All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

“I’m freezing.”

“Sorry,” I sighed, the feel of his groin pressed to my ass making me light-headed.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled against the back of my neck before I felt his forehead there. “I’m warming up a little.”

Fucking Ian. I was going to get a hard-on in the elevator because he was too damn close to me. I really needed to go out and find someone to sleep with. Maybe I would go back to the gym after work and find that guy I’d blown off the night before and—

“Are you listening?”

“What?” I fixated on his right hand up under the parka on my hip, the feel of his stubbled chin brushing my ear, and his breath on my cheek. Everything else was lost.

“I said, remember we gotta get out on time today.”

“Why?”

“Because we gotta go over to Emma’s.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at him.

“Her brother’s birthday party?” He tried to jog my memory.

“No,” I said simply.

“You can’t say no,” he told me. “It’s my girlfriend’s brother.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t have to go,” I said. “She’s your girlfriend.”

“And you’re my partner and my buddy. It’s in the friend thing.”

“Contract?”

“Yeah.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I think you didn’t read the fine print.”

“I think you’re delusional if you think I’m spending an entire evening with—”

“If I gotta go, so do you,” he insisted, like it was all decided.

“Not true, actually.”

But he smirked at me, all cocky with the crinkling laugh lines and the curling lip and when his head went down on my shoulder, I gave up.

“We’re supposed to be there around seven.”

I was never getting laid.

Chapter 5

THE DOOR was open when I reached Emma Finch’s loft in the Gold Coast District early that evening, and that was lucky because over the music and talking, no one would have let me in. Moving through the crowd in the huge space with its wide open floor plan, I found the hostess in the kitchen.

“Miro!” she announced happily, taking the bottle of pinot noir and bag of Kona coffee from me before hugging me tight.

“Why do you sound relieved?” I chuckled.

“Is the coffee for me?” She sounded hopeful.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“See,” she said to the women clustered around her. “He’s a keeper.”

“And pretty too.” One of the women leaned on the counter to meet my gaze. “What kind of name is Miro, because I’m thinking Greek, but you have very eastern European features.”

“What does that even mean?” Emma asked her friend.

“He’s got those great Slavic cheekbones and the long nose.”

I laughed. “I’m Czech, actually. Miro is short for Miroslav.”

Emma’s eyebrows lifted. “Miroslav? Really?”

My grunt made her smile.

“But Jones?”

“Longish story,” I informed her, glancing around for my partner.

“Well, I’m so glad you’re here.” She sighed, drawing my attention back before she handed me two bottles of Newcastle. “Go find him, please. The last I heard, he was playing Call of Duty and killing everyone, and then Dennis came over like ten minutes ago and said that he changed the game because his girlfriend wanted to play Grand Theft Auto or something.”

“That’s all right up his alley,” I said, taking a sip of beer. “You know that.”

“He needs to learn to not be so competitive.”

“Yeah, okay.” I snickered. “You get right on that.”

She turned me around and shoved me forward. “Go play.”

A few people were dancing, more standing around, but I didn’t know anyone so I moved toward the back of the loft where I knew the game system was. I’d been in Emma’s place a few times, not often, but enough to know the layout. On the fifty-five-inch plasma screen, two cars were racing. The expressions on the faces of the people sitting around on the area rug-covered concrete, couches, and loveseats were not amused. No one was having a good time. Ian had one wireless controller and Emma’s blond-haired, blue-eyed frat-boy-handsome brother, Dennis, had the other. You could feel the tension in the room; the big dick contest was on.

I moved into the space, nodding at a few who smiled at me before reaching Ian and standing beside his chair. “What you don’t know,” I told Dennis, “is that he drives like this in real life all the fuckin’ time.”

“Finally,” Ian muttered, sounding annoyed, letting his head fall back so he could look up at me. “Where ya been?”

“Had to get pretty,” I teased, grinning.

He surveyed me.

“What?”

“You look the same.”

“It’s the clothes, idiot.”

“I guess.”

I would not have the fashion conversation with him again. He had two distinctions in his own wardrobe: clean or dirty.

“Miro.” Dennis breathed out my name before he paused the game and got to his feet to shake my hand. “You made it.”

“Hey, man, happy birthday. Your sister stole your gift,” I said, ratting her out, passing Ian his beer as he rose beside me. “So hit her up for the wine.”