“Why Bluelick?”
“What do you mean?”
She dragged her fingernails through the hair near his temples, and he had to fight the urge to lean into the caress. “You’re not from this place, and you don’t have family in the area. What brings a big city cop down here?”
“The job,” he said, because that was his standard response to the not entirely uncommon question. “I knew Shaun from the Navy. When he put out the call for the Bluelick PD, I decided I was interested, and the rest is history.”
That was the condensed version, minus the soul searching.
She pondered his response in silence while her roving fingers teased their way through his hair. “Bluelick’s a big change of pace from New York City.”
Hell yes, it was. But he’d been looking for a change. Needing one. “I was ready for a different sort of challenge.”
She graced him with a wily smile as she trailed her fingernails along his rough jaw. “A burning desire to crack down on hitchhiking along Route 9?”
He dipped his head and caught her finger between his teeth, stroked his tongue over the pad, and had the satisfaction of watching her pupils widen before he set her free. “Kind of. I wanted to be part of a place, not an organization. The U.S. military and the NYPD are massive machines, and you’re one small cog within that construct. You end up feeling—or at least I ended up feeling—more connected to the machine than the people it’s built to serve. You might feel effective, possibly even heroic from time to time, but also detached.”
Her fingers roamed the back of his neck. “I imagine it takes a certain amount of detachment to do the job?”
“It does. You can’t get pulled into every human drama played out in front of you or you’ll break, but that detachment can hammer basic human characteristics like empathy and patience right out of you. And for the most part, you’re living in a closed circle comprised of your team, your squad, or whatever, so it’s impossible to get a reality check from the people around you. It gets harder and harder to shake that detachment, even when off duty. You’re on one side of a line, and everyone on the other side starts to look like a potential threat, an active threat, or a victim. Your default assumption is that everyone’s working an angle and nobody’s motives are pure.”
“That’s a pretty jaded outlook, Officer Donovan,” she said quietly, running her nails in long, generous sweeps from his neck to his shoulder.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a well-documented occupational hazard, but what it boils down to is an us-versus-them mentality that puts you on guard at all times. I saw it all around me, and I didn’t want to end up a cynical SOB with a fundamental disdain for my fellow man. When Shaun contacted me, things just fell into place. Next thing I knew, I was neck deep in Bluelick.”
One corner of her mouth turned up. “How’s that working out for you?”
He didn’t miss the irony in her question. He’d definitely classified her the moment he’d met her, and they both knew it. “I guess it would be fair to say that work is still in progress.”
“But you’re happy here.”
“Happy enough. I don’t regret making the move. I like the job. I like the town.” He ran a hand over her hip. “Southern hospitality suits me.”
“You should get that tattooed right here.” She drew letters across his lower abdomen with a fingertip, on a definite slant toward his cock. “Southern hospitality suits me.”
All those lines and loops played havoc with his nerve endings. He intercepted her hand and threaded their fingers together. “Where’s your happy place?” He asked out of some half-formed idea of helping her get there, but now that he’d voiced the question, he had the craziest hope she’d say, Here, West. My happy place is right here with you. As a rule, he didn’t do crazy.
“I haven’t figured it out yet.”
And that’s why you don’t do crazy. “But you think California?”
Daylight filtered by the curtains turned her eyes Pacific blue, and he could practically see the long shadows of palm trees swaying in their depths. “I won’t know ‘til I give it a try.”
Not the response of a woman looking to settle down anytime soon. His primary reaction to that realization should have been relief, but right at this moment, he didn’t care for the reminder that her time in Bluelick was limited. “Maybe, but I bet I could make a few of your places really happy in the meantime.” He drew a meandering arrow up her rib cage, deliberately tickling the sensitive skin while inching toward her breast. She laughed and scooted away, arms hugged to her sides.
“Don’t you dare, West. Two can play this game, and I happen to know where you’re vulnerable.” She risked an attempt to tickle his side but instantly retreated to her balled-up position when he countered by running his fingers along her unguarded flank.
“Vulnerable? Me? I have longer arms and a significant weight advantage. Oh, and a much more fascinating array of targets to choose from.” To demonstrate those advantages, he propped himself up on one elbow and cruised his hand over her thigh.
That led to some definite thrashing. “Aaack! No!”
He stopped to let her breathe. “Not there, huh? How about here?” A moment of grappling and he had her over his lap. She squealed and twisted in some highly ineffective evasive maneuvers as he skipped his fingertips down the small of her back and over some very vulnerable curves.
“Oh God. No more.” Her feet kicked the mattress as if trying to swim away. “You win.”
Did he? He dialed his touch back to the barest glide of fingertips and waited for her to catch her breath. “There are terms to your surrender.”
“Wha…?” The word dissolved into a fit of residual laughter. She tossed her hair out
