolling motion.