Author: Jill Shalvis

But she wasn’t going down quietly. Nope, not this time. With her free hand, she scooped up a fingerful of the soft clay on the table and streaked it across his chest.

He stared at her, easily catching her other hand as well. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“You said you like to keep things real, but you don’t,” she said. “You wear your cynicism better than you do your badge. I get that you do it to keep your heart protected from whatever’s going on, but what’s going on is that we’re falling for each other.”

She couldn’t blame him for staring at her like she’d just announced she had two heads. She hadn’t meant to let that slip, but it was out there now and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, take it back.

“Ali,” he said quietly. “I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah, you told me.” She was tired of his calm steadiness. Did he ever lose it? Why wasn’t he losing it like she was? He was still holding her, and instead of trying to pull away, she stepped into him. Her sole intent was to cover him with more clay until she felt better, a plan that utterly backfired because it put her up against him.

Which she liked way too much, and which of course was the problem. “Yes,” she said, “you told me. You told me plenty. I guess I don’t listen very well. It’s a Winters trait, you know. Denial. And I’m damn good at it.”

“I don’t want to ever hurt you, Ali.”

“You’re hurting me now.”

He let out a long breath, released her hands, and then made the mistake of closing his eyes.

Ali slapped some more clay on his chest, with both hands this time, and turned back for more clay.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Fighting dirty—unlike you. You won’t fight at all. You play clean and safe.”

“You think I play clean and safe?” he asked, his voice deadly calm. Not his eyes, though. His eyes were fired up as he grabbed two fistfuls of clay.

Gulp.

“You know what?” she asked quickly, raising her hands. “Uncle.”

“Too late.” He stalked her slowly, surely, on legs far more steady than hers, and then hooked her leg so fast she never saw it coming. She fell right onto his grandma’s sheet-covered beanbag chair.

Before she could scramble free, he was on her, pinning her down, running his hands from her throat to her ankles, spreading clay all over her body.

“I can’t believe you did that!”

He rose in one fluid motion, satisfaction unmistakable on his face. He took a step back, slipped in a puddle of water she’d spilled earlier while softening the clay, and went down on his ass.

She scrambled to her knees and crawled to him. “God. God, Luke. Are you okay?”

“No. I think I broke my ego.”

Relief making her giddy, she dropped her head to his chest and laughed.

His hands came up and possessively gripped her butt. “I’m not playing clean or safe, Ali. Not with you. And that’s the problem. I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling.” And then he rolled them, tucking her beneath him.

“There’s something else you’re feeling,” she said.

“No kidding.” He rocked into her, eyes intense and glittering with heat, a forearm on either side of her head. The overhead light caressed the tough, sinewy lines of his body, emphasizing the flexed muscles of his shoulders and biceps.

Around them the air felt charged. There was a soft vibration just beneath her skin, the hum of anticipation that spread warmth through her, settling into her good spots. She let her eyes drift over his face, let the hunger for him show. And her need…

Whispering her name, he lowered his head, brushing his mouth along her jaw to her ear. “You kill me. You know that, right?”

Wrapping her legs around him so that he was settled between her thighs, she arched up. This was it, she realized. Their last night… “It’s a good way to go,” she murmured.

Choking out a low laugh, he cradled her head in his hands, his fingers entangling in her hair. “Not on the floor.” He rose, and pulled her up.

“Okay,” she said, and looked pointedly at the workbench. She was assessing it for sturdiness when he choked out a low laugh and pressed up against her back. “Still killing me,” he said, pulling her back around so that now the smooth steel of the table hit her at the lowest curve of her butt. “Like this. I want to watch you come.” He hoisted her up so she was seated on the table. His hands ran up her legs, settling on her inner thighs before slowly pressing them open so he could step between.

Lowering his head, he concentrated on removing her apron, swearing when he had trouble with the knot. “This wasn’t my intent tonight,” he said, and giving up on the string, he tore it with his hands, giving her a little thrill deep in her belly.

“It’s not your fault,” she murmured. “Clay is sexy.”

He laughed low and rough. “I’m pretty sure it’s you, Ali.”

She took in a deep, slow breath, smelling the wet clay and the scent of clean, heated male, and experienced a wave of desire that had her quivering.

When Luke finally freed her of the apron, he tossed it over his shoulder. Her sundress followed shortly, and then her bra. “Christ, you’re beautiful.” He snagged her bikini panties and slid them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but mud boots.

And a lot of clay.

A ragged groan rumbled from his chest. “My favorite look on you,” he said, taking her in from his prime position between her dangling legs, which were spread and held open by his lean hips. “It’s like a feast.” He bent over her, a hand on either side of her hips. “And I am starving.” He kissed first one breast and then the other, lingering to nuzzle.

His jeans were rubbing against her inner thighs and between, and she shivered. There was something incredibly erotic and completely sinful about being naked and sprawled out for him while he was still fully dressed. Even more so when he dropped to his knees on the garage floor and used his tongue. She might have come right off the table, but Luke caught her hips in his big hands, holding her in place so he could devastate her with slow, purposeful care. It took an embarrassingly little amount of time for her to completely fly apart. Even less the second time.

And then he was inside her. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her so that they were chest to chest, and began a slow, delicious glide in and out of her body.

“How?” she managed, breathless. “How is this better every single time? Is it because we don’t want it to be?”

Latching his lips onto her throat, he shook his head. The gentle tugs of his mouth sent shock waves straight through her, and she cried out and clutched at him, tightening around him.

“Oh fuck, Ali…” he growled, tightening his grip. “Not going to last if you keep that up.”

She did it again. In retaliation, he nipped at her shoulder, her collarbone, the swell of her breast, wrenching a moan from her as heat and pleasure spiraled. Somehow she managed to open her eyes and watch the intensity on his face as he moved inside her, which proved to be her undoing.

He came with her this time, hard, shuddering as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She trembled, little aftershocks of pure pleasure, and Luke tightened his grip in a soothing, protective embrace. His heat seeped through her, consuming her until she felt like she might burst again as he breathed her in, nuzzling, kissing, nibbling her throat and jaw and ear.

Loving her.

Not that he’d admit it. Unable to help herself, she clung for a few minutes, trying to remember everything about this moment. Everything.

He let her cling for long moments, as if he felt the same. Finally he raised his head and met her gaze. She knew he was checking to see if she was okay, so she reached up, brought his face back to hers, and kissed him.

Because she wasn’t okay.

He was leaving.

Chapter 23

The next morning, Ali woke up entangled with a big, warm, hard body.

Luke.

After their garage foray, they’d eaten, and then he’d taken her to bed.

His.

He was still deeply asleep on his back, one arm bent with his hand beneath his head, the other gripping her butt like he owned it.

She took a good, long last look at him, ignored the ache in her heart, and she slid out of the bed.

He mumbled something and rolled over, burying his head beneath his pillow. The rest of him was bared to the world, that strong back, those mile-long legs, and the best ass she’d ever had the pleasure of viewing. With a sigh, she slipped out of his bedroom.

He was leaving today, and her sadness had nothing to do with the distance between San Francisco and Lucky Harbor. It was that there’d been no mention of continuing this. Whatever this was. So really, the distance was irrelevant.

But she refused to watch him go.

She drove to Eat Me and had the now-famous Grace’s chocolate chip pancakes. Lucille was there with her blue-haired posse. She came over to Ali and gave her a hug. “Heard Detective Lieutenant Stud Muffin is leaving,” she said. “Thought you could use some TLC.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Because men don’t make the world go around. Although,” she said, eying Mr. Wykowski as he entered the café, “they do make it more interesting.”

To say the least.

“Been meaning to ask you about your ceramics,” Lucille said. “A little birdie told me that Russell isn’t interested in selling your stuff in his shop.”

“A little birdie?”

Lucille grinned. “Okay, Leah. And the truth is, I covet your ceramics. I thought you might be interested in having a show at my gallery. If we price things right, you might even be able to pay that fancy attorney of yours.”

“You’d do that?” Ali asked.

“Of course. You’re good.”

Ali smiled. “And if I wasn’t?”

“Well, then, this conversation would have stopped at Detective Lieutenant Stud Muffin.”