Protecting What's His (Line of Duty 1)

Now that he’d watched Ginger come, Derek decided he could die a happy man. And if he didn’t need to remove himself from her presence immediately, he would do it all over again just to re-witness her pleasure. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from her image in the steamed-up mirror, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

“Is this service included in the rent?” she panted.

Derek laughed into her neck, pleased as hell. Goddamn, he loved the fact that unlike most women of his experience, Ginger didn’t clam up after a sexual encounter, making excuses for her behavior or questioning what it meant.

“You’re not paying rent.”

She sighed. “Derek.”

He couldn’t stop himself from running a hand over her hip, biting gently into her supple flesh with his fingers. “We’ll work something else out, Ginger.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I’m not talking about sex.”

“Oh.”

Derek grinned at the poorly hidden disappointment in her voice, but it quickly faded when his need ratcheted up another level. He needed to get out of there. Fast. But first, “I have a way to un-blur those lines you’re so concerned about.”

Involuntarily, he was sure, Ginger’s eyes dropped to his mouth and he swelled larger inside his pants. “Well, let’s hear it, Lieutenant.”

“I need a favor.”

She smirked, trying to skirt past him. “I had a feeling…”

“Not that kind of favor.” He pressed a hand to her waist to keep her still and laughed under his breath. “I’ve been roped into attending a charity dinner tomorrow night and I need you to come with me. As my date.”

Ginger didn’t respond, just pinned him with a searching look.

“I told you I wouldn’t accept money from you and I won’t, but since you’re determined to keep us on equal footing, I’d consider it payment in full for the use of the room.”

“And there it is.” Ginger shivered. “A date, huh? You know it’s not going to be easy to find someone to cover my shift on this short of notice.”

“Can you be ready by seven?”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“I’ll leave you to your shower while I still can.”

Stifling a groan, Derek backed away from her and walked out of the bathroom.

Chapter Ten

Ginger paused in the act of spreading lotion on her arms as she heard Derek’s apartment door open and close from inside the spare bedroom where she waited, fully dressed for their date.

Date. The most offensive four-letter word in the English language. It wasn’t a coincidence that it rhymed with hate. It also rhymed with late and irate, the former of which described Derek’s current state.

“Nice one,” Ginger congratulated herself under her breath.

The wall clock told her he’d arrived exactly half an hour late to pick her up. After asking her on this date as a favor to him, he didn’t even have the decency to show up on time. Ginger yanked off the chandelier earrings she’d put on and removed approximately eight damn times. She couldn’t remember why she’d agreed to accompany him in the first place. His bartering the spare room in exchange for a date was low even by his standards. She should have called him on it and demanded he accept her money. Instead, she’d found herself agreeing, with very little persuasion on his end.

She’d spent the morning in her apartment with Lenny and the work crew he’d hired to repair the flood damage to the space. Going through her and Willa’s possessions, Ginger had been relieved to find most of it, including all of their clothes, could be saved. After throwing out the damaged items, she’d taken the damp clothes to the basement laundry room and cleaned them thoroughly. Thankfully, most of her furniture projects were salvageable as well, although she’d cried while dragging the baby-themed hope chest to the curb for sanitation to pick up.

Ruined hope chest aside, they got a lot of work done in the apartment and she felt optimistic about returning home soon. Wading through her waterlogged closet, she’d pulled out the plastic garment bag containing her one and only presentable dress. The little black dress of her dreams. A vintage Versace she’d found at a yard sale one afternoon in Nashville after a wife unexpectedly showed up from a vacation in Saint-Tropez, found her husband’s mistress living in their home, and held an impromptu sale to get rid of the younger woman’s possessions.

The kicker? She’d bought it for a nickel.

Ginger stood in front of the mirror checking her appearance. To her, the silk, corseted dress symbolized everything she dreamed of being. Classy, worldly, stylish. She’d never been given a chance to wear it before, having avoided the dating scene after the Holy Trinity debacle, but sometimes put it on when she needed a pick-me-up.

She’d blown her hair dry and let it fall in waves around her shoulders, applying only a minimal amount of makeup. The women who came into Sensation usually wore heavier eyeliner and lipstick, but she always felt self-conscious with it on. Turning sideways, she flipped her hair and smiled at her reflection. Then her shoulders slumped.

She didn’t know the kind of circles in which Derek moved. Maybe this dress wouldn’t be considered stylish. After all, Chicago was a million miles away from Nashville in terms of how people dressed and acted. Maybe the dress really had only been worth a nickel.

Is it too late to cancel? I’ll tell him I’m sick. Or I couldn’t find anyone to cover my shift. Or maybe she should just pick a fight with him. She sure as hell knew how to accomplish that.

Ginger quickly crossed the last idea off her list. If she started an argument, they’d probably just end up making out. Or re-creating last night’s scene in the bathroom.

At the reminder of last night, Ginger’s pulse began pounding in her ears. Her cheeks flushed pink and she unconsciously wetted her lips. God, she’d never experienced anything like Derek touching her body. Not one of his movements had been wasted. His objective was to make her come and every motion, every flick of his fingers and kiss of his mouth, moved her toward oblivion.

Reminding herself of her earlier decision, Ginger straightened her shoulders and readied herself to face Derek in the kitchen. Clearly, he desired a physical relationship with her. And she with him. They were both consenting, single adults. And damn, he excited the hell out of her. The things he said. The liberties he took. The way he seemed attuned to her body and needs.

She could keep it physical, Ginger assured herself. She could control how it proceeded. How it ended. Because it would end. Ginger didn’t know the first thing about a functional relationship.

When she was thirteen, her mother brought home a line cook from the local barbecue joint named Seth. He hung around for about three months, the longest a man had ever stayed in their home. There was talk at the breakfast table about marriage. Weddings. Adopting her and Willa. Then one day, Seth never came back. Her mother didn’t leave her bedroom for a week and when she did, she parked herself on the couch and chain-smoked between sips of scotch for over a month while Ginger begged the neighbors for food scraps to feed Willa.

Granted, she considered herself a stronger woman than Valerie. But with her past, combined with the sob stories she heard nightly behind the bar, Ginger steered clear of any messy entanglements.