Read Online [When SEALs Come Home 04] - Heated by Anne Marsh - Free Book Online

soft—and wriggling. Jesus. He hadn’t thought that through when he’d tugged her down onto his lap. He’d just known that he’d get a rise out of her.
    And himself apparently.
    Her ponytail whipped him in the face as she made another halfhearted move toward the open door. She couldn’t have minded her current position too much though because she could have broken free. Not without hurting him, however, because at close quarters, inside a car and alone with a man his size, his cool, standoffish deputy sheriff was vulnerable.
    Damn. It sucked that he was apparently a nice guy after all.
    “Jam your elbow in my gut,” he said gruffly. “Or slam your head back and aim for my nose.”
    “You want me to hurt you?” She sounded adorably confused.
    “I’m not into pain.” Enough happened accidentally, and he’d never understood seeking it out. “I just want this to be your choice.”
    Which didn’t explain why he wasn’t letting go. Or what this was.
    “Huh.” She huffed out a breath and stopped moving. “You’re a strange man.”
    He’d heard that before.
    “And I have a handgun in the glove compartment. I’m licensed for concealed carry.”
    Great. If he pissed her off, she could shoot him. At least she wasn’t entirely defenseless. He wasn’t a long-term guy. He didn’t stick. And the only acquaintance he wanted with marriage was watching his friends walk down the aisle. Mercedes Hernandez, on the other hand, was a keeper. She was a forever-after kind of woman, even if, he suspected, she didn’t know it. Bob the cat mewed plaintively from his carrier, unhappy at being left out. Hell, even her cat had an opinion about what they were doing here in the front seat of her car.
    “Go out with me,” he heard himself say. He buried his face in her hair, fisting her ponytail and drinking her in. It was a good thing she couldn’t see his face.
    “Joey—”
    She was going to say no.
    He didn’t like that answer, and he didn’t have to play fair. So he kissed the side of her neck, running his thumb over the soft curve of her jaw. She was all soft underneath, his Mercy.
    “Say yes. One date,” he said. “I think you owe me that much.”
    “That’s the price of car repairs today?” He loved the laughter in her voice. “I’ll have to remember to swing by the garage more often.”
    He dragged his hands down over her ribs, finding her waist. “Say yes,” he repeated.
    “I can’t.” Regret replaced laughter in her voice.
    “One date,” he coaxed. He pressed his lips against the pulse that beat in her throat. Her breathing hitched.
    “I have a morals clause in my contract.”
    “Are you questioning my morals?”
    “It’s happened before.” She shrugged, and the move sent her sweater—one of those fuzzy, soft-colored things—sliding off her shoulder. The red bra strap that peeked out was, he decided, far more interesting than her morals clause. He needed to kiss her there, taste the sweet little hollow of skin and thumb the strap down. Strip her bare. And—
    She was still talking. “I love my job. I really do. I know that’s hard for someone like you to understand.”
    He had no idea what that meant, but maybe she really believed he was a hardened criminal. He made a noise, but she kept right on talking, on a roll.
    “I grew up in a poor Hispanic neighborhood,” she said. “Orange County.”
    “I’ve been through there a time or two.” He knew the kind of neighborhood she meant. Clean and pretty, with working-class trucks parked end to end and yards full of potted plants, the houses busting at the seams with extended family, and all the drama that came with close quarters and high occupancy.
    She smiled but not at him. Nope. She was taking an extended walk down memory lane, and he was fairly certain he wasn’t invited. “My neighborhood could put on one hell of a party. Many of the girls never went past high school, and having the first baby was their major milestone.”
    “But you