Cuff Me (19 page)

A
s it turned out, Jill’s chance to be brave came around that very evening.

After Maria left, Jill had sat on the couch for a good forty minutes replaying the entire conversation in her head, trying to figure out what Maria Moretti expected her to do.

Trying to figure out if she even
wanted
to do it.

In the end, she’d binge-watched old episodes of
CSI
before taking a long-overdue, scalding-hot shower.

She’d barely wrapped herself in her warm fuzzy robe when a knock sounded at the door.

Jill ignored it.

It wasn’t like her to be antisocial, but one unexpected guest was about all she could handle for the day.

Honestly, didn’t people call anymore? What if she was at the grocery store? Or a movie. Or having sex. As far
as everyone in her life knew she was engaged, for God’s sake.

The knocks grew louder as she towel-dried her hair.

She was about to flick on the hair dryer when she heard his voice.

“I swear to God, Henley, if you don’t open this damn door I’m armed and I will—”

Vincent.

Of anyone standing on her front porch he was perhaps the one she was the least ready to see.

And also the only one she’d open the door for.

It was a decision she regretted the second she saw his face.

She’d seen Vincent angry, oh, about a million times. The man had a short fuse, and it burned hot and fast and often.

But she wasn’t quite sure she’d ever seen him like this.

“Hey,” she said as he brushed past her into the house. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” he mimicked.

He spun around in her direction just as she started to follow him into the kitchen. The abrupt change brought them face-to-face before he thrust out his right hand in front of her.

His knuckles were bleeding.

Instinctively she reached for his hand, about to insist that they put something on it, but he jerked back and put several feet behind him.

“What happened?” she asked.

He continued to stare at her. “You’re a fucking cop. You’re supposed to
deduce
. What do you
think
happened?”

Okay so he was mad
and
cranky.

“You got in a fight,” she said patiently.

“I did.”

“With Anth?” she guessed. The two of them were constantly going at it, although rarely with fists.

“Nope.”

“Luc?”

“Let me tell you about my night,” he said, his voice deceptively calm now. “See, I went over to Anth and Maggie’s for dinner. Had a nice time, got to look at the latest sonogram, all of that—”

He turned and stalked into the kitchen, continuing his story as he did so. “Got a craving for whiskey. All that talk about nurseries and baby names will do that to a single man. So on the way home, I stopped by a bar. One of the fancy hotel bars off Broadway where you can be anonymous, you know?” he asked, pulling an open wine bottle off her counter and tugging off the cork.

“Okay…” she said, urging him on.

He poured himself a liberal glass. Didn’t offer her one.

“Except I
wasn’t
anonymous, Henley. Saw someone I knew. Any guesses?”

Jill went through her mental catalog of people Vin might have run into that would result in a fight. The list was… long. Past suspects, past witnesses, other cops. Whatever his tragic reasons, the man wasn’t exactly in the business of making friends.

She shook her head. “Tell me.”

“Tom,” he said, a wide, horrible smile on his face.

Jill’s stomach dropped.

“Yup, that’s right,” he said, lifting his glass to her. “But wait, that’s not all. I saw Tom… and another woman. A blonde that was not you. And he was far, far more friendly
than an engaged man has any right to be with another woman.”

Jill closed her eyes and tensed as he moved closer.

“But then Tom’s not engaged now, is he, Jill?” His voice was soft. Dangerous.

She shook her head mutely.

“Sure would have been nice to know that before
I punched the guy for cheating on you
.”

Jill let out a little whimper of dismay that was entirely self-directed.

How could she have been so selfish?

So stupid?

“Jill.”

She didn’t move.

“Goddamn it, Jill, look at me.”

She did, only to suck in a breath when she saw how close he was. Too close.

“When?” he growled.

“When what?”

His fingers wrapped around her shoulders, digging in just slightly. “Don’t play dumb. When did you and Tom end your engagement?”

Jill swallowed.

He kept their gazes fused, and had there only been anger there, she might have stepped away. Might have suggested they have this conversation when he’d calmed down.

But there was something beyond the anger. Something far more dangerous to both of them. Hope.

“When?” His voice was hoarser now.

“A week before LA. The day after the dinner party at my house.”

Something unreadable flashed across his face—something that looked almost like guilt, but that didn’t make sense.

Then his head tipped back as he sucked in a long breath, and she couldn’t tell if it was the answer he’d wanted, or the answer he’d feared.

“Why?” he asked. “Why’d you guys break it off?”

“You know why,” she said quietly, silently begging him not to make her say this. Not after he’d told her he didn’t want her just a few short days ago.

He shook her a little. “Tell me why, Goddamn it. Why aren’t you marrying him?”

His eyes were frantic now. Desperate. And maybe a little scared.

Maria’s words from earlier came rushing over Jill.
I don’t know that anyone’s ever tried to love him.

And then she remembered Vincent’s mother’s parting words.

If you want him… you’ll have to be the brave one.

And Jill knew in that instant, that she
did
want him. She wanted Vincent Moretti desperately, consequences be damned.

And so Jill did the bravest thing she could think of.

She went on her toes.

And kissed him.

J
ill’s lips touched his, and Vincent went still with shock.

They’d kissed before. Meaningless pecks, quick kisses of triumph over a break in a case. That one time he’d pretended to be her boyfriend to ward off a creepy ex.

But those had been casual kisses. Friendly kisses.

But this?

The way her lips trembled under his, the way her fingers gripped the lapel of his jacket, holding him close…

It didn’t feel casual.

And it sure as hell felt a lot more than friendly.

The question was…

What did Vin do about it?

Did he hold on to his anger? Because Vincent was angry. Almost unbearably so.

Or did he…

In the end, there was no question.

Not really.

It was
Jill
.

Slowly, his hands lifted until they found her waist. He didn’t return the kiss. Not just yet. His palms molded to her sides, learning the shape of her before sliding back until his fingers met at the middle of her back, allowing his fingertips to trace her spine.

And then Jill bit his lip.

A fierce, sweet little nip of her teeth against his bottom lip that shattered the last of Vincent’s self-control.

Vin’s hands flattened against her, one arm sliding around her hips to jerk her forward. No more space separating them.

His other hand slid up. His fingers tangled in her blond hair.

Vincent pulled back just slightly as he tilted her face up, relishing her gasp of shock, her look of pleasure…

And then he closed his mouth over hers and took.

Jill’s kiss had been gentle. Tentative. Vincent’s was not. His mouth slammed down on hers with all the want—the unidentified longing of the past six years. His tongue swiped against her bottom lip. She opened, and when their tongues met—tangled—they both moaned.

Jill squirmed, but he tightened his grip, keeping her hips anchored against his.

Truth be told, he’d never really understood the appeal of kissing before now. It was nice, certainly, but merely the precursor to bigger and better things.

But kissing Jill—kissing Jill felt like the main event. Not that he
wanted
it to be the main event—he wanted other things, definitely.

Wanted to peel off her robe, wanted to hear what kind
of sounds she made when he touched her. Wanted to know if she liked it gentle or rough, playful or intense.

But for right now—right now, it was enough to feel her tongue against his, taste her lips, to feel the way their breath mingled together as they fought for the same air.

Jill’s fingers released their grip on his jacket, only to wiggle underneath as she tried to pull it off. She let out a little sound of frustration when it got caught on his shoulders, and he smiled at the realization that her urgency matched his.

He released her, pulling back just enough to yank the jacket off, their mouths never losing contact as he tossed it blindly aside.

Vin felt Jill’s fingers go for the sash of her robe, but his fingers manacled her wrists, winding them around behind her as he walked her backward into the wall.

“Not yet,” he whispered against her mouth.

He wanted to see her. All of her. But he’d waited a fucking long time for this. No way was she going to rush him through it.

She tugged at her wrists, but he held firm as he deepened the kiss until they were both breathless and writhing.

Jill’s wrists were small enough for him to hold with one hand as the other slid up her side, his palm just barely skimming the outer curve of her breast before very lightly wrapping around the base of her neck as he pulled his mouth back from hers.

“Tell me you want this,” he said roughly.

She let out a little laugh, her eyes cloudy. “Isn’t it obvious?”

His fingertips pressed against her lightly and he saw her eyes flare with passion. Interesting.

“Don’t play games with me, Henley.”

In response she went on her toes and licked his bottom lip. Vincent growled, stamping a hard kiss over her mouth before pulling back once more.

“Tell me. Tell me you’re done with him. Tell me you’re not marrying someone else.”

It came out as a gruff command, and he was grateful for the raspy quality of his voice. Kept him from what he really felt like doing…

Begging.

He wanted to beg Jill to be his and only his.

His tongue trailed down the soft, smooth column of her neck as she tilted back with a soft sigh.

“Tell me,” he said again, his lips moving back up her neck and coming to rest at a sensitive spot under her ear. “Tell me you’re mine.”

It was more, perhaps, than he should have revealed, and for a heart-lurching moment of silence he thought he’d pushed it too far—pushed her too hard.

She pulled her face away from his, and Vin swallowed his disappointment, his fingers slowly releasing her wrists as he started to step back.

Jill pulled him back.

Her fingers came to his waist, fisting in the fabric of his T-shirt, waiting until he met her eyes.

And then she smiled. “I’m yours.”

Vincent’s breath came out on a rush as his mouth slammed down on hers once more, lifting her off her feet and slamming her backward once more toward the wall.

Jill met his urgency gasp for gasp, her strong legs wrapping around his waist as her arms locked behind his head, fusing their mouths.

He greedily explored her legs, fully exposed now by the robe that had hiked its way up around her hips.

His hands moved over her calves, fingertips brushing against the soft skin behind her knee as she made small begging noises.

His palms ran along the back of her thighs until he cupped her ass in his hands, angling her body so that the fly of his jeans rubbed against her in just the right way to make her moan.

“Please,” she whispered against his mouth as she wiggled.

It was all the invitation he needed.

He pulled her against him more fully, her small frame making it easy for him to walk them both those few crucial steps to her bedroom.

Her bedroom was a fussy, feminine affair. Lots of purple and white and flowers.

Vincent barely noticed as he dropped her none too gently on the bed and then crawled over her, caging her with his body as he stared down at her.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. The sash of her robe was nearly all the way undone now, her breast inches from exposure. He’d only have to hook one finger beneath the fabric to reveal the soft skin…

Vincent lifted one hand. But instead of drifting down, his hand went up to where her hair was fanned out on the bedspread. He rubbed the blond strands between his fingertips. It felt like silk.

Her eyes drifted closed, and before he realized what he was doing, he’d leaned down and gently, reverently kissed both her closed eyelids before trailing along her high cheekbones, down over her pointy little chin, before brushing against her lips.

“Vincent.”

It was a sigh—his name was a sigh on her lips, and that’s all it took. That one simple sound, and he was lost.

His hand slid down her neck, his fingertips brushing gently against the hollow of her neck, until one finger was hooked under the lapel of her robe.

He eased slightly to his left until he was on his side, his leg still draped over both of hers, pinning her as his finger slowly pulled her robe down millimeter by millimeter, exposing her pale skin to his gaze.

Vincent paused when he neared the peak, his eyes locking on hers. Holding her gaze as he slowly, deliberately pulled the robe that last crucial inch, letting the back of his index finger graze her nipple as he exposed her all the way.

Jill cried out at the touch, and Vin’s cock got even harder at the sound.

Curious if she was always that sensitive, he repeated the motion, moving his finger back up, brushing her again.

She gasped.

He grinned evilly then. Six years trying to figure out how to get the upper hand on this woman, and this was all it took.

Vincent rested the pad of his thumb on the tip of her breast, barely touching her—torturing her.

She arched her back up into him and he pulled his hand away. Again and again they repeated the motion, her desperate to have his hand on her, him just as determined to make her wait.

Only when she was cursing him, sounding very much like, well,
her
, did he give her what she wanted.

He captured her nipple between this thumb and
forefinger, idly rolling it as he watched her pant. Vincent let the edge of his thumbnail scrape her just slightly and she nearly came off the bed.

“Ah, Jill,” he said reverently. And then when he couldn’t help himself any longer, his own control at the brink, he scooted down and brought his mouth to her breast.

He started with the tip of his tongue, flicking her nipple just lightly, before lapping at her in rhythmic strokes.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, clasping her to him as he drew her into his mouth, sucking the sweet puckered tip into his mouth.

His hand slid across her chest, shoving the robe aside to reveal her other breast, repeating the same torturous process on that side until she was sobbing with need.

Vincent’s hand slid down her belly, his fingertips tracing over the soft curve of her lower belly until sliding down farther and finding the elastic band of her panties.

He used one finger to trace all around the elastic, starting with the tip before lifting his hand and repeating the slow process at the sensitive crease of her inner thighs.

Jill’s hips arched up and he pulled his hand away.

“I hate you,” she gasped.

He merely grinned and repeated the motion all over again, this time accidentally on purpose letting his finger slip beneath the fabric.

Vincent moved upward slightly, waiting until she turned her face to his before kissing her, long and deep.

He let one finger roam over the front of her underwear then, and he groaned in satisfaction when he found her wet.

“Damn it, Jill.”

In response she pulled his mouth more firmly against hers with one hand as the other drifted down to the front of his jeans. He growled in response, his hand pulling hers away and pinning it above her head.

“Think you’re in control, do you?” she asked.

In response, Vincent slipped one finger under the elastic of her panties.

She gasped.

“I don’t know,” he said as he gently explored her folds. “Am I in control?”

“I hate you,” she said again, this time around a moan.

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound like hate, darling.”

“It is. It definitely is,” she said, her voice a little rough.

“Well then, I guess you want me to stop,” he said, sliding his hand away from her, smiling when she whimpered in protest.

“Please,” she said, her wrists twisting under his grip.

“Please what?” he said, his lips fastening once more on her nipple.

He glanced up at her as his mouth played at her breast, finding her watching him with cloudy blue eyes.

“Still feeling the hate?” he asked roughly.

Wordlessly, she shook her head.

Rewarding her, Vincent slid down her body, releasing her hands as he did so, gratified when her fingers instantly found his head, running through his hair.

He kissed each of her ribs, taking his time, listening to her panting breaths, before he pulled back and glared at her robe, which was still hooked on her arms and kept getting in his way every time she moved.

“Off,” he commanded.

For once, she didn’t argue. She sat up, slightly tugging
her arms free of the bulky fabric before yanking it away and tossing it aside.

“Better?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

In response, his hand flattened across her chest, pushing her back to the bed as his mouth continued its downward descent, his fingers trailing over her rib cage until they reached the top of her panties.

He watched her eyes as he pulled her underwear down and off. There was no shyness in her eyes—only hunger.

And then she was naked, and Vincent’s own hunger ratcheted up a notch or two. His fingers trailed over the inside of her ankles, and it occurred to him that one of them should feel worried about the line they were about to cross.

But Vincent didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Didn’t want to think about anything other than running his lips up the inside of her calves.

So he did.

His lips lingered on her skin, trailing up and down her lean legs, learning her taste. His hands wrapped around her ankles, pushing them up so he had access to the soft, sweet skin behind her knees.

By the time he reached her inner thighs, letting his mouth plant wet kisses to the supple skin there, she was right where he wanted her—panting and eager.

His teeth scraped her inner thigh and she arched off the bed, his name a plea on her lips.

Only then did he give her what she wanted.

Vincent waited until she’d once more met his eyes.

Then he licked her.

Slow and slick, his tongue worked over her, learning what she liked and where she liked it.

Jill’s hands found his hair, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and Vincent swore softly against her wet flesh.

His cock pressed hard and angry against the fly of his jeans, and he reached down to adjust himself even as his tongue fluttered over her.

“Vin.” Her voice was breathier now. Panicked.

In response he slid his hands beneath her ass, pulling her all the way against his mouth as she exploded in a torrent of sharp cries and maybe a few naughty words.

Vincent kissed his way up her body. He’d planned to give her a few minutes to recover, but her hands were already at his waistband, her fingers making quick work of the buttons on his jeans before sliding those and his briefs over his ass.

He started to pull back to pull them off, but her hands held his hips.

“Now.”

Vincent let out a harsh, tortured laugh. “Condom. Tell me you have condoms.”

“I do.” Her thumb ran over his lip. “I’m also on the pill, and just got tested for all the fun stuff.”

He groaned against her neck, because he too checked out these things on a regular basis, and the thought of sliding inside her, skin on skin…