Shame on Him

“Do you want some coffee? I’m going to make some coffee,” I ramble as I walk to the kitchen in the back of the office.

I glance over my shoulder as I pull the coffeepot from the machine and catch Dallas quickly looking away from my bare legs. He mumbles something to himself that I can’t decipher and then rubs his palms down the front of his face a few times.

What the hell am I doing? Who cares if kissing him was the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in thirty-plus years? What does it matter if he regrets it and wants to keep things all business now? I’m an adult, for God’s sake. I don’t need to rely on anyone to make me happy. My life is finally going the way I want it to. I don’t need a complication like Dallas Osborne. We’ll just chalk up yesterday’s make-out session to a result of heightened emotions after that disastrous dinner with my parents.

With a firm resolve to pretend like nothing ever happened between us, I finish setting up the coffeemaker and walk back over to my desk while it brews. Not ready to sit down again in my uncomfortable chair, I grab a file from next to Dallas and go over to Kennedy’s desk, hopping up on top of it and crossing my legs.

“What about the day Andrew Jameson was shot? Did we check and see if Stephanie and Miles had alibis for that day?” I ask, flipping open the file and reading through the notes.

“Son of a bitch, I can’t do this,” Dallas suddenly mutters.

I look up from the file in confusion to see him jump up from his chair and pace back and forth in front of me.

“If you’re tired, we can stop and pick back up in the morning.”

Dallas laughs mockingly and runs his hands through his hair. “That’s not going to help. I changed my mind. Maybe it’s not a good idea for us to work together.”

I slam the file down on the desk. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me with this shit! I knew something was up with you tonight. Here I thought you just regretted kissing me yesterday. Nice to know you just don’t think I’m worthy to work with you and your amazing crime-solving abilities.”

He finally stops pacing and turns to glare at me. “Will you cut it out with that crap? I have no doubt that you could solve this case without help from me or anyone. I told you that already.”

“Yes, and obviously I was an idiot for believing you since it’s only been twenty-four hours and you’re already going back on your word,” I tell him angrily. “Get the hell out of my office and stop messing with my fucking head!”

Dallas throws his hands in the air, but doesn’t make a move to leave.

“I thought I could do this, I really did. I thought I could forget about what happened and be a professional. This case is a big fucking deal and I don’t want anything getting in the way of that!” he shouts.

So I was right. He does regret kissing me. Fine, that’s perfectly fine.

“Great, we’re in perfect fucking agreement then!” I yell back.

I open my mouth to fire some insults at him and before I can even utter one more word, he closes the distance between us. His hands grab my face and he pulls me against his mouth.

A surprised squeak bursts out of me, but Dallas slides his tongue past my lips and I forget to care that we were just yelling at each other. Like yesterday, the kiss is hard and powerful and it takes my breath away. My arms immediately wrap around his shoulders and I pull his body between my legs, wrapping them around his hips. As his tongue pushes and slides through my mouth, he leans his body against mine until I have no choice but to let go of him and rest my hands on the desk behind me.

His lips leave mine and I groan in protest as he stares at me.

“Just so you know, we are NOT in perfect fucking agreement. I didn’t regret kissing you yesterday. I just thought we needed to be professionals and maybe have some distance while we’re working this case,” he explains.

One of his hands leaves the side of my face and moves to my thigh, still wrapped around his hip. He slides his palm up my leg until it disappears under my skirt and he’s cupping my ass.

I glance down between us and then back up at him. “This doesn’t look like distance to me.”

His palm glides back up and over my thigh and the tips of his fingers brush against the lacy scrap of my underwear between my legs. Another groan leaves my mouth and my body jerks when he brings his fingers back, running them up and down over the lace.

“It’s your fault. You and that mouth of yours. And I really, really like this skirt,” he admits quietly.