Page 143 of Hot Cops

CRASH POINT

Big Easy, book 2

Good cop, Bad…boy. She’ll answer to both.

Fate has brought Blake Mills back into her life. The textbook bad boy Chloe gave her body and heart to ten long years ago. He betrayed her trust, broke her heart, and stole from her family. Her fury still rages a decade later—so why does she want him more than ever?

Blake never stopped wanting Chloe Lewis. Through years of bad choices, Chloe was his light, leading him away from a life of crime to turn him into the man he's become, a respectable, decorated member of the NOPD. Now, Blake’s back. And ready to show her some bad boys can be good. Very, very good.

CHAPTERONE

“I know, Mama. Yeah…Yeah…Mmmhmm.”

Blake Mills leaned against the doorframe of the studio. He watched the petite blonde—who had her back turned to him—set up her camera equipment while balancing her cell phone between her shoulder and cheek. Her head was fully tilted to the right, yet she worked with ease.

“I understand how important this fundraiser is, Mama. I’m just not all that jazzed about taking a bunch of beefcake pictures of some brainless mimbos with more muscles than sense.”

Blake stifled the urge to clear his throat, slightly offended by the photographer’s insult, but he let it slide, unwilling to let her know he was there. He’d never been referred to as a male bimbo before. Even so, he was fairly certain he’d find a way to make her eat those words. He might not be the smartest guy on the planet, but he wasn’t an airhead with a penis either.

The woman sighed heavily, continuing to speak. It occurred to him there was something vaguely familiar about her voice.

For now, he held his tongue, intent on enjoying the view as she bent over to retrieve something from her camera bag, her firm, perfect ass pointed in his direction. She wore skintight jeans that accentuated the bottom half of her generous hourglass just right.

“Fine,” she said in reply to something her mother had said. “I won’t insult the models. At least not to their faces. But I’m reserving the right to make fun of them at Sunday dinner. I can’t believe that last guy was able to squeeze his ego through the front door.”

Ah, Blake thought, her annoyance started to make sense. The last guy had been a tool. He sympathized with the pretty woman. He’d been roped into this charity calendar bullshit too. Sounded like neither he, nor the photographer, were here willingly.

She stood up with her back still to him as she snapped her camera onto the tripod. It was clear her mother was giving her an earful by the short, cutoff replies the photographer was making.

“Yeah, but…”

“I know that. All I’m…”

“Alright, I can…”

Finally the woman pulled her cell away from her ear and mimicked the action of throttling it. Blake lost his ability to remain silent. He chuckled.

The photographer turned to face him and he sucked in an astonished breath.

Fuck.

Chloe Lewis.

For the briefest of moments, he hoped she wouldn’t recognize him. After all, ten years had passed.

That wish was squashed instantly.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw him. “I have to go, Mama.” She didn’t even wait for her mother to say goodbye. Instead, she clicked the end button and slid the cell into her back jeans pocket. It was on the tip of his tongue to express surprise that she could squeeze anything else into the tight denim, but he was starting this conversation on thin ice as it was. No need to make it worse. Though there had always been something about Chloe that had him longing to tease her…just so he could hear her loud, joyful laughter. He’d never met anyone before or since who could laugh with such unrestrained, utter delight.

It was the first thing that had drawn him to her all those years ago. Chloe had trapped him in her tractor beam within minutes of their initial introduction and held him there for months—the best summer of his life. There was no denying the two of them had set off fireworks together—in and out of the bedroom. He’d never understood the wordtumultuousuntil that summer. Perhaps enough time had passed that Chloe would forgive him and they could let bygones be bygones.

Chloe’s eyes flashed fire.

Nope. No bygones.

“Hey, Chloe. Good to see you.”

It was clearly the wrong opening. “Fuck you, Blake.”

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