Too Hot to Handle (7 page)

“Fine.” Jack bit his lip. Porter was still six blocks away, but now the houses were whipping by, one grassy front lawn after another. He reached up to adjust his rearview window for a better view of the following car.

Two quick turns, and they were accelerating down Porter.

Thunk.

The sedan rammed into the back of the Super Bee loud enough to make Honey jump.

Jack hurried to shift, taking them up a gear.

“I guess they figured out our plan.” He goosed the gas pedal, and the car let out a low roar.

Another collision. This time harder, faster.

“They’re going to run us into a wall,” Jack growled.

“Not a chance.”

Honey’s head was spinning, first with terror and then with dozens of ideas. It was all happening too fast. She took a deep breath, forcing air into her lungs.

This wasn’t right.

The Super Bee was a classic. Looks, muscle, and speed. The bad guys shouldn’t be able to catch up. This was a race between modern fiberglass and heavy steel, and—

That was it. Steel.

“Stop.” Her hand snapped out, grabbing Jack’s bicep. “The next time they try to ram us, you need to stop.”

“You want to let them ram my car?”

“I don’t care what kind of aftermarket engine they’ve got in that car, it’s still a piece of crud. A sedan like that, probably made in the late eighties, early nineties. The front bumper’s all Styrofoam and plastic.”

Honey tugged at her seat belt, double-checking to make sure it was fastened securely. This was going to work. Definitely.

Probably.

“This car is made out of steel. The best Detroit has to offer. We stop short, and they’re going to ram straight into us. That car will split in two.”

“Yeah, but what’s it going to do to my car?”

“Not much. If we’re damaged at all, it will be a dented bumper.”

Jack’s body was tense. His teeth dug into his bottom lip. Being chased through the streets of Los Angeles by bad guys, that was fine. It was the thought that his precious car might get hurt that had him hyperventilating.

“I’ll fix it myself,” she said. Behind them, the sedan sped up, preparing to ram them again. Honey squeezed Jack’s arm tighter. “I promise.”

The Super Bee’s breaks squealed, bringing them to a sudden stop.

A second passed.

Two.

Then the collision.

Crash. Bam. Bang.

Paint against paint. Metal on plastic. The force sent the Super Bee hurtling forward. Glass rained down around them, the noise of it hitting the top of the car like hail on a cold day. The seat belt dug into Honey’s body hard enough to bruise.

“Damn it,” Jack groaned. “Honey.” His head slumped forward, his chin resting heavily on his chest. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.”

The Super Bee hadn’t crumpled, but the crash had been worse than Honey expected. Turning in her seat, she could hear screams over the ringing in her ears. Crying.

Sobs coming out of her own mouth.

The sedan’s front bumper had torn off entirely. The windshield was gone. The doors had crumpled.

Honey’s head was pounding. Her muscles ached.

The world spun awkwardly for a long moment.

It must have been longer than she thought, because when she came back to herself, she could hear sirens out the car’s open window.

Things had gotten very serious, very fast.

Her entire life, she’d never once called the police. Not as a criminal. Not even as a law-abiding citizen. Calling the police meant putting herself out there, putting herself in danger. It would draw attention to her actions and to her neighborhood.

She wiped away her tears. “What are you going to tell them?”

“The truth.” Jack cleaned his face on the edge of his sleeve, frowning.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell them the truth, can I? Not without admitting you stole my gun. My badge. Is that three strikes?” His nostrils flared. “It doesn’t matter, even if I don’t tell them. They’ll want to know why you didn’t make a statement last night. Things will get
really
complicated
really
fast. You could end up going to jail for a very long time.”

Honey’s stomach turned.

Outside, it was a beautiful day. The sun hung high in the sky, bright gold against a cerulean sky. Inside, she felt tired, hurt, and sick. Jack was the most honest man she knew. A shining knight on a white horse. A genuine hero. And he was willing to lie to the police for her.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You better be. You know what’ll happen if Internal Affairs finds out about this? They won’t stop at suspension. I’ll be finished. Forever. I’ll be lucky if I’m fired. They might stick me on a traffic detail for the rest of my life.”

Jack climbed out of the car, swearing under his breath as his shoulder slammed against the top of the car door.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, if only to herself.

“Stop that.” A big hand grabbed at the box she was holding. “You’re going to ruin your appetite.”

“I still can’t believe you cook.”

It had been her idea to go back to Jack’s apartment when they finished giving their statements to the police. Apparently, a badge was good for more than asking questions. It had also been a “get out of trouble fast” pass with the uniformed officers who’d responded to the car accident. There’d barely been enough time for Honey to retrieve her bag and Jack’s phone from the Super Bee before one of the patrolmen gave them a ride home.

After the morning’s excitement, she’d figured all she needed was a cup of coffee and a handful of cookies—
good
cookies—and she’d be back on top. Jack was the one who’d insisted on cooking.

It wasn’t fair. Good looks, great apartment, and the ability to bring her breakfast in bed. All those times she’d thought about him as the perfect man, she’d been joking. Mostly. But it wasn’t a joke. He really was perfect.

“I think I hate you,” Honey said.

“It’s not like I’m making crème brûlée. I’m reheating waffles, frying some bacon, and poaching a couple of eggs.”

That was true. With a little time and a lot of effort, she could make a better breakfast, but she hadn’t been on a grocery run in weeks, and what was left of her raw supplies was a pile of sludge. Besides, her bacon never lasted until breakfast. No matter how hard she tried to maintain her self-control, she always ended up eating it while watching the eleven o’clock news.

“We could get married. I could live here, and you could cook.”

Jack stilled, his entire body frozen in place by her words.

Fine. She knew they weren’t going to get married. He didn’t like her, and she was trying to avoid death by fireball. The idea had been insane, an off-handed comment intended to provoke a laugh, but that didn’t mean he had to look like he’d seen a ghost.

After a long moment, he finally let out a breath. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Honey?”

“Right, you don’t even like me.”

“Oh, I like you.” Jack’s grin was cocky. Self-satisfied.

He went back to cooking, using a spatula to remove bacon from the sizzling frying pan and placing it carefully on the plate he’d already prepared with two layers of paper towels. Even that small action was enough to make muscles shift, drawing her attention to the way his shirt pulled across his biceps.

“I really like you,” he said. “But there’s still the little question of how we’d be in bed.”

She put down the cookies and leaned forward to snag a piece of bacon. The long strip of meat was juicy. It burnt the tips of her fingers. She took a quick bite, downing it hungrily.

Heaven.

She licked her fingers clean. “Maybe we’d be better off as friends. I’m not very good at sex.”

Jack dropped his spatula. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not very good at sex. At least, that’s what my ex said.” He’d said a lot of things during their last fight. Some of them were even true.

The rest of the bacon sat on the plate, glistening, begging her to eat it. A quick reach, and another piece was in her hands. This time she ate it a little slower, nibbling daintily. “I’m frigid.” She held her breath, daring him to correct her.

“Trust me, sweetheart. You’re not frigid.” He turned off the stove’s burners and began to arrange the food on plates. Piling it on in a show of excess. “No one who kisses the way you do could be frigid.”

Her mouth was watering, but it wasn’t for waffles, or even bacon. Not when Jack was staring at her with lust in his eyes.

His tongue darted out to moisten lips she knew were firm and luscious, capable of making her forget all her problems.

He was a double fudge sundae with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and cookie crumbles. Beautiful. Rich. Bad for her.

That didn’t stop her from wanting to take a big, gooey bite.

Heat rushed through her body. Hoo boy.

Lust made her forget about the bumps and bruises she’d earned earlier in the day. Her face got warm. Her toes started tingling. Pressure grew deep in her belly. She didn’t feel frigid. Not at the moment.

“Sex is disappointing.” That much was true. “All that heaving and moaning without getting anyplace. I’d rather have a fast car and an open highway.”

She was leaning against the kitchen counter, the butcher-block work surface digging into her back. Only a few feet separated them.

Jack had a devilish glint in his eye. “Sometimes it pays to take things slow.”

With his long legs, it took him only a single step to close the gap between them. This time, his kiss wasn’t just wild and passionate. It was purposeful. A sure sign of things to come.

His hand moved to her hip, fingers pushing up her T-shirt to touch bare skin, his thumb dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts.

This wasn’t the morning’s sleepy confusion, small motions amplified by proximity, curiosity, and Honey’s desperate need to feel something. This was something else entirely. Slow. Thought out.

Jack Ogden wanted her, and she’d be damned if she didn’t want him back in a way that she couldn’t begin to understand.

He moved with painful patience. His kisses tasted like the orange juice and coffee he’d been drinking a moment earlier. One arm wrapped around her back to support her while the other reached up under her shirt. His breath caught in his throat when he discovered she wasn’t wearing a bra. The pads of his fingers were rough against her delicate skin.

“Damn.” He tugged the T-shirt off over her head in one quick motion.

When he kissed her again, she could feel his lips tilting upward into a full smile, and then his mouth began to move down her neck, across her collarbone, until his breath was hot against her breasts.

His free hand moved between her legs, cupping her through soft denim, then dropping to toy with the frayed edge of her shorts. Searching up underneath.

Too much fabric between them.

Her hips jerked forward, desperate for his touch, but he kept teasing her, bringing her closer and closer to the point of pleasure without pushing her over the edge.

She dug her hands into his back, trying to pull him closer. His desire was hard against her hip. Muscles tensed in his back. His arm tightened around her waist, lifting her up and depositing her on the counter with a thud.

His mouth never left her breasts.

His hand moved up to the waistband of her denim shorts, unbuttoning the clasp in one quick motion. The sound of her zipper being pulled down became audible over her panting breath and the passing traffic on the street below.

“The food’s getting cold,” he said. “You’re going to have to ask me to stop.”

“Don’t stop.”

That was all the encouragement he needed.