Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)

Not bad. Back in Brooklyn, he’d split time between a run-down one bedroom and his mother’s dilapidated house in the Bronx when she felt too sick to be alone. He’d never lived in this much sunlight. It streamed in from several windows, even a skylight located just above the eat-in kitchen. The furniture they’d provided was functional, which was all he needed. Nothing flashy, just four white walls and a place to lay his head. Each bedroom was about the same size, so he took the one with a view of the street. That way, he could see anyone coming or going.

On cue, he saw Erin and Polly walking up the sidewalk. The giant cup of coffee in Polly’s hand explained how he’d beaten them to the building. Erin stooped down and picked up a short fallen tree branch and lit the end on fire with a lighter produced from her pocket, holding it up like an Olympic torch and jogging in a circle. Without flinching, Polly reached over and doused the flame with coffee.

Connor shook his head. Jesus, how had he forgotten in the space of an hour the effect that Erin had on him? She was a hundred yards away and yet his body reacted like she was naked and straddling him.

Fuck. He shouldn’t have thought of that.

Five stories down, Erin caught sight of him standing in the window and blew him a kiss.

Jesus. She’d be living right across the hall from him. Maybe he should have taken a page from Austin’s book and looked for other accommodations. How would he concentrate with her so close? He’d made only the barest contact with her body and still he knew what she’d feel like. All flexible angles and smooth, supple skin. He’d seen right where he wanted to be that afternoon. Just beneath that patch of denim. He wanted to shove her legs open and bite her there. Make her sorry she ever flashed her sweet spot at him. Make her grateful she had. Everything in between.

Connor stepped away from the window, wishing he weren’t the kind of man who hated the idea of two women carrying their own suitcases up the stairs. If he weren’t, he’d step into the shower and jerk his cock to the fantasy he’d been harboring since leaving the station. Erin on her hands and knees on the conference room table once again. Only this time, she’d be facing the other direction as he fucked her silly from behind. He’d never heard her speak in anything but that throaty purr, but her satisfied screams somehow already rang in his head.

Did it make him sick? He’d never been ashamed of his preference for rough sex before, but Erin had already shown signs of fear from a simple touch. He couldn’t even imagine her reaction if she could see the images his mind refused to stop projecting. Why had she inspired this restless urgency in him? The need had always been there, but never so demanding. So necessary.

With a curse, he stomped out of the apartment and down the stairs to help Erin and Polly with their luggage. They sat in the tiny foyer outfitted with mailboxes, perched on their suitcases and drinking coffee. They weren’t talking, Polly looking deep in thought while Erin tried to pick a mailbox lock with her fingernail.

She brightened when she saw him. “Baby, what took you so long?” Her elbow found Polly’s ribs, unseating her. “Told you he’d come down.”

“Yes, our fearless number two in command.” Polly smiled politely. “I’ve heard good things, but nothing directly from you. I don’t think you spoke once during the meeting.”

Connor picked up a suitcase in each hand. “Had nothing to add.”

“No?” She followed behind him. “You didn’t even feel the need to point out he’s turned us into a parody of the Mod Squad? I certainly did.”

Actually, he had noticed. “As long as we’re not required to wear bell bottoms.”

Polly laughed, but it was such a girlish sound compared to her no-nonsense demeanor, he looked back in surprise. Polly didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but behind her Erin had a hand smacked over her mouth to hold in her own laughter.

“What about Derek?” Polly asked. “He’s wearing a wedding ring and I’ll admit he’s quite attractive, but I can’t imagine him with a wife. Seems like he’s already married to his job.”

Connor had zero desire to gossip about the captain’s marital status, so he breathed a sigh of relief when Erin piped up. “We should invite her over for empanadas and find out.”

“That’s a very specific plan,” Polly commented. “But unnecessary. I’d rather hack into her financial records.”

The bells on Erin’s boots tinkled. “More empanadas for me.”

He turned on the landing and went up the final flight of stairs, setting both suitcases down in front of their door. “Check the locks when you go inside and make sure they’re working. Windows and doors. If they’re broken, let me know.”

Erin pulled a bobby pin out of her pocket and inserted it into the lock. Two twists and one jiggle later and the door swung open. “This one is decent.”

Polly dangled a key. “Next time, we could use this.”