Page 5 of Mistletoe Masquerade
“What precinct are you with?” I ask, needing to know more about the woman who’s captured my attention more so than anyone in a very long time.
“I’m not. I came with a friend, but we didn’t make it inside before she started to get a migraine and decided to leave.”
“And you stayed?” I’m surprised, considering she probably doesn’t know anyone here.
Her answering smile is as serene as a sunrise walk on the beach. “I was already here with my mask in place. Seemed a shame to walk away.”
Shame is right.
I’d been just as close to backing out of attending, but I’ve never been so goddamn glad to be in a tux as I am right now.
“And then you were accosted by those assholes.” I know what I did was just as obnoxious, but I was nearby and heard everything they said. I couldn’t stand by and leave her to that nightmare.
She gives a small laugh, and ripples of warmth radiate through my chest.
“I was definitely starting to question my decision to stay.”
At that moment, a man walking through the crowdjostles her from behind. Her free hand reaches for me, steadying herself by clinging to me, and fuck if my inner caveman doesn’t beat his fists against his chest. I’m all for independent, confident women, so I have no clue why her relying on me for support feels so goddamn good, but it does.
“Excuse me,” she says, lowering her gaze as though embarrassed.
I wrap my hand around her waist and draw her closer to my side to keep her out of harm’s way. Social norms dictate that I should retract my hand now—I don’t know this beautiful creature well enough to maintain such a possessive touch—but my arm refuses to cooperate. It’s found a new home, curved protectively around her, and is threatening all-out mutiny at the prospect of being ousted.
She lifts her wide-eyed gaze to mine, her lips gently parting.
I briefly consider selling my soul for a taste of those lips. They’re begging to be kissed, but I’ve taken enough liberties already. Instead, I drink in the sight of her and say, “I, for one, am grateful you decided to stay.”
Her throat bobs with a swallow. “Me, too,” she breathes.
I have no doubt she feels the intense chemistry between us just as acutely as I do.
The sparks of desire.
The combustible heat.
It electrifies the airaround us.
I have to lift my gaze to break the contact because it feels like something might literally catch fire if I don’t release this pressure.
“Quite the turnout,” I offer. My ragged and frayed voice is shredded from restraint.
“The masquerade element draws people out.”
“Any excuse to test the limits of good behavior.” I should know, considering I walked up to a woman I’ve never met, kissed her hand, and called her kitten. I’m not sure what to think about that.
“Even with this crowd?” she asks, surprised.
“They say the psychology of a cop and a criminal often overlaps.”
“Do you fall into that category?”
“Up until five minutes ago, I would have said no,” I admit.
“But now?” she prods gently.
I’ve never taken a bribe or anything like it, but in recent months, I’ve found myself cooperating with men I should be arresting. It’s a shift I didn’t see coming. And with the indecent thoughts I’m fighting off regarding this woman in white, I’m wondering if I’m still the man I thought I was.
“I’m starting to realize that certain motivations might inspire even the best of men to act out of character. We’re cops, not saints, after all.” My voice takes on a husky tone when my gaze locks with hers.
