A win they’d sorely needed after the Lenora Birch disaster.
Jill watched as Vincent added salt to the sauce, envying his confidence in the kitchen. She knew her way around the stove, but only with the help of a very, very detailed cookbook. She’d never quite mastered the “pinch of this, a dash of that” approach that the Morettis all seemed so comfortable with.
“You’re staring,” Vin said, not looking up as he tasted the sauce once more.
“Because you look good,” Jill said, taking a sip of her champagne and leaning against the counter.
And he did. He’d been wearing a white button-down but had discarded it almost the minute they’d walked in the door, and he was now dressed only in dark slacks and a white undershirt that did nice things for his amazing arms.
“Keep the compliments coming,” he said, holding a spoon out to her so she could do her own taste test of the goodness he had happening on the stove. “It’ll help keep me from being peeved at you.”
“Why would you be peeved at me?” she said, blowing on the steaming sauce before taking a tentative bite.
“Today when we found Garcia—anything seem wrong with that?”
She replayed it in her mind. They’d shown up… found him plopped on his sister’s couch with that damn corn dog. They’d asked where he was at the time of the murder and gotten a fuck-off, followed by bitch-deserved-it…
They’d hauled him off the couch, read him his rights as she’d cuffed him—
“Oh,” she said, eyes going wide.
Vin lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah. ‘Oh.’”
“Was it your turn?” she asked sweetly.
“That voice doesn’t work on me, sweetheart. Neither do the baby blues.”
She batted her eyelashes. “How about this?”
“Nope,” he said, advancing on her. “It was my turn. Fair and square.”
“Well now, hold on,” she said. “What about the entire three months that I was gone? You got to cuff plenty of people, and I got to cuff none.”
“Doesn’t count. You weren’t there,” he said. “You know the deal. We take turns with the cuffing. And this one was mine.”
Jill pursed her lips. “Are you sure—”
He moved closer, pinning her to the counter with his weight. “Shall I get the log?”
Jill ran a finger along the V-neck of his shirt. “Maybe we retire the old take-turns-cuffing thing. I mean, it’s a little childish—”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s the best part of our job, and you know it.”
Jill took a sip of her champagne. He was right. It was the best part of their job. There was something so satisfying about the click of the cuffs when you knew you had the right guy.
“What if I told you I forgot?” she said, lifting her eyes to his. “It’s been a while, after all. I’ve been on sabbatical.”
“I’d believe you, baby,” he said. His voice was calm. Lulling. Dangerous.
“You would?”
“Mmm hmm.” He moved even closer, slowly pulling the champagne flute out of her hand and setting it aside behind her. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you were out of turn, Henley.”
Jill was finding it harder and harder to concentrate with his warmth pressed against her, his big arms caging her in, his mouth so damn close—
So addled was her brain with lust that even when his hands found her hips, turning her around to face the counter with the perfect amount of roughness and gentleness, she didn’t realize his intention.
So full of want was every cell in her body as he gently raked his teeth over her neck, that she didn’t quite comprehend that he’d maneuvered her hands behind her back.
Not until the unfamiliar feel of cold metal against her wrists, followed by the very familiar sound of a soft click, did Jill realize what had just happened…
Her partner had just cuffed her.
She tried to whirl around, but he caught her waist with a gentle scolding noise, then pressed against her, molding his chest to her back.
“Vin—”
His hands ran up her sides, then back down until they rested on her hips.
“Yes, detective?” he said roughly against her ear.
She twisted her wrists futilely. “Let me go.”
“Maybe next time you’ll think about the consequences of your actions,” he said, sliding a hand around to press a hand against her stomach and pulling her more firmly against him.
“My actions—ahh.” She broke off when he started kissing her neck.
“What was that?” he asked, his lips never breaking contact with her skin.
She tried once more to turn, but his grip tightened.
“Don’t. Move,” he growled.
Jill tried not to move. She did. But when his hands ran up over the front of her breasts, palms teasing her, she arched, wanting more.
His fingers slowly undid the buttons of her blouse, his mouth never stopping its hot teasing of her neck.
Vin flicked open the front clasp of her bra, shoving both that and her shirt roughly to the sides before putting his hands on her.