Trouble (B-Squad 2.75)

"If anything happens—”

"It won't," he cut off Isaac. "You knew me back when we played ball together in high school and when I was still on the force in Fort Worth. I'm good for this."

Isaac let out a sigh but he didn't argue. He couldn't. Drew was damn good at his job and they both knew it.

"I heard you're joining back up in Fort Worth," Isaac said.

"That's the plan."

"Well, seeing how you're going to guard my sister with your life then I'll buy you a beer when you get back—Lord knows you're gonna need it."

Drew grinned. "I’ll be there."

"Just don't fuck this up."

He glanced up at Leah, standing with her back to the hall closet and her arms crossed underneath her luscious tits. His cock automatically started thinking very happy thoughts despite the death glare she was shooting him. Fuck, she might kill him, but Wynn and Miller wouldn't get within touching distance of her. No matter what. "Never."

He ended the call and handed the phone back to Leah, his fingers brushing against hers. That small connection was enough to remind his dick and the rest of him just how good it felt to touch her. She slid her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans and then rubbed her hands together as if she'd felt that sexual charge too. Judging by the way her nipples pressed outward against her thin T-shirt, she had. At least he could take comfort in the fact that they both were waging a war that had nothing to do with diamonds, paid muscle or anything else outside of his front door.

"You always think you know what's best for me," she said. "Isn't that how you put it that summer?"

No one slid the knife home quite like Leah. "And I was right."

They were total opposites. He couldn't understand her. They'd have only made each other miserable if they'd tried to make it work—especially long distance. So when the call came about the job with the Fort Worth PD, he'd gone and left only a texted goodbye.

"Of course." She strode up to him, stopping only when they were toe to toe, her tits practically touching his chest and her luscious mouth within kissing distance. "The perfect Drew Jackson is never wrong."

Not when it came to Leah. He'd been right. He knew because if he hadn't, he would have forgotten her long ago. So why was he about to fuck things up? Unable to stop himself, he dropped his hands to her hips and jerked her against him.

"Exactly," he said right before crashing his mouth down on hers.

4

Leah

If there was any sense of fairness in the world, Drew Jackson would suck as a kisser. Really suck. It would be all jabbing tongue and slobbery lips. But as Leah's mama had told her years before, life isn't fair. And Drew's kisses were the kind that short circuited her brain and electrified her body, making her forget everything else but him and how he made her feel. His hands cupping her face, making her skin tingle with anticipation. His lips, strong and hungry against her own, untying a knot of lust she'd kept on lockdown as well as she could around him. His hard body pressed against hers in all the right places as he backed her up against the hall closet door until there wasn't even a millimeter of space between them as his lips moved from her mouth to the column of her throat, making her toes curl inside her boots.

"It's not fair," she said, her voice low and desperate.

He laughed against her skin, a soft tickle before the sharp nip of his teeth against the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Sweets, when has that ever been part of the equation when it comes to us?"

The bastard was right. There was nothing but trouble between them, so she might as well get it out of her system once and for all.

Her hands were on his shirt, yanking it out of his pants almost before her brain had caught up. Wasn't that the story of her life though—especially when it came to Drew. She slipped her hand up underneath and her fingers rose and fell over the defined lines of his six-pack abs. It was good, but it wasn't enough. She wanted—needed—to see, to lick, to touch more. Before she got a chance though, he wrapped his hands around her wrists and pulled them up high.

"You're killing me," she said with a groan. God, he loved to play his games.

He adjusted his hold so he held both of her wrists in one hand and reached around behind his back, sin in his eyes and a dangerous smirk on his face. "No, what I'm going to do is much worse."

It was too much for her lust-fogged brain to unravel, right up until he pulled a pair of sheriff's office-issued handcuffs out from a loop on his jeans, snapped them around her wrists with a solid click and draped the short, two-link chain between them over the hook extending from the top of the closet door.

She yanked on her arms. They stayed put in their upright, fully extended position. A different kind of heat sizzled across her skin. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Smart man that he was, Drew took a few steps back and out of range of her legs. "Are you uncomfortable?"

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "I'm pissed."

One side of his mouth curled up as he unbuckled his belt, drawing her attention down to that part of his anatomy she either wanted to kiss or kick—her brain couldn't decide, but her body had already made up its mind. Warm, liquid desire had her body aching for him even as she couldn't get within touching distance unless he decided she could. Something about that state had her body buzzing.