Page 6 of Her Bad Boy

To her surprise, he did let her find her feet, holding her steady between his legs until he was satisfied that she could manage on her own, then rising himself right behind her.

"You're right. Believe it or not, I didn't plan that when we got together again it would be in your office.

Allie, who was making her way around the desk, glanced back at him in surprise. "I'm right? And you planned for us to get together again?"

Lucas chuckled. "Yes, you are, and, yes, I did. You didn't think I'd let you get away from me that easily, did you?" It didn't matter how casually he said it. She knew exactly what he meant. "And we were very lucky not to have been seen. We should head home."

It wasn't until they were on the street and she took out her phone to Uber a ride home that she felt herself being carefully corralled towards the only car in the parking lot—a big black Lincoln that Matthew McConaughey would be proud to own.

"Wait—stop! What are you doing?" Allie tried to plant her feet to stop him, but he was much too strong for her, and she knew that, if all else failed, he would simply pick her up.

But instead, he stopped and stood in front of her, cupping her face in his hands. "Despite what just happened between us, I am nowhere near done with you. It's a Sunday afternoon. What else do you have to do besides go home and veg by yourself 'til it's time for work?" He pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to her cheek. "Come home with me. I'll take care of you."

She didn't say anything, biting her lip and looking hesitant, and he knew that her brain and her sense of morality and her conscience were ganging up on the rest of her. But he was just elated—and a little amazed—that she hadn't told him to go fuck himself…yet.

"I'll feed you," he singsonged enticingly, knowing how much she loved food.

"That's not playing fair," she pouted prettily.

Lucas had to laugh. "How many wise guys do you know who play fair, little lady? It's not usually a part of the job description."

She inclined her head with a breathtaking smile. "Point taken."

His arm snaked around her waist to pull her against him, still very mindful of her injury. "So…" he began, doing his best mobster voice. "I'll take care of you—wait on you hand and foot. I'll make you a real Italian meal with my Gramma's recipe for gravy." Then he leaned down a bit and whispered into her ear, "And I'll fuck you raw every chance I get—I'll be inside of you, fucking you up against the wall next to the door, seconds before you leave through it tomorrow morning to go to work tryin' to land me in jail."

And he was, indeed, as good as his word, on all of those fronts.

But—as it had before—the unwieldy baggage that was a monstrous amount of guilt—that had accompanied an ill-fated attempt to loosen herself up a bit—which had just begun to recede around the edges about their last encounter—had settled right back down onto her shoulders by the time she got to work.

Her coworkers, having heard about what had gone on, some of them having seen parts of it, were wonderful and sympathetic, and even her hard-bitten boss—Perry Z. Ellis—Z for Zephraim—brought her into his office, which was usually something he only did to chew her out.

"That was quite a charity event Saturday night, wasn't it?" he started with a grunt as he sat down heavily in his chair. "Doing okay?" he asked as she took her seat a bit gingerly, but that wasn't much due to her ribs—not that he needed to know that.

"Yes, thanks, I'm fine, Perry."

"A bit unusual that it was Lucas Bove who came to your rescue—I was thinking it ought to have been the other way around."

"You mean I should have been rescuing him?" she asked, deliberately playing obtuse.

There was that familiar glare. "You know what I mean. Bove is hardly the type to bother with a damsel in distress, especially since he, or someone associated with him, was more than likely the one who put her in distress in the first place, one way or the other."

He cleared his throat. "You're going to file charges against him, of course, aren't you?" he asked bluntly.

She managed not to roll her eyes, barely. He sounded like Lucas had, every chance he got last night, not that she was going to tell him that. "I hadn't really thought about it."

Perry stopped in the middle of pouring an amount of sugar into his coffee cup that was going to give her diabetes just from watching it. "Bullshit."

Allie sighed. "Well, I can't think that it would be the best career move, do you? If he tells his officers not to cooperate with me—or worse this department—we're fucked."

"We'd survive. We've had chiefs who hated us before, and we'll have more down the line, I'm sure." He leveled his gaze on her. "Do it. This isn't the first time he's tried this."

"Hell, Perry, it isn't even the first time he's tried that with me!" she snorted, realizing just how relieved she was that Lucas hadn't asked.

Sometimes the looks her boss gave her were entirely too close to how her father used to look at her—with great affection, but as if he thought she was completely off her rocker at the same time.

"Well, then, even more reason to hold the bastard's feet—and/or points further north, preferably—to the fire."

But Allie was shaking her head. "I can't think that would be good for this place—and especially not the case I've spent all of this time building against the Bove family. We're literally inches from being able to tighten that noose, but without testimony from his officers, it will all fall completely apart and we'll be back to square one. Of the two, I think there's more good in holding Lucas Bove's feet to the fire, don't you?"

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