Butterface

“Well, happy morning to me,” Ford said.

She turned around to see him standing in the kitchen doorway wearing only his jeans. Her breath caught. She could look at his broad shoulders and washboard abs all damn day. His dark happy trail led right to the waistband of his jeans, which were unbuttoned and hanging onto his hips by some invisible force. God, would she ever get used to that sight? Or even better, would she ever get used to that bubbly feeling that filled her when he said her name or looked at her like he was really seeing her and not just a caricature? Being around him was better than just the contact high of hanging out with someone so hot she thought she might go up in flames. Being near Ford was like getting to feel the sun on her face after a long winter, and it was about the happiest and most hopeful feeling she’d ever had.

“Coffee?”

“Not exactly what I’m in the mood for,” he said as he walked over to where she stood by the coffeemaker. “But I do have to head out pretty soon, so I can head back to my house and change before my shift.”

She poured a cup and handed it to him. “They don’t allow half-dressed detectives?”

“No, that’s totally against the rules.”

“They need to rethink that one.” She leaned in and inhaled his clean man scent before giving in and kissing the love bite she’d left last night, right where his shoulder met his neck. “I’d confess to just about anything if it meant I got to see you looking like this again.”

He set his coffee down on the counter and reached behind her to cup her ass, giving it a playful squeeze. “Is there something you need to confess?”

“Well, officer,” she said, trailing her fingers across his chest. “I’m afraid I have been a very bad girl.”

He let out a harsh groan and lifted her up, so she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist. Good thing that was pretty much all she wanted to do anytime she was anywhere near him anyway.

“Oh, Detective Hartigan,” she said, curling her hands around his neck and leaning in to whisper in his ear. “I think you like it when I’ve been bad.”

“You have no idea.” He pressed her more firmly against him.

She undulated her hips again, rubbing her cotton-panty-covered core against the hard evidence of just how much he liked it. “I think I do.”

“Tell me you don’t have plans tonight.”

Mentally checking her calendar made her groan. “I have a pre-engagement party meeting with new clients tonight, but I’ll be done by eight.”

He let out a sigh and lowered her to the ground but kept his arms around her waist, holding her close. “You can’t just tell them to book a restaurant and leave it at that?”

“No.” Did the man not understand that her job was to facilitate and promote the fantasy of romance and its effervescent, everlasting qualities? “Some people like more of a public show than that.”

“Why?” he asked, his fingers busy drawing circles on the rise of her ass in the most distracting of ways.

“Because they’re in love,” she said, desperately trying to put words together in a way that didn’t end up with her saying kiss me, you fool. “And they want to share that with their family, their friends, and the whole world. Shout it from the rooftops.”

Ford picked her up and set her down on the kitchen counter where everything between them had started and kissed his way down her neck, his hands sliding under her tank top to caress her breasts. It melted her in all the right spots and made her do that stupid happy sigh hopeful thing.

It was hard—like bypassing the emergency chocolate when she was PMSing hard—but she put her palms to his chest and pushed him back. “You’ve got to stop or you’ll be late for work.”

“Now who’s the one who doesn’t want to break the rules?” he asked with a teasing smile.

“Detective Hartigan, you have criminals to catch, which means you’ll have to wait until tonight to solve the mystery of what panties I’m wearing.”

The look on his face confirmed she’d scored big. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d be wondering about her panties all day. Oops.