Growing up, Polly had been an indoor kid. Once she’d been introduced to computers, her fathers hadn’t been able to tear her away. Still, like every high school student in America, she’d been forced to endure physical education class. Justin O’Malley had been a grade higher than her, but forced to retake the class due to numerous suspensions. He’d fixated on her from day one, needling her with derogatory nicknames, poking her in the ribs when the instructor’s back was turned. By the middle of the semester, his treatment had gotten so bad, Polly would get physically ill in the bathroom before class started.
Common sense dictated she alert an administrator. She’d needed to. But that semester had been right on the heels of Charles Reitman divesting her fathers of their life savings. Adding to their already sky-high stress level had been out of the question. So she’d endured well past her breaking point, which had come during a game of capture the flag. He’d called her “pudding.” Polly still didn’t know why that nickname in particular caused her to see red, but it had, especially combined with him pinching her waist every time they passed on the field.
As soon as she’d made the decision to put Justin in his place, calmness had settled over her like a woolen blanket. Having been given up for adoption as a young child by a mother she couldn’t remember, her own destiny never felt within her grasp. Until that moment, standing beneath an overcast sky in ratty gym shorts and tube socks. She’d waited for the perfect opportunity, right in the middle of a down, the football on the opposite side of the field distracting the instructor. Then she’d gone up behind him, grabbed Justin’s balls in a death grip, and twisted. As he’d writhed around on the ground in pain, she’d experienced a sense of exhilaration. There’d been nothing sexual about her triumph at the time, but her show of assertion had woken something up. Feelings that multiplied as she’d gotten older.
Now, with her palm tingling from the force of the slap, with liberation pirouetting in her stomach, Polly acknowledged the truth. Her truth. She liked harnessing control. Austin’s glassy eyes and harsh breathing left no doubt he liked giving that control up to her, and months of attraction, months of trying to explain an unshakable connection, became all too easy to decipher.
And she was petrified down to her bones. Austin Shaw was the last person on earth she wanted to feel an affinity toward. She didn’t want to feel anything but resentment and loathing for him. His chosen career. Unlike her, Austin didn’t work by a code, stealing only from those who’d earned the loss by being cheats or liars. Oh no. It had taken her all of ten minutes to hack into Chicago PD’s database and read his case file. With the exception of one encrypted file to which she was still working on gaining access, she’d read his record front to back, same as she’d done for all her squad mates. Austin’s was the worst by far, in the sense that his crimes lacked a conscience. He hadn’t been a victim of shitty circumstances like Bowen, Erin, or Connor. Hadn’t been bankrupted and poor like her. He’d created his own corrupt lifestyle and lived it to the fullest.
Yet as he stood in front of her, hands curling into fists as if he wanted to reach out in her direction, she was tempted. More than tempted to explore the side of her he’d successfully goaded to life a moment ago. A moment she couldn’t snatch back. Was the chance to delve deeper into her secret desires worth working on the same side as Austin? A man who represented everything she’d spent years bringing down? For all intents and purposes, Austin was another Charles Reitman.
Wasn’t he?
There it was, a hairline fracture in her foundation. A moment ago, she’d wanted Austin to go on touching her forever, wanted to embrace the new self-awareness she sensed on the horizon, but she forced herself to step back. It was so much to take in and happening all too fast. She needed to breathe.
Polly realized her pants were still unbuttoned and quickly did them up. The jerky action caused the seam of her jeans to shift against her center, which had grown damp and needy. The gasp that fell from her lips had Austin stepping forward into her personal space. “Let. Me.”
“No.” She staved him off with a trembling hand. “I meant what I said before. I need to think. Spontaneity isn’t really my jam.”
“There’s nothing spontaneous about six months of wanting to fuck, Polly.”
God, he was right. All roads had been leading to here; she just had to decide whether a U-turn was in order. “Show me what’s in the room.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I’d rather not.”
“There can’t be secret rooms or parallel universes.” She swallowed hard, a little shocked that she was toeing the line that had always been so defined between them. “Not if you want the trust required to work together.”
Austin’s expression didn’t waver, but the air changed around them. “You’re actually thinking about it.” He breathed a curse and dug a key from his pocket, tightening the jeans over his full erection with a wince. “We’ll see if that’s still the case in a few minutes.”