Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) (14 page)

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

I bite my thumbnail. “Okay, sounds like we have this figured out.”

He nods. “Okay good.”

I sort of thought we were kidding each other about not kissing me but now he seems pretty serious.

As he pulls his shirt down, I gesture to his crotch. “You’re really well endowed.”

He arches his right brow and side eyes me. “So I’ve been told.”

“Maybe one day you could show me,” I sigh.

“Trisha,” he says with a growl. “Seriously, what’s going on in that crazy head of yours?”

“I can’t help it. You bring out this side of me.”

He groans.

“You don’t like that idea?”

“Oh believe me, I really liked kissing you and all. But I don’t think either of us are ready for this. Besides, it’s not smart for me to fool around with my co-worker and quasi landlord.”

“Landlord? I hadn’t thought of it like that. So that means I’m lord of your land,” I chuckle.

“Are you high?” he asks.

I shrug. “Maybe on endorphins. Between the run and that awesome kissing I’m overflowing with them.”

He stands up and straightens himself out.

“You leaving?” I ask.

He nods.

“So just friends from now on?” I ask, secretly hoping he’ll change his mind.

“Yeah, just friends. No benefits.”

My heart sinks but I put on a good face and give him a smile. “Okay then, guess I’ll see you around.”

Chapter 12:
Crack in his Armor

Vulnerability is our most accurate measure of courage. ~Brene Brown

I have no idea how I’m supposed to act around him at the station anymore. Even though we agreed to be friends, I feel like I’m holding in the biggest secret of my life. To prevent losing control I don’t watch him eat with that sexy mouth at lunch, or consider grabbing his ass when no one’s looking. That stuff is kid’s play, and my thoughts for him are a serious, class-A obsession.

Maybe this is just that worked-up time when you first start falling for a guy. Today you have him on your mind twenty-four, seven, and tomorrow you’re bitching at him about leaving his crap all over your place.

But deep down I think this is something more.

I’ve never been amped like a billboard in Times Square. The most lust I ever had with a man was a buzz. Every night I’m alone in my station bunk is spent imagining him in bed with me.

So Friday morning I’m in the day room refilling my mug with coffee when Joe strolls in wearing his dress uniform.

“Going to a funeral?” Bobo asks.

He gives him a long look. “No. It’s Bailey’s retirement luncheon, remember?”

“From the Sherman Oaks station? Oh yeah, sorry, dude.”

I try not to stare at Joe, but damn, that man with his perfectly fitting uniform, clean shave, and polished shoes makes me want to stare at him until the image is permanently etched in my brain. What is it about a good-looking man in a uniform?

It’s sweet torture knowing how it feels to have him kissing me senseless with his arms around me, in contrast to how cool and controlled he seems right now. His gaze shifts over to me and I glance down, sensing that my cheeks are on fire.

“What are you working on, McNeill?” he asks.

I blink. “Finishing up a report from last night’s call in Reseda.”

He nods, looking official.

I’d like to put my fingerprints all over his shiny badge just to see a crack in today’s armor. I bite my lip. He’d probably make me shine it up again.

Good Lord.
Why does the idea of that make me hot? I avert my gaze again.

“We need you to go on the business inspection run today with Scott. Jim got called away.”

“Okay.”

“You mean, ‘yes sir!’” Bobo teases.

I arch my brow at him. “Really,
Bozo
? You want to go there with me?”

I can tell Joe is fighting back a smile.

He throws up his hands, perhaps remembering our meeting with Chief. “Sorry, sorry!” he says.

As Joe walks out, I stand up and gather my things, then silently follow him out of the room. He’s already several steps ahead of me, giving me a perfect view of his broad shoulders and perfect ass. He walks in a steady gait as if he isn’t even aware I’m behind him, but when he gets to the office door, instead of stepping inside he turns and leans against the wall so he can watch me pass. When I’m by his side I pause, my gaze meeting his, but giving nothing away.

“You okay?” he asks.

I don’t answer right away, just take in his presence and the faint smell of his cologne. I’m sure I’m projecting pheromones like a cat in heat. It makes me feel reckless so I check the hall to make sure we’re alone.

I give him a long look, letting my gaze slowly travel down his body and back up.

“Okay?”

He nods, his gaze intense.

“Well I still have my private thoughts about us. I won’t ever forget how it felt sitting on your lap . . . kissing you . . . you kissing me back,” I say quietly.

His sharp cheekbones color.

“But it’s good we’re friends. It’s the smart thing. I know I can be reckless, but
you’re
a smart man.”

I give him one more look, hoping that he’s feeling drawn to me, at least a little bit, since I’m so powerfully drawn to him. This time as I turn and continue down the hall he suddenly speaks up.

“You know, Trish, somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known,” he says.

I stop and turn around. “Is that from another one of your books?

He nods. “Carl Sagan.”

I smile. “I like that.”

The corners of his mouth turn up and there’s a spark in his eyes.

His expression gives me a glimmer of hope, and I respond before continuing on, “Maybe one day you’ll let me borrow that one too.”

Later, Ma calls me, and it’s clear she’s cast her reel to go fishing . . . into my private life.

“So how are things at the station?”

“Fine.”

“I hear your lieutenant has been very kind to you.”

I’m going to kill Paul.

“Yeah, he’s nice to everyone,” I lie.

“Well, why don’t you bring him to dinner this week?”

“No, why would I subject him to that? He’s a nice guy, not a masochist.”

“See, I told your father you wouldn’t bring him. So I’m going ahead with my original plan that he tried to talk me out of.”

“Which would be?” I break out into a cold sweat. Ma is unrelenting once she gets an idea in her head.

“I’m going to bake him a cake and write thank you on it with fancy lettering that I saw in a magazine. Is he on duty tomorrow? I’ll bring it by then.”

Thank you?

“Thank you for what?”

“Well, he’s been nice to you in this difficult time. He must be a very patient man.”

I’m about to drill her to find out what exactly she meant by the
patient
man quip, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

In my mind I picture Ma in the station’s day room, cutting up pieces of cake for the guys while grilling them about their personal lives. Every tiny hair on my body is standing up from the sheer horror of the idea. I’d never hear the end of it.

Over my dead body is this going to happen.

“Ah, I don’t think so, Ma. There are rules against that,” I say.

“No there aren’t. I already called your chief and asked if I could. Of course I’d include all the men, not just your lieutenant.”

“He’s not
my
lieutenant! Wait . . . you called my chief?” I can feel my eyes bugging out of my head.

“He was quite lovely about it. He said that if he was away at an inspection, to make sure and save him a piece.”

Every muscle in my body is so tense that I may explode. I slip on my bullshit vest cause it’s about to fly.

“You know, Dad’s right. On second thought, it’d be nicer if I just brought him over. That way the whole family could meet him. He’s a nice guy and a friend.”

“Lovely,” she says. “I’m so glad you agree.”

Agree my ass.
I just got my arm twisted out of its socket with her maternal subterfuge.

“And he
is
just a friend Ma, got it?”

“Whatever you say, dear. It’s so nice that you have a new friend and now we get to meet him.”

We’re on the way to my parents’ house and Joe’s eye is twitching under his sunglasses.

“I honestly have no idea why I agreed to this,” he murmurs, gazing out the window.

“So I wouldn’t make you move Betty off my land.”

He glances over at me with an irritated expression. “You were joking about that, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. But I wasn’t joking about Ma showing up at the station with a cake for you. I really don’t need to give those guys another reason to make fun of me.”

“I suppose not. They wouldn’t be kind . . . to either of us, if she did that.”

“So you’re saving my ass and now I owe you big time. And look at it this way, it’s a home-cooked meal with cake for dessert.”

“And remind me what I’m being thanked for?”

“For being nice to me. My jerk brother must have told her that.”

“Is it rare for people to be nice to you, Trisha?”

I chuckle. “Yeah. It’s rare. I don’t think I have to explain why. You know me pretty well at this point.”

His eyebrows knit together. “You’re not so bad.”

“Thanks.”

He taps his knee with his fingers.

“So tonight we will celebrate you,” I tease.

“This is so weird. Seriously.”

“Well it’s true that you’re a good man, and now you know that I need reinforcement from my family.” I nod and grin.

He looks over at me with wide eyes. “Are they really that bad?”

“No, my family is great actually. I’m the problem . . . the black sheep, and they’re always having to deal with my snarky attitude. I’m pretty sure I’ve exhausted them beyond measure.”

He nods his head in agreement. “Oh, I get it. You exhaust me all the time.”

“Shut. Up. You,” I say, shaking a fist at him.

He points at me. “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.”

We’re still bantering back and forth when we approach the front door of my parents’ place and it swings open wide.

“Hey!” Paul leans back toward the entry hall. “They’re here,” he calls out down the hall before extending his hand out to Joe. “I’m the older brother,” he says with a grin and they shake hands.

I roll my eyes. “Joe, this is my brother Paul.”

“Good to meet you,” Joe responds while I push them both in the house and toward the living room.

Paul looks over his shoulder with that stupid grin still on his face and his eyes wide as he waggles his brows. His expression of approval doesn’t surprise me. Joe is very presentable. I just hope they don’t all make asses of themselves making assumptions about us and saying things to embarrass me.

As we step into the living room I take a deep breath. “Hey Dad, I want you to meet my friend, Joe, from the station.”

When Dad gets one look at Joe he sets down the remote and stands to greet him. I lose my chain of thought for a moment because Dad has usually been standoffish with any guy I brought home.

As they shake hands Dad asks, “Joe . . . ?”

“Murphy, sir. Joseph Murphy.”

Dad’s chest puffs out and he stands taller, but he’s still not a match for Joe’s height. “Yer family’s Irish?”