Heat: An Alpha Male Criminal Romance (A Hotter Than Hell Novel Book 1) (8 page)

HE’S CERTIFIABLY CRAZY.

THROUGH
gritted teeth, I warn, “I don’t like repeating myself and I won’t press charges if you leave. Now.”

His smile disappears. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, pull your gun.”

I close my eyes in frustration and then realize what I’ve done and open them again. My gun isn’t the problem; his damned guns aka ripped arms, are. No one involved in crime should have a body like Moon’s. His cologne drifts over me and I inhale deeply. Somehow he’s found that perfect match that accents his natural man-smell. Add in his blue eyes, which capture everything going on around him, and I’m having heart palpitations that have nothing to do with my apartment being broken into. I pull in another long breath to gain a small semblance of control. I’m unwilling to stand and point a damn gun at him now, and that pisses me off.

He removes his cell from his pocket, backs a couple of feet away, and speaks to whoever’s on the other end. “Order for two from El Tiempo and pick up whatever beer she was drinking at the bar.”

Oh my fucking hell, he is seriously stalking me. Someone knows the damn beer I was drinking. It doesn’t matter that El Tiempo makes the best tacos in the world; I need to control this situation. He disconnects and raises his eyebrows. I’m fuming and he appears completely at ease.

“This isn’t happening,” I tell him abruptly while placing my hands on my waist and widening my legs to a better fighting stance.

Neither my words nor posture seem to bother him. He turns around and saunters over to my loveseat. He sits and stretches his long legs out in front of him and casually rests his hands on his thighs, palms down.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Maybe a sit down, calm conversation will get through to him. I walk to my desk and roll the chair across from him and take a seat. I ignore the intensity of his gaze as he watches each move I make without giving a single of his thoughts away.

I keep my voice low and as reasonable as possible. “Why are you doing this?”

His expression changes only slightly; he’s weighing his words. It’s completely unfair when he leans forward and speaks. “I’m attracted to you.” A quizzical look moves across his face. “I thought a simple date might give me a clue as to why. You aren’t my usual type.” His gaze rakes over me before he lifts his eyes again. “There’s something about you that intrigues me. I need to discover exactly what that something is.”

My jaw remains closed or more precisely locked in stunned silence. Tingles form in my belly, and I have no idea what to say.

Moon continues, “Alex, you know him as Gomez, likes you. He says that when he picked up Dandridge, you kept your cool, assessed the situation, and acted accordingly. That’s high praise from him.” I receive a quirky lip half-smile that makes me even more uncomfortable. “He also says you have an affinity for cement pillars,” he adds. “To gain Alex’s respect, you must have something besides a gorgeous body and a pretty face.”

It’s what men usually see. I refuse to give Alex or Moon points for thinking past my feminine assets. “All of this,” I throw up my hands, “is because Gomez likes me?”

The perplexity in his expression deepens. “Some of it. I trust Alex’s instincts.”

“Same crib,” I murmur.

Surprise changes Moon’s expression. “Alex is the most closed-off person I know, but he obviously talked to you.”

I want to scream. Alex, I mean Gomez, said almost the same thing about Moon. Truthfully, I don’t care what Moon or Gomez think. I want them out of my life. Maybe if I pull the tiger’s tail, Moon will get a clue. “So what if I choose to date Alex instead of you?”

His smooth whiskey laugh fills the room, and I’m left breathless. My entire body responds. My inner thighs involuntarily tighten, my heart rate accelerates, and shivers wash over my skin. Note to self: Do not make this man laugh. When he does, he’s completely irresistible.

He’s still laughing, so I ask, “Is Gomez gay?” Moon laughs harder. This time, his chin lifts, and all I can think of is licking and biting the thick cords of his throat. I haven’t had sex in months. So many months, it qualifies as more than a year. Moon makes me think of sex. Hot, dirty, satisfying… sex. Hot. My brain switches gears and moves to the temperature of my apartment.

“You adjusted my A/C?” I demand.

Moon stops laughing and gives me a look I can’t really describe because he’s still smiling. “It was uncomfortably warm in here.”

I go back to being pissed off and try to disregard my wet panties. I refuse to dwell on how yummy he is. “Says the man with a monthly electric bill that’s probably more than I make in a year.”

He gets it then and something else flickers in his eyes. I don’t want fucking pity because I live month-to-month. I almost say this out loud. Moon surprises me when he calmly stands up and heads to the thermostat on the far wall to readjust the A/C. “Would you like a glass of ice water?” he asks as he heads into my kitchen.
My kitchen
.

I jump up fully prepared for another physical altercation. “Yeah and while you’re at it, just make yourself at home.” I use my frosty voice, which has no effect on Moon. I watch as he opens one cabinet and then another to locate my glasses. I forget all about why I followed him into the kitchen. His body is a work of art. Skin too. Every motion he makes is pure, natural grace. A tribal tat on his arm peeks from beneath his T-shirt. For some reason, men think a tribal makes them badass. They don’t usually know the meaning of the art they wear. But I remember the artwork in his home and it occurs to me that Moon knows exactly what his tat signifies. He also doesn’t need to pretend to be badass. He’s the definition. Even scrounging around my kitchen, he has a don’t-fuck-with-me quality. I’m startled out of my Moon-dreaming when he replies to my last statement.

“This place isn’t a home. There’s not a single picture or decoration anywhere.” He opens the freezer and pulls out a tray of ice cubes. Next, he opens the fridge and grabs my filtered water pitcher. No one in Phoenix drinks the nasty water straight from the tap. I have a few bottled waters under the sink for guests. But he’s not a guest, so I don’t say anything. He adds the ice cubes to two glasses and follows with water. I back up when he walks from the kitchen holding both glasses and carries them back to my couch.

The apartment is heating up quickly and I see sweat under Moon’s pits. There’s nothing I like more than a hot and sweaty fuck. I stop that thought and follow like the tame little puppy he’s turning me into. Before he sits, he hands me my glass. I watch him take a healthy pull from his. And here we go again with the corded muscles on his neck. I take a sip of my water to gain control and stop thinking about kissing and biting him.

He’s sitting now and tilts his glass toward me. “Why no pictures or knickknacks?”

I ignore his question and allow the defeat I feel to enter my voice. I’m defeated because I’m allowing his looks to guide my brain. “This won’t work, Moon. I’m an ex-cop. You’re you. The two of us don’t mix. It doesn’t matter if I intrigue you. You’re wasting your time and mine.”

The chime of his phone stops him from answering me. He places his glass on the small side table, twists up a bit, and takes his cell from his pocket. He checks the screen and like a teenage pro, sends a message. He looks up at me after sending it. “Alex is here with our food.” At the thought of El Tiempo, my stomach rumbles. Moon cocks an eyebrow.

Hell even that’s sexy.

I stand up when I hear a soft knock at my front door.

“Sit. I’ll get it and bring everything over here,” he says as he heads to
my
door, like he owns it, and opens it for Gomez. Moon takes the food and I see Gomez peer at me over Moon’s shoulder. I can’t identify the exact look he gives me, and I tell myself that I don’t care. So what if Gomez is impressed with the way I handle myself. That and a dollar will buy me an ice-cold Slurpee. Moon closes the door with his elbow while holding the bag in one hand and a six-pack of Corona in the other. It reminds me that I was being observed inside the bar. It’s someone who came in after I arrived. Fuck. Besides Al and the other two cops, only a white guy came in. He never looked at me, scoped the place out, or did anything that would give him away as a cop or a thug. Go figure.

My stomach growls loudly.

“I take it you’re hungry,” Moon says as he places everything on my end table and pulls the first container from the bag. It smells heavenly.

“I’m always hungry for El Tiempo,” I give back grudgingly.

“Sit over here and I’ll move the table in front of us.” He moves my damn furniture without a care that it bothers me.

I want to stay angry, but the aroma of fish tacos overrides my angst. I switch over to the loveseat. It’s no hardship to watch Moon move the table either. His arms flex and the T-shirt pulls across his chest when he lifts the table. He appears relaxed for a change and it’s like he doesn’t run the largest crime organization in Arizona. He’s just a normal guy. Strike that. A normal guy does not have a body cut like Moon’s. More than I want that first bite of taco, I want to see Moon’s abs. My eyes stay glued as he sits and grabs a beer. He twists at the waist and removes a pocket knife from his front jeans pocket. It has a bottle-cap remover, which he uses on first one and then the other beer bottle. He sits them both on the table, which is now in front of us, and hands me napkins from the bag. I wait for him to get situated with his food and hand him back two napkins. El Tiempo tacos are messy, and I try not to salivate.

He waits for me to pick up a taco before taking his first bite. Watching him eat shouldn’t be so sexy. When he closes his eyes and chews, I swear I have a small orgasm. I take my first bite of my taco and then have another. This time I close my eyes; when I open them after swallowing, Moon is fixated on my mouth. I lick my lips and watch his eyes go from ocean blue to sizzling hot subterranean blue.

The last thing I should be doing is sitting here having food sex with Moon. I take another bite and the spicy carne asada hits my taste buds. It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, and the taco pulls me to the dark side. I also conclude that food sex is a natural wonder of the world.

Moon is the first man in my life to have food and my favorite beer delivered to me. This shouldn’t speak to the inner me, but I feel a crack in the walls I’ve tried pulling up in regard to Moon.

We continue eating and casting fuck-me eyes back and forth. I take notice that Moon doesn’t have a fixation with my tits. He’s an equal opportunity voyeur and never locks his eyes on one piece of my anatomy for too long. I don’t think I can say the same about myself. The arm porn draws my attention each time he takes a bite. Then my gaze travels to his mouth and I want to be his taco. I bite my lip over the ridiculousness of my feelings. I’ve never reacted to any man this way, and, I have no clue how to make it stop.

Moon finishes first and sits back with his beer in hand and watches me eat. For the oddest reason, I’m not uncomfortable. I would love to know what he’s thinking, though. When I’m done, he reaches into the bag, pulls out four wrapped candies, and hands over two. The tacos are great, but El Tiempo is also known for its homemade Mexican candy. It’s dried mangos dipped in chamoy sauce. There is nothing else like it on this planet.

“Any chance I can talk you out of one of yours?” Moon teases before he pops the first one in his mouth.

“I’ll draw my gun if you try.”

He chews slowly while I slide the candy between my lips and move the confection around inside my mouth. My tongue moves across my lips. Moon’s eyes grow unbelievably hungry. If a shark had blue eyes and saw a wounded sea lion, those eyes might come close to the way Moon’s look right now.

What if he was an ordinary man? What if I’d never been a cop?

“Alex gave you to me.”

I start coughing. Moon leans in, puts his arm around my back, and tips his water glass to my lips. I take a sip on reflex. He sets the glass down without removing his arm. Luckily, I’ve swallowed my candy when his lips meet mine. His tongue slides in, tasting me with slow, smooth strokes, and I can’t think past the flavor of the candy mixed with pure Moon.

I squeeze my fingers into fists to keep from clenching his muscular arms. His hand moves to my throat. His fingers are splayed so I can feel the metal of his thumb ring against my skin. His lips tease mine, and my body is amped so high, I sigh into his mouth. He pulls away, but he doesn’t look at me. He grabs his beer and downs it. He places the containers and used napkins into the bag before he stands and heads to my kitchen to toss everything in the trash. I try to stabilize my breathing. I expect him to come back, but I’m stunned when he opens the front door and glances over his shoulder.