Page 3 of At Her Pleasure

It was a shame he was going to have to arrest her.

The “Gone, Gone, Gone” song was still in his head, the lyrics feeling far more personal than they should be.

She did a short lunge at him, like at an animal she was driving away. “Get the fuck out of here. This doesn’t concern you.”

She might be buzzed, but she wasn’t drunk. Her eyes were sharp. No slurring of her words. Her aim at the gravestone had been accurate and delivered with force. He expected what had made her stagger away from the bigger headstone and collapse against the smaller one was the weight of the emotions she was carrying.

Or physical hunger. Her face was too pale and thin.

However, confronted by a threat—or maybe he was just an annoyance—she was standing sturdy, feet braced, fists clenched. She wanted a fight.

The jeans were loose enough to conceal a gun or knife. The gang tat on the side of her neck was faded, and that crew had been swallowed up by a new one over a year ago. It hadn’t been touched up, which meant she’d left them, not an easy feat here. While she wore no other gang markers, she had to be armed. Any woman with sense would be.

He’d held his ground at the lunge, but it had brought him a hundred percent back to the here and now. He kept the flashlight focused on her hands and torso. He’d unsnapped his gun holster when he left the car, but he’d probably let her kill him before he’d draw on her. After the week he’d had, he just couldn’t bear the idea of it.

Yep, he was fucked in the head tonight.

“You’re causing a disturbance, ma’am. And trespassing. No one in the cemetery after dark. If you move along, we can leave it at that.”

Her teeth showed again. “I said this doesn’t concern you, motherfucker. You move along and we’ll leave it at that.”

“Okay.” He put the flashlight back on his belt. “Turn around and get on your knees. Lace your fingers on top of your head.”

Her pretty mouth twisted into a barbed wire shape. “You don’t have a big enough dick to get me on my knees.”

“Does anyone?”

The grim humor startled her. Made her blink. That was when he moved.

She’d imbibed enough to slow her reflexes, and he had the element of surprise. He took her down, putting her on her stomach. She screamed at him, pushed with more force than he would have expected for her size. While she bucked, she scrambled for any glass or rock in reach. He stopped that, getting her arms behind her, her wrists zip-tied at the small of her back.

Most people, unless too far under the influence, called it quits once restrained. But she was just getting started.

As he pulled her to her feet, she hooked his leg with her own and dropped them to the ground again. She squirmed away and bounced back up, but instead of running as he expected, she kicked him in the thigh. If he hadn’t rolled away fast enough, she’d have found his balls with the toe of her ratty sneakers.

Only then did she bolt, but the maliciousness had cost her. He grabbed the cuff of her jeans and yanked, bringing her down again.

He dodged the kick to his face and went for a full body tackle, using his greater size and weight against her back to mash her into the ground. Her head snapped around and she sank her teeth into his arm.

“Son of a…”

He yanked the arm away and adjusted to keep the rest of him out of range of feet or teeth.

“Pussy,” she spat beneath him. “Fighting me like a cop instead of a man.”

“Honey, they’re one and the same.”

The watch cap had come off, the tangle of brown curls framing her angry eyes, lowered brows and distracting mouth. He drew in a breath.

She should smell like beer and meanness, and she did. But the meanness turned him on. And her hair smelled like baby shampoo. Fucking baby shampoo.

“Don’t you fucking try anything.” He pushed up on a knee and patted her down, finding the sheathed knife tucked beneath her waistband. No gun. He put the blade into his belt, then eased back. Keeping a warning hand on the bound wrists, his knee on her butt, he stared down at her. Her body was vibrating with rage, but her eyes were glassy, and she’d gone eerily silent.

“You want a fair fight?” he said abruptly. “Is that what you want? One fucking fair fight in a whole life that hasn’t had one?”

What was he doing? Her eyes rolled his way, her expression caught in the same WTF zone, with a big dose of what is this asshole trying to pull?

But zero fear.

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