Full Mountie Page 7

Beth is ready to go when I get to her place. She followed my advice and put on jeans, which she’s paired with a funky pair of heels and a bright red floaty tank top under a cardigan.

  She’s got bright red lipstick on, too. That’s new. And irresistible. I draw her close and brush my lips against hers, sliding my tongue against the seam of her mouth. Asking—no, begging—for entrance.

  She opens for me with a happy little sigh and I kiss her thoroughly, until she’s soft in my arms and my head is buzzing.

  And when I let her go, her lipstick is still intact. Miracles.

  “Ready to go?” I ask.

  She grabs a small purse off the hall table and flicks it open. I don’t miss that she’s got a condom in there—I think she angled the purse towards me on purpose—and the buzzing gets louder. She double checks the contents and then snaps it shut and gives me a big grin. “Yep.”

  Tease.

  I take her to a pub I like, that’s got a big west-facing patio enclosed in wrought-iron gates, now hung with blooming flower baskets. The sun is low on the horizon, but still warm. We sit with our backs to it, on adjacent sides of a small, square table. Close enough for me to take her hand, but on enough of an angle to each other I can see her face as we talk.

  “This place is nice,” she says, looking around.

  “They’ve got my kind of food, and it’s always good and fast.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “The sweet potato fries are great. The burger’s good. They always do a really nice soup, that’s different every day. Everything, really.”

  She looks at the specials on the outdoor chalkboard. “Soup. Yes, I want that.”

  We order half-pints of beer to go with our dinner, and then I take her hand like I’ve wanted to since we arrived. “So.”

  An amused look settles on her face. “Yes. So.”

  “This weekend was interesting.”

  “Are you freaking out?” She squeezes my fingers.

  “A little.” I shift in my chair and lean toward her. “But I’m more interested in making up for lost time.”

  “I like the sound of that.” She presses those perfect red lips together and smiles like she’s got a secret. I’m sure she’s got many, and I want to discover all of them. “But I don’t want to rush, either.”

  “Oh?” I don’t know how I feel about that.

  “I want to explore what we have between us, don’t get me wrong.” She drags her gaze all over me and her smile grows. “Explore everything. But after a year of wanting each other, I think there’s a risk of swinging too quickly into something serious.”

  “You want to keep things casual.” I really don’t know how I feel about that.

  “I want…” She takes a deep breath. “Casual? I don’t know if that’s the right word. Nothing about this weekend felt casual. It felt intense and crazy and wonderful. It felt good, exactly as it was.”

  “Okay. I don’t think I’m following.”

  She hesitates a beat. “I had breakfast with Hugh today. And I might have dinner with him tomorrow or Wednesday.”

  Ah. I nod slowly. “And…”

  She shrugs her delicate shoulders. “And if you wanted to have dinner with him, that would be fine, too.”

  Unbidden, my ass flexes and my thighs tighten up. My jeans get tight as I think about what she’s saying. “You want to date other people still.”

  This pause is long and everything in the background fades away. I swear I don’t breathe again until she shakes her head. “I want to date Hugh. And you. Nobody else.”

  I exhale in a fast rush. “I can handle that.”

  I’ll more than handle it. If she wants to take things slow because she’s enjoying Hugh’s company, that’s fine. I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t get his appeal.

  But I can be a dirty bastard, too. Not as filthy as my ex-lover, but…I’ve got game. If that’s what she’s looking for, then game on.

  Hugh’s a great guy.

  Hot and kind and loyal.

  But if there’s a competition for her heart, I’ll not only fight, I’ll win.

  And in the meantime…if Hugh shows up with pizza again…

  She watches me react, her gaze turning liquid and hot. Jesus. I’m not sure she knows what she’s playing with here, exactly, but I have zero doubt in my mind that she’s having fun.

  We eat while the sun sets, then she starts yawning. I know I’m being selfish when I invite her back to my place, but I want her in my bed.

  She shakes her head. “Then you’ll need to drive me home later. Better if you come up for a few hours when you drop me off.”

  A few hours. I want to drag her back to my place and keep her in bed all night. I want to sleep wrapped around her, my cock inside her. “Okay. But I don’t mind driving you home, later or first thing in the morning.”

  Next time, I’ll remember to suggest she packs a bag with work clothes.

  “It’s just…I was up early today. It’s been a long day.” She slides her fingers through mine and tugs me close. “I’d be happy to have you tuck me in, though.”

  I frown. “Why were you up early? Did something happen?”

  She gives me an enigmatic smile. “Nothing work related.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She presses into me. “More than okay.”

  “Then let’s get you home.” I lower my voice. “And into bed.”

  12

  Beth

  Tuesday morning, I wake up—thankfully at my usual time of half past six and not the panicked four in the morning of the day before—and there are two text messages waiting for me.

  Hugh: Good morning, beautiful. How was your night last night?

  * * *

  Lachlan: Dinner was amazing. After dinner was…even more so. We should do it again later this week.

  I read them both a dozen times over.

  Then I get out of bed and dance my way into the bathroom. Once I’ve showered and my hair is dried, I take my phone into my closet and text Hugh back.

  Beth: I had dinner with Lachlan last night. Want to hear about it?

  He calls me back immediately. “Tell me everything.”

  “Not everything,” I say with a smile. “Surely you don’t want to hear about how he kissed me when he picked me up…”

  “Every dirty detail.” He laughs. “Or whatever you’re comfortable with. I often forget that other people have different boundaries than me.”

  “I think I like your boundaries.”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  “I’m getting dressed for work. You?”

  “At work already. I’m at 24 Sussex today.”

  “Quiet day.”

  “Very. I’m all alone in the guardhouse. What are you wearing?”

  “At the moment?” I look down at my naked body. “Nothing.”

  After a delightful wake-me-up round of phone foreplay with Hugh, I finally get dressed. I send Lachlan a quick text, too, once I arrive at work. He’s swamped, and we decide on dinner Friday for sure, and maybe sooner if he can squeeze it in.

  I finally sit down at my desk just as Gavin’s wrapping up his daily briefing with his senior team. When he started as the PM, I made sure I was here for those, too, but after two months of me routinely working twelve and fourteen hour days, Gavin put his foot down. Now I try to be at my desk at half past seven or quarter to eight, and I’m pretty good at leaving before six most nights. It’s still more hours than I’ve ever worked in the past, but I don’t want to miss anything.

  In a small way, I’m a part of making history. I take that seriously.

  But it’s not all work and no play. Mid-morning, I’m distracted from work again. Not by a sexy man, or another sexy man, but by an email from Violet Roberts, Gavin’s best friend’s new wife.

  From: Violet Roberts

  To: Beth Evans

  * * *

  Sasha and I have convinced Ellie to let us throw her a wedding shower, so I’m hoping you might h
ave time to meet for lunch or dinner this week so I can sweetly talk you into helping us plan it? It’s going to be a tea at the Chateau Laurier. First Sunday in June. And could I ask you to put together a list of women from Gavin’s side to invite?

  I take a quick look at my calendar. Since Gavin’s trying to cram a lot in to the week before he leaves on his trip out west, lunch is out.

  From: Beth Evans

  To: Violet Roberts

  * * *

  How about dinner either tonight or tomorrow? Lunch is hard this week, but totally open next week.

  That sounds lovely, by the way. Exactly her speed and style.

  We settle on dinner tonight, because Violet wants to nail everything down. Efficient and orderly—I can’t fault her for that.

  The rest of my day speeds by, and at six, I wave goodnight to the security guards and leave Centre Block behind me.

  I hadn’t seen Lachlan all day, but now as I walk down the path towards the central business district—and Violet’s law office, just two short blocks away—I see Lachlan’s big, broad form walking swiftly toward me.

  I wave, and stop, waiting for him.

  “Hello,” he says with a smile. He’s ditched his suit jacket at some point. He’s in fitted trousers and a dress shirt, but the sleeves are rolled up and his top button is undone.

  He looks completely fuckable and I’m very, very sorry I agreed to dinner plans. “Hey yourself.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  “Dinner with Violet. Wedding shower planning.”

  “Ah.” His grin broadens. “Need my tiara?”

  A laugh bubbles up from deep in my belly. “I’ll borrow it, but you’re getting it back.”

  “Good deal.”

  I regretfully point towards Spark Street. “I gotta go.”

  He points back in the direction of work. “Yeah, me too. Someone’s called in sick, so I’m covering an overnight shift tonight.”

  Bummer. No late night booty call for me from the forearms I’m gazing at lovingly. “Good luck with that.”

  “Have a nice dinner.” He gives me one more smile, then he’s gone.

  I rub my chest. Oy. That man makes me feel things on top of things.

  13

  Hugh

  I’m on the schedule to work at 24 Sussex all week. I don’t mind these shifts—they’re quiet and it’s a good chance to get to know the other RCMP officers I’m working with.

  But this week, of all weeks? It means no lunch encounters with Beth, and little-to-no run-ins with Lachlan.

  I live for run-ins with Lachlan, so this seems terribly unfair on a totally irrational level.

  Except Wednesday morning when I show up to work, there’s the chief of security, every last inch of him, slouched in the guardhouse watching the security videos.

  We’re not alone. There’s a constable filling out an end-of-shift report at the desk. So I don’t say anything, but when Lachlan spins around in his chair and gives me a look, I notice.

  “Morning.”

  He yawns. “Indeed.”

  “You were here all night?” He’d worked yesterday, too.

  “Malcolm called in sick. I’m heading home now that you’re here. John will do the shift handover.” He rubs his eyes. “I’ve got my phone on me, but seriously, don’t call me about anything until I’ve gotten at least a few hours sleep—not unless the residence is on fire or something. I’m on again tonight and tomorrow night.”

  “Are you still going on the junket out west?”

  He nods. “Even if Malcolm is still out sick, we’ve got two more officers back from holidays by Saturday. It’ll work out.”

  And in a pinch, he could pull staff from RCMP headquarters or the Ottawa police department. I’ve done the supervisor and scheduling thing a few times, in both small town detachments and big cities. It’s never easy and it always falls on you to fill in the gaps.

  “We’ve got it covered here.” I move closer. Nothing a colleague wouldn’t do. I clap him on the shoulder and squeeze. “Go to bed.”

  His muscle rolls beneath my hand. He doesn’t move, but he does turn and look at me, amusement and something else, something tighter, playing across his face. “Thanks, boss.”

  I chuckle. Then I squeeze harder. “Give us a call if you need anything later.”

  He doesn’t call. I wasn’t expecting him to, not really. I’ve been at work all day—his work, too—so he can hardly call me up and ask me to bring him another pizza.

  But he brings takeout with him at the end of the day shift, and enough for me to stay and share.

  That gives me an idea.

  So the next morning, when he drags his sorry ass home, I’m sitting on his front step with breakfast.

  Thursday is the start of a couple days off for me. I’m pretty sure he’s only got a few hours of down time now, so I’m not going to stay long.

  “What are you doing here?” He stops in front of me, his feet wide.

  I lift the bag of food. “Brought you some egg sandwiches. Thought I could help you unwind.”

  He flicks his gaze over me. To the bag. Back to my face. Then he holds out his hand—not for the bag, but for me. I seize his hand in mine and he hauls me up, right into his body. “Yeah. Okay.”

  He pushes past me and unlocks the front door. The last time I was here, he pointed me into the living room and told me to sit.

  Today he doesn’t say anything at all. I follow him past the living room and down a narrow central hallway into the kitchen at the back of the house. It’s newly renovated, handsome and clean. Spartan. A lot like Lachlan.

  He points to the coffee machine on the counter. “You want a cup?”

  “I brought some.” I set the bag on the counter and open it up. Inside are two travel mugs, a smaller bag of breakfast sandwiches, and a couple oranges.

  “’Kay.” The single syllable utterance is hard to read.

  “Hey, is this a problem?”

  He turns and glares at me. “Would it matter if it were?”

  “Well…” It depends whether or not I’d believe him for real if he said yes. Lachlan’s conservative definition of a problem doesn’t always align with mine. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  He laughs. “That’s such a fucking lie. You love it when I’m uncomfortable. You like nothing more than making me blush.”

  “That’s different.” I grin at him. He’s not wrong.

  He moves closer, bumping right into me. Hello. I twist, bracing my hands against the counter. He leans against me and groans. “We need to talk about how we’re going to do this. I don’t like surprises.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “But I do.”

  “This can’t affect work.”

  “I get that.”

  “I know you do. I’m just repeating the rules out loud for my benefit as much as yours.”

  Rules. I love rules. I love breaking them, too, but it’s just as much fun to get super fucking creative inside the bounds he sets out.

  I cup the side of his neck, my thumb sliding around the front, right above his clavicle.

  He freezes.

  I bump against his chest, giving him a split-second warning before I spin us around, so he’s the one pinned against the counter and I’m the one in charge of the kiss.

  Because yes, we’re fucking kissing.

  It’s been too long.

  Ten years, then two months. Now it’s been a week and I need him.

  I hold him tight as he tenses, but there’s nothing hesitant about the way his mouth opens for me. How eager his tongue is, or the moan I swallow.

  He’s got a hint of regrowth that scratches at me as I kiss him, and I drag my hand up to cup his face. Granite jaw covered in scruff. Damn. I want him to leave beard burn on my thighs.

  Maybe not today. Maybe when he gets back.

  “I want to kiss you,” I say against his mouth.

  “You are.” His lips are soft now, and as he smiles against me, I feel him slide
right into this. His dick swells, pressing into me.

  “I mean in general. In private, but not just one-offs. I want you.”

  “I invited you in, didn’t I?” He reaches around to cup my ass, pulling our erections together. I’m wearing jeans and he’s got heavy khakis on. The thick layers of fabric add to the effort it takes to frot, and making Lachlan work for what he wants has always pleased me.

  “Okay. What else?”

  “I can’t remember.” He drops his head to my shoulder. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, I want to do that, too. But not now. You’re tired.”

  He grinds against me, making my dick wet. “Not that tired.”

  “Mmm.” I slide my hand over the back of his head, where the hair is too short to grab on to, but he gets the idea. He lifts his head enough for our mouths to slide together again, and I start to rub against him as we kiss, lazy and dirty.

  He spreads his legs wide and pulls me between them, until there’s no space between our bodies and we’re reduced to the hard, pulsing need to just get off.

  This is familiar. Even after a decade, I remember the shape of Lachlan’s body against mine, the press of his dick and desperate pull inside me to get closer, closer, closer. His hands tighten against the hard curve of my ass as I flex and grind against him. Up and down, my hips move, fluid and slick and totally focused on the mission—getting Lachlan off. Making him shiver and shake as his balls draw tight, as his orgasm starts to coil deep inside him, and he wants to fight it, but he can’t.

  I bite his lower lip as he gasps and slams his hips against mine. “Shit, fuck, damn.”

  God, I want to ride it out with him, but I don’t have a change of clothes here. “So good, watching you come,” I whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth as he shudders in my arms. “Fucking hot.”

  “You didn’t.” He tries and fails to focus his glassy eyes on me. Tired boy.

  “I’m good.” I kiss him again. “You’ll owe me when you get back from out west.”