His act of devotion had been the perfect one to catapult her over the edge, a physical and emotional stimulus she could not resist, sweeping any control away. She could say it was partially the culmination of several days of intense sexual frustration, and partially him, but it was all him. She had denied herself any satisfaction, only wanting it from Mac.
“Put me down,” she said, her voice unsteady, and he obeyed, setting her on her feet as if she were porcelain. Violet stepped back, uncovered those beautiful bare shoulders, the tousled head, the face rigid with his own suppressed desires. She bent, kissed him gently on the lips, let him clasp her trembling hands as she tasted herself on his lips.
“Come make me dinner,” she said.
123
Joey W. Hill
* * * * *
Violet had never appreciated the erotic art of cooking until she watched a man she desired as much as Mackenzie do it. The capable way his large hands sliced the fresh vegetables after carefully washing them, sliding his fingers into every crevice to gently remove any dirt, leaving the glistening color of the green zucchini and yellow squash unmarred. The firm, human flesh-like covering of the ripe tomatoes responding to his caress by revealing the deepest hue of their red color. The casual way he tossed them into the pot, a man completely at ease with what he was doing. Scents of preparing food filled her kitchen, adding to the warmth already surrounding them. She placed her wine glass on the counter and turned to hitch herself up on it, and found him there, his hands at her waist.
“Allow me, Mistress.”
She nodded and he lifted her, placing her on the counter with the same care with which he had laid out his eggs on a towel. She splayed her knees, inviting him in, and he obliged, coming close enough that she could glide her hands over his beautiful furred chest, enjoying the touch of his mouth, scented with wine, cruising under her ear.
“Are you going to burn my supper?” she asked, a smile on her lips.
Mac turned his head, nuzzled her cheek with his nose. “If my Mistress desires me to do so.”
She laughed, pushed him away. “Not a chance. You bragged about your cooking prowess, you’re going to have to live up to it.” He returned to the stove. He didn’t initiate further conversation, and she knew he was waiting. Maybe he thought it would be rude for him to bring it up, that she should initiate the discussion as Mistress, though the topic itself lay outside the bounds of their sexual roles. It was hard to tell where the roles ended and began between the two of them, though, so she took a breath and took the first step.
“You can talk about it, if you like,” she said, taking up her wine and crossing her legs, bracing herself with a hand. “After all, I opened up the can of worms. Since you’re here, I’m assuming you’re willing for us to get more personal. But you may also…have problems with it.”
His greeting had greatly reassured her, but she knew that it could still go south for them. She didn’t want to wait. She wanted to make sure he could accept what she was, and that she knew what he was, and still go forward. If he couldn’t…well, she supposed she could figure out a way to tie him to her bed and sexually torment him until he got over it, but there were laws against that route, and she controlled Mac physically only with her mind. If he chose to resist her, he’d have her outmatched.
Unless she had a stun gun with the capacity to take down an elephant.
He turned and saw the worry in her eyes before she could mask it with a light smile. “You didn’t think I’d come tonight,” he said.
124
Natural Law
“I wasn’t sure.” She lifted a shoulder. “Cops can be funny about dating other cops to begin with. It was something I needed to know about you before I got too deep.” Too late on that, he thought. For both of them. He saw the unspoken truth of it reflected in her own expression. He measured a blend of fresh herbs into a bowl, mixed them with his fingers. “Officer Violet Siemanski, Florida State Highway Patrol. A state trooper. “ He brushed off his hand, extended it to her. “Mackenzie Nighthorse, Homicide Squad. Though you seem to know that.”
“I just suspected you were a cop. I didn’t know where, or what level.” She set down her wine, reached out and clasped his hand. He took it to his lips, brushed them over her knuckles, caressed her fingers.
“My pleasure, Officer. How long have you been on the force?”
“About four years. You?”
“Rookie.” He grinned at her narrow look. “About twenty now. What did you do before you went into law enforcement?”
He returned to his cooking, watched her out of the corner of his eye. She hesitated, then took up her wine, that hand he’d just touched curled loosely in her lap, signs that he’d reassured her somewhat. No doubt about it, she’d completely knocked him out with the knowledge she was a cop. But what he felt for her couldn’t be shaken that easily, nor was he going to let her worry for a moment that it would.
“I went into the Marines on their scholarship program. I never got posted anywhere very hot, just Germany, Japan.”
“Scholarship program then, and a Stealth now?” He gave her a sidelong glance.
“You on the take, Officer?”
She chuckled. “Not hardly. My aunt was a bit on the eccentric side. Lived in a small house in a neighborhood backed up to the interstate. Never bought a car, bitched about every cent she had to spend on us for Christmas or birthdays. I took care of her when she got sick, because she couldn’t tolerate anyone else. When she died, we were all stunned to find out she was a really shrewd investor, and she left it all to me. I’ve kept most of it in investments, using her portfolio manager. But I paid off my college loans, some of my family’s debts, despite my dad’s protests, and then a year ago, treated myself to the Stealth. I bought it from a guy who had treated it like a baby, who liked looking at it more than driving it, so it barely had any mileage.” She crossed her legs and gave him a thorough appraisal, lingering over his bare chest and the prominent display of his groin area in the tight jeans. “I don’t indulge often, but when I do, I go for quality. Goes from zero to fifty-five in under six seconds.” She could make his blood temperature do the same with those sultry eyes, but Mac managed to stay in neutral, gave her an arch look. “And how about zero to a hundred?”
“Fourteen point three seconds.” She examined her nails. “According to the factory specifications.”
“Of course.” He chuckled. “So what else did you do in the Marines?” 125
Joey W. Hill
“I trained to be an MP and served most of my stint in that. I liked it, and it dovetailed well when I went for my criminal law minor.”
“What gave away that I was a cop?” Mac inserted it as a casual question, but it was bothering him. He needed to know.
She shrugged. “I just knew. You didn’t give it away the way a rookie would, with the constant ready stance, but you had that air about you that… well, you know. We just know sometimes.”
He nodded, understanding perfectly, though it disturbed him that he hadn’t been able to out her in the same way. But then, she’d thrown him off stride from the first.
“What’s the frown about?”
“Just thinking if I put in the right amount of oregano,” he lied. There was male pride to be preserved, after all.
“So, do you always wear black jeans?”
He shrugged. “They don’t show dirt, and they can all go in the wash together.” She chuckled. “Mackenzie, you just without a doubt told me you’re a bachelor.”
“I already told you I wasn’t married.”
“Yes, but now I know I can believe you.”
He looked at her. “You can trust me, Violet.”
“Not yet. Not until you know you can completely trust me.” She gave him an even look in return that told him she’d seen the change in his expression, knew his frown meant something different.
But she didn’t push it. Just gave him that face that said he wasn’t fooling her, and took another sip of her wine.
“What’s in there?” She nodded to the plastic container he’d left on the counter.
“That’s dessert. A chocolate torte.”
Her eyes lit up in anticipation and he grinned. “I think I’ve found your weakness.” No, that’s you. Though she thought it rather than said it, he saw it in her eyes as if he’d heard her thoughts. A flush heated his skin, the reaction of an adolescent, but for once he didn’t fight it, didn’t try to remain cool. He let her see how much she was affecting him.
“The fanciest chocolate dessert I’ve had is a Sara Lee fudge cake at Wal-Mart,” she said. “And that was pretty darn good. What’s a torte?”
“A torte is a thin layer of cake with a filling in between the layers. In this case a chocolate gnoche mousse, which is like a whipped chocolate cream. When you place it in your mouth, it should melt into your taste buds. You don’t have to distract yourself with the energy of chewing.”
“And you made it?” She leaned over, lounging her body across the counter like a decadent queen, and peeked into the container. “Wow,” she said. “Mackenzie, I might have to marry you.”