Read Online Holiday Grind by Cleo Coyle - Free Book Online Page B

gave me the recipe last week. I was going to pass it to you, but”—he shrugged—“the directions were so straightforward . . .” He popped a homemade treat into his own mouth and smiled again. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
    I sampled a second. “Mmmm,” I said, “tasty surprise.”
    Then Quinn leaned in and gave me another.
    His lips were warm and loving as they brushed across mine. His mouth was sweet from the chocolate, his tongue tart from the alcohol, but after a few soft tastes of me, all gentleness fled. Quinn’s kisses became deeper, his mouth downright hungry. Thrilled to keep pace with the man, I hooked my arms around his neck and worked myself into his lap. We were locked together like that in the firelight for an entire transcendent minute before his cell went off.
    On a groan of frustration, he pulled away. As he checked the Caller ID, I tried to pretend I wasn’t catching my breath.
    “Police business?” I finally whispered, unable to read his squinting gaze.
    “I’ll just be a minute.”
    His blue eyes had already gone cold.
    “What is it?” he asked the caller, his long legs crossing briskly to the window. The shortness in his voice was barely perceptible, but its meaning was clear enough to me. Quinn wasn’t just irritated by this interruption; he didn’t think it necessary.
    A substantial pause followed. As Quinn listened to the caller, he absently pushed back the window curtains, checked the street. Forever the cop , I thought.
    “Oh, really?” he said at last. “Well, not me.”
    His tone was openly sharp now.
    “That’s not a good idea,” he added. And finally, just before ending the call—“ Stop . This is not the time.”
    Something was wrong, obviously .
    Quinn was almost always in control of his temper. But this unexpected call had really set him off. Even across the shadowy room, I could see the level of ire in his movements. He tugged off his shoulder holster and hooked it sharply over a chair. Then he smacked his badge, cuffs, and wallet onto the dresser. Finally, he came to me, roughly unbuttoning his dress shirt.
    “Let me,” I whispered, and he did.
    As I gently removed the garment, my mind raced with the possibilities of who was calling and why. I asked him if he wanted to talk about it, but he waved me off.
    “It’s not important,” he said, “and I’d prefer we get back to what is .”
    Impatiently he pulled off the rest of his clothes; then he turned his attention to undressing me, first tugging off my worn football jersey, then slipping his hands over my hips to remove my last scrap of modesty. The second I was naked, he hauled me close.
    I didn’t know why Quinn’s need for me was suddenly so acute, but I wasn’t about to slow the man down. More than ever, I wanted sweet oblivion, and that’s exactly what he gave me.
    The flickering shadows of his fire rendered my bruises invisible. The heat of his kisses melted my bitterest fears. And when his body covered mine, he made every last thought in my head disappear.

SEVEN

    MORNING dawned again, cold and bright—only this time I wasn’t dreaming. The rhythmic scraping of a snow shovel woke me, and I knew it was Tucker downstairs, clearing the sidewalk before he opened.
    With last night’s fire thoroughly burned out, the room felt slightly acrid and plenty chilly. I turned under the comforter to find Mike still in a deep sleep. Like any sane woman would, I kissed his bare shoulder and snuggled up to his big, warm body. Unfortunately for me, dreamland was over with one sound—
    Mrrrooow!
    Feeling a light tread of paws up the bedcovers, I opened my eyes to white whiskers and a pink nose. A fur ball the color of a roasted arabica bean settled onto my chest and began loudly purring. I considered nudging away the little brown tabby, turning over to show her my back, but I didn’t have the heart.
    “Okay, Java, you win,” I whispered on a yawn. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”
    Rolling out of bed,