The Watson Brothers. Lori Foster

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      “Yer an angel,” Sam said, leering at Ariel’s breast with sincere interest. He’d seen more of her tonight than he had in the entire two months she’d been hanging around the family.

      He rubbed his nose into her neck, making her lose her balance once more.

      She tried to shove him away, but he snaked one hand down her back and grabbed her ass. Oh, now that was nice. Real firm and plump. Not quite as generous as he liked, being he was a dedicated ass-man, but still nice.

      She gasped and struggled, but Sam didn’t let go. Huh-uh. No way.

      Fuller rolled his eyes. There was a limit to how much help he’d give in this particular campaign. “Here now.” He dragged Ariel behind him, out of Sam’s reach, then held Sam up with one outstretched arm. “You’re drunk, man. I hope you weren’t planning on driving home.”

      “Nope. Gonna walk.”

      “Well, you can thank the lady for being a good citizen and trying to help you.”

      Ariel stood there, her enormous eyes luminous in the dark night, her hair mussed in what Sam could only call a “just laid” way, and her makeup smudged. She smoothed her skirt with one hand while clutching her bodice with the other.

      “That’s quite all right, Officer. I did what anyone would have done under the circumstances.” She looked at Sam with malice glinting in her golden eyes. “The poor drunken fool might have gotten killed otherwise.”

      Fuller choked on a laugh. “True, true. Now don’t either of you take off, hear? I’ll need statements from the both of you.”

      Ariel nodded. “I’ll just wait over there.” She pointed one manicured finger at the broken fire escape, then walked a wide berth around Sam on her way there. He noticed she was a bit wobbly on her heels, and concern struck him. Had she gotten hurt? She’d landed on his face pretty hard. He couldn’t see her knees beneath the hem of her dress. Maybe she was bruised.

      Playing it up, Fuller took Sam’s arm and headed him in the same direction. Under his breath, he said, “Don’t molest her, okay?”

      “Don’t be stupid.”

      “You’re looking at her like she’s the Christmas goose, but I need you to fill out paperwork, not be behind bars, resting on your lazy ass.”

      Sam grinned. “She won’t be pressing any charges.” Fuller pushed him to sit next to Ariel, causing her to scramble farther over on the rough metal step. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

      She tucked her skirt in around her legs and smiled with false sweetness. “I won’t press charges. But I might break your nose.”

      Fuller threw up his hands. “Young love.”

      He was gone too quick to hear Sam’s rude snort. Ariel heard though, and she pursed her mouth, then slanted a look at Sam.

      God, he hurt all over. All he needed was a boner to finish off the night.

      Cautiously, every small movement enough to bring on a wince, Sam turned sideways and eased back against the brick wall, then sighed. “I’m too damn old for this shit.”

      Under her breath, but not under enough, Ariel muttered, “You’re in your prime.”

      Sam stared at her, incredulous. “What was that?” Had she actually complimented him even while sending him dirty looks?

      Without looking at him, she said, “Just because you’re older than your brothers doesn’t make you old, you know.”

      Sam grunted. Being six years older than Gil, his middle brother, and fourteen years older than Pete, he’d always felt old. Especially after their father had died three years ago with a heart attack.

      Sam had tried to help his family cope as much as possible. He’d handled all the funeral arrangements for his mother, supported Gil in taking over the family business, and did his best to console Pete, who’d had the hardest time with the unexpected loss.

      There was no denying that Pete had been a happy accident for their parents. Older and more settled when they had him, they’d doted on him in ways they hadn’t been able to do with Sam and Gil. By far, Pete had been the closest with their dad.

      “Does being on the downhill slide to forty make me old?”

      “Hardly.” Her voice was tinged with disgust. “And you’re only thirty-six.”

      How the hell did she know that? “And here I thought all teenagers considered anyone over thirty ancient.”

      Apparently touchy about her age, she jerked around to face him. “Sam Watson, you know good and well I’m twenty-four, not a teenager. Wasn’t that your big complaint about my friendship with Pete? That he was two years younger than me?”

      Sam stared off toward the cruiser, wishing like hell they’d hurry up. He didn’t want to sit this close to her. He didn’t want to talk about her and Pete.

      “Well?”

      His biggest complaint? There’d been so many it was tough to pick a favorite. His baby brother was too young, far too immature, and entirely too unsettled to be getting serious about any one woman.

      And Sam didn’t exactly consider Ariel old enough either. She’d at least finished a trade school and was working as a beautician. But Pete had college to finish and he needed to do that without distractions of the female variety, which Sam knew were the very worst kind.

      Worse than all that, though, Sam wanted her. It ate him up to think about Pete, who was a good kid but still a knucklehead, fumbling around in the dark with her. Sam wouldn’t fumble. Hell no. He knew exactly where he wanted to touch and taste her—not that he ever would. Nope.

      He changed the subject. “What the hell are you doing in the bar by yourself?”

      “None of your business.”

      “Yeah?” Just what he needed to clear his head: a fight with the little darling. He spoke in a growled whisper that nonetheless expressed his anger. “Well I’m making it my business seeing as you damn near blew my cover.”

      Her whisper was every bit as quiet and fierce as his. “How was I supposed to know you were working?”

      Sam eyed her. She had a death grip on her torn dress, pulling the material so tight across her breasts that he could see the outline of her nipples. It was a hot, muggy night, but her nipples stood out like diamonds as if she were freezing. Shock maybe? Or had she liked him playing grab-ass with her?

      He groaned.

      Immediately concerned, she leaned over him, her small hand on his brow, her sweet breath in his face. “Ohmigod, Sam. How bad are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

      Not unless a man could die of unfulfilled horniness. “Back off, Florence Nightingale. I’ll live.”

      At his insulting tone, she puckered up and smacked his shoulder, making him groan again. Damn fickle woman.

      She sat hunched over, СКАЧАТЬ