All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

Instant glower from my boss. “You brought them in as a unit, Jones, so that decision was already made in the field. They’ll absolutely be entering the program together.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said cheerfully, turning to leave.

“You’re dismissed, too, Doyle.”

I made sure I moved fast since now Ian knew I’d fudged the report, and was halfway across the room when I pivoted back and saw Ian close the door behind him.

Jaw clenched, he started after me.

I darted out into the hall and hit the elevator button, debating on whether to pop back to holding to talk to Lucy and Javier. I had already promised them they were going into witness protection together, and they had believed me, but one more reassurance couldn’t hurt. I had explained that, just as my boss said, intake was based on field decisions.

“You fuck!”

The elevator dinged at the same time and I ducked inside with fifteen or so other people, turning to smile at him as he charged forward. The doors closed right before he reached me.

I’m sure everyone heard the yell as the car started its descent.

“I don’t know what’s with that guy.” I shrugged and got many smiles and some laughter from the back.

Downstairs, I got off; our office was up on the twenty-fourth floor, so it was never a fast ride up or down. Out on Dearborn Street, I glanced around at the concrete, steel, and glass buildings and decided that since it was so close to lunch, I’d walk over to the food trucks and get a sandwich from the Vietnamese one I loved. Crossing the street, I headed down, realizing I’d been in such a rush to get away from Ian that I forgot my parka and I was shivering.

I debated going back, but it made more sense to grab lunch first even though I’d be suffering from hypothermia by the time I got there.

“You’re such an asshole!”

I had enough time to glance over my shoulder before I was grabbed from behind.

“Get off me!” I laughed, the protest covering the gasp of pleasure of having Ian’s arm thrown over my shoulder as he yanked me back into him. He was so warm, the heat from his body pressing against mine, wedged tight, the feel of his chest and abdomen indescribably good, as well as his breath in my ear as he whispered the threat against my life.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, drinking in every brush of contact.

“Why would you do that?” he persisted, still pulling on me, tightening his hold, barely letting me walk.

“To teach you not to scare me,” I said softly, slipping my hands under his open parka, sliding them up his sides.

“Yeah? You feel like you taught me a lesson?” he teased, bumping into me as we moved awkwardly, our hips and chests grazing, each of us stepping into the other’s space, trying not to falter, trip or be tripped as we shuffled.

I ducked my head to try and spin and pull away, but he countered, and I ended up with him plastered to my back, his left arm around my neck, his right hand on my abdomen.

“Miro?”

I shuddered. I couldn’t have stopped the sensation from rolling through me if I tried. It was too much; I was overstimulated from just that much contact.

“Ya cold?”

Oh dear God yes, go with that. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ freezing.”

Instantly he let go and started pulling off his parka.

“Oh no, then you’ll be freezing,” I hedged, walking backward a few steps before whirling around and jogging down the street. “Let’s just go fast!”

He caught me easily, hand closing on my bicep, tugging me to a stop. “I have a sweater on, all you have is that knit thing. Just take the jacket.”

“It’s a Henley,” I informed him as he shoved the coat he had already taken off at me.

“Whatever.” He snickered, shaking his head as he looked at me. “Just put it on. We’ll get food and go back and finish the mountain of paperwork.”

The jacket was warm, and best of all, it smelled like Ian. When I shoved my hand in the right pocket, I found a pair of gloves I’d been missing since November. “Hello?”

“What?” he asked as we walked.

“These are mine.”

“You gave those to me.”

“I did not.”

“Well, give ’em here, ’cause I’m freezing.”

“Oh for crissakes,” I said, unzipping the parka.

His grin was pure concentrated evil as he stopped me.

“Nice.”

“I hope we’re only walking as far as the food trucks, though.”

“We are.”

“Okay, good, because seriously, it’s like eight out here.”

“It’s more like twenty-five,” I corrected him.

“And the wind off the lake?”

Maybe he was right.

Once we were back in our building, riding the elevator up, we got shoved all the way into the corner. I stood in front of him and was surprised when he took hold of my hip and leaned me back into him.