Manhattan Flame (A Bridge & Tunnel Romance Book 2) (6 page)

He only hoped the train car wouldn’t be so crowded that they would have to press up against each other with the sway of the tunnel...

But then again, that might be nice.

Chapter Seven

As soon as Kevin followed her into her studio apartment, she realized how cramped it was and tried not to feel embarrassed.

He waded gradually into the space, coming to the foot of her bed where it met the loveseat, and slowly pivoted, taking in the room.

At least it wasn’t a mess, though her desk was covered with photography prints she planned on scrapping.

“Can I get you a beer?” she asked, figuring a cop like Kevin would prefer a blue-collar beverage over whiskey or wine.

“Sure,” he told her, glancing over at the window.

As he neared it, inspecting the lock and leaning into the glass to perhaps check out the fire escape, Tasha rounded the wall that separated the main room from the kitchen and grabbed a Lagunitas IPA from a six-pack in the refrigerator. After scraping the lid off with a bottle opener, she plucked a long-stem wine glass from the cabinet over the sink, found a half-empty bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge, and poured herself a generous glass, then returned just as Kevin frowned at the loveseat.

She’d done her best arranging the furniture in her apartment, but there were no chairs near or across from the loveseat and the thing definitely wasn’t wide enough for two.

Handing him the beer, she invited him to have a seat. Her desk chair was far from comfortable, but as he lowered onto the tiny couch she grasped the wooden chair by its back and carried it over.

When she sat adjacent to him, he took a long haul of his beer and glanced at the coffee table where a stray coaster was resting beside her laptop. He slid the coaster near and placed the bottle on it.

“I don’t think you should be alone,” he said frankly.

She smiled, at first assuming he was referencing their kiss, but his expression seemed serious. His brows were knit together and his posture—hunching forward, elbows on knees—indicated the situation might be far more dangerous than she’d thought.

Her smile faded as she said, “I live alone. I’m constantly running all over the city by myself. I have friends, but we all have our own lives. They can’t be with me all the time.”

“The guy who’s been following you is named Alexi Vishnevsky. From the digging I managed, I learned he works for the Avandeyev crime family and though no connections have been made between Avandeyev and what you witnessed on the pier... there are no coincidences.”

She was stuck on
crime family
and it was a long moment before she asked, “So they’re too big to touch? They’re above the law?”

“They’re not above the law,” he assured her. “But...”

He grabbed his beer from the coffee table and drank. When he lowered the bottle, he didn’t return it to the table, but set it between his legs, leaning back.

“I think Avandeyev might have his hooks in the precinct.”

He had alluded to as much when they’d met at the diner, but his point, the implication, hadn’t landed then like it was now.

“So he really is above the law,” she pointed out. Because she was uncomfortable or perhaps overwhelmed feeling at her wits end, she found herself letting out a breathy laugh.

Kevin stared at her.

Her laugh twisted into a futile groan until she took a sip of wine, which quieted her, but didn’t do a thing to calm her nerves.

“He’s not just following me to intimidate me,” she guessed, thinking out loud. “He’s... what? Going to kill me?”

He fell silent, but it was a clear enough answer.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I think he’s tracking you to find out your schedule, when you’re with people, at work, when you’re alone. I have to assume he knows you live here and knows where you work. He probably has a good handle on when you go out by yourself to take photos.”

“But...” she cut in, yet her point didn’t flow easily out of her. She composed herself, drawing in a deep breath and drinking more wine. “If this Reilly character is dirty, if he took my camera to cover the whole thing up, then what are Vishnevsky and Avandeyev worried about? I’m no one.”

“But I’m not,” he said. “I’m a cop and I chased Vishnevsky last night.”

Stunned, she felt her eyes widen and almost blamed him, but how could she? He was the only person who cared about her and the bottom line was that someone had been killed at the pier and if Kevin was the only cop actually doing something about it, then that was commendable not deplorable.

“If Reilly really is covering this up, if he’s collecting some kind of payment to keep whatever Avandeyev and his men do quiet, then the crime family is obviously going to have a big problem with the fact that I went after Vishnevsky. I don’t know how Reilly is going to come down on me for this or when, but he will.”

“I’m not really hearing a solution here,” she said, trying not to sound terrified.

“There isn’t one, not yet, which is why I need you to stay safe, stay around other people, don’t wonder off on your own.”

Again, she laughed, but this time it was out of frustration. “No one is available to spend hours with me as I take photos around the city.”

“It’s not forever, just for a little while.”

“I don’t have a little while,” she shot back. “I’m not going to put my life on hold.”

She’d lost his attention. His gaze was fixed on her knees and when he reached out to touch her jeans, she leaned forward to see what he was looking at.

There were two dark stains on the knees of her jeans. She touched the left and her kneecap zinged. Her fingertips, she realized glancing at them, were damp with blood.

“From the fall,” she supplied and Kevin rose off the couch and took her hand, examining her palm, which was bruised, purple.

“You hit the ground hard,” he concluded, standing.

“I should get changed.”

“Do you have any disinfectant?”

“Probably,” she said, getting to her feet, which brought her chest-to-chest with him in the cramped space. “It doesn’t hurt,” she softly added.

“That’s good.”

As she made her way to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, Kevin followed tightly behind.

“Damn,” he said under his breath, glancing around at the comically small bathroom.

The sink was practically angled over the toilet and the shower was so close that its plastic curtain billowed into the medicine cabinet.

“It’s called affordable,” she stated. “I can’t stand living with anyone else.”

She found a tube of Neosporin and a box of Bandaids and set them on the porcelain sink counter, but Kevin, maneuvering around her in a way that had him brushing up against her, took the items and told her to have a seat.

She smirked, because he’d forgotten one critical step.

“I should change out of these jeans,” she said, but he was already setting the items on the sink and taking hold of her waistband.

Her breath hitched in her throat as he made gentle work of popping the button loose. When he drew the zipper down, she let out an unsteady exhale, their faces very close to one another, nearly cheek-to-cheek.

With her jeans undone, he gave them a little tug downward and Tasha instinctively draped her hands over his shoulders for balance.

She was glad she’d put some thought into her underwear that morning. As he worked the stretch denim over her hips and slid her jeans down her thighs, lowering onto his knees, he realized the lavender, lace panties she was wearing. She thought she heard him groan softly at the sight.

Feeling his cool breath against her legs, she stepped out of her shoes and jeans, one foot at a time, as Kevin assisted her and in the next moment he tossed the garment into the hallway and began grazing his big, warm hands up her thighs from where he was kneeling.

She looked down at him, watched his hands caress her, studied his thick mop of dark hair, getting a bit lost in the shape of his muscular shoulders, the way his shirt clung tightly around his arms.

He lifted up enough to find the Neosporin in the sink and as she stood before him in her panties and flowing tee shirt that hung just shy of her waist, he began dabbing disinfectant on her knees.

This was crazy. She was about to... what? Sleep with a cop? Or was it perfect? Was it just what she needed? It felt like more than that. She wasn’t deluding herself into thinking she knew him well or at all, but Tasha had seen a big enough glimpse into who he really was—kind, brave, willing to go up against a crime family and his precinct for God’s sake in order to find justice and keep her safe. She didn’t just want
this
. She wanted him and her bed seemed so far away because of it.

She plowed her fingers through his hair and he glanced up, catching her hand, as he stood.

He studied her palm then brought her other hand up so he could compare them. She watched, noting that her left hand looked much worse than the right.

“We should’ve iced it,” he said softly.

“I’ll live.”

He met her gaze, holding her hands. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

She exhaled a soft, moaning breath and felt every part of her melt as she drifted into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and feeling his warm hands holding her waist.

He leaned in and their lips met, as his hands traveled her body, caressing down her hips, down her thighs and up again, squeezing her ass.

She let out a surprised moan, feeling him massage her. Then he slid his fingers under the lace of her panties.

Soon he pulled back so he could look at her, but her eyelids were heavy with arousal.

“Since I saw you walk into my precinct,” he said softly. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“Have you ever been with someone like me?” she asked in a breathy whisper.

“No,” he said easily. “But that’s because you’re one of a kind.”

He held her close and kissed her for a long moment, causing her to flush hot with a wave of tingles fluttering through her that culminated between her legs. She was burning for him, aching, and could feel him stiffening beneath his jeans where his hips pressed against hers.

She needed to get him out of this bathroom, but twining her fingers through his hair, exploring the velvety curves of his mouth, feeling his cool breath on her cheek as they kissed, wasn’t something she wanted to interrupt.

He groaned then broke free, saying, “I want you.”

Taking his hand, she led him up the short hallway into the main space. As she came to the edge of the bed, he grasped the hem of her tee shirt, lifting it up and over her head. From behind, he cast the garment to the floor and his hands cupped her chest, the thin lace of her bra still between them.

She leaned against him, relishing the feel of his strong body behind her, and when he stepped back, he quickly unfastened her bra. As it fell, his warm hands returned to her breasts, cupping and squeezing gently in a massage that made her wet and her knees weaken.

He began kissing the side of her neck, his fingers teasing her nipples, and soon his right hand traveled down the length of her stomach, slid under the modest triangle of lavender lace, and grazed downward so slowly—the lightest touch—that she began aching for him, hot and wet and throbbing between her legs.

Reaching back, Tasha felt his jeans, the button, the zipper, managing with fumbling hands to get them undone, as he explored deeper between her legs, sliding his warm fingers along the length of her slippery labia and at times gently circling her clitoris.

She reached down his jeans and felt his hard erection beneath his briefs. She squeezed him, smiling at his girth, exploring the length of his penis, and moaning at her discoveries.

She wanted him inside of her. She was dying to feel his thick erection press into the tight, wet sheath of her body, the friction it would stir up, the thrilling surprise his dimensions would inspire.

Kissing her neck softly, Kevin guided her to face him and her first instinct was to tug his shirt up and over his head. As she freed him of the garment, letting it fall away, she drank in the sight of his muscular chest, the fine dusting of dark hair between his pecs, the smooth wall of his stomach.

She grasped hold of his biceps, feeling how hard and sculpted they were, as she glanced down at his open jeans, his black briefs, and his pronounced erection beneath that threatened to poke out from the waistband.

Grasping her breasts, he groaned, “I like these,” and she smiled.

“Take off your pants,” she suggested.

He did, taking a few steps back and kicking his boots off one at a time, wrestling his jeans down. They were inside out by the time his feet were free and it made her smirk.

She took hold of his hips and hooked her fingers under the elastic band of his briefs, and firmly wrapped her hand around his hard penis.

Groaning, Kevin angled his face near hers, as she stroked him slowly, loving the feel of him in her hand. She cupped his tight ass with her other hand and their lips met. His mouth felt slightly slack, an indication she was working him into such a state of arousal that he couldn’t quite think.

She gave him a few quick pecks on the lips and cheek, as she guided him towards the bed, his thick erection in her hand.