Strangers In Crime

After a long day at work slaving away for a boss who hates you, wouldn’t you just want some food and your bed? Detective Inspector Cheryl Spiers does too. Only at quarter past 12 on a busy Saturday night, there is no food to be found, just an unsavoury perp.

And of course she is the one who needs to intervene…

.
.
.

Until a muscled arm circles her waist and a voice—accented, sensuous and HOT!—whispers, ‘You ordered a pint but never got to enjoy it. I don’t like that. I’ve got this handled.’

ANTHONY Ricci lives by a few facts of life:
-Women are precious; you never raise a hand to them
-The law is a bendable straw that often falls short
-Cops are the harbingers of doom so stay the hell away

Then from behind the bar he sees her: delicious curves, pinned up hair his hands ache to mess up and cop eyes.

The latter a great reason to stay away. After all, she could mess everything up… Only, when she goes looking for trouble—badge and facts of life be damned—Anthony’s right there, flying perilously close to the sun.

A hazel-eyed brunette. Many men preferred women with blond hair and blue eyes, but Anthony had a type. And after the day he’d had…
Anthony flexed his right hand, staring at the angry bruise forming on his knuckles. It might not faze the cop, but she’d have questions. And he’d stick to the truth – sometimes a bruised knuckle was the balm you needed after a rough day.
Still, Anthony found himself sneaking down the side alley to the pub and using the back door to creep in.
The kitchen lay empty, his cook having left for the night. Anthony made it a habit to send his staff home in batches. No one locked up or left alone, no matter how light it was outside. And he took those rules very seriously.
Now he turned on the sink and rinsed his hands. Talia, the dishwasher, wouldn’t be happy to see he’d used her sink after she’d cleaned it, but that brunette out there… Anthony grinned. He wanted to see where she led him tonight.
He reached into the freezer then dropped a bag of peas – after wrapping in a tea towel – onto his knuckles, wincing at the cold snap. He gave the peas just under five minutes to do the trick. If he stayed back here any longer, the woman was liable to leave.
After ensuring he’d shut everything off in the kitchen – he didn’t want to face the collective ire of his staff, and if things did progress the way he’d like, he wouldn’t have time to come back here and deal with the kitchen – Anthony pushed past the swinging doors between the kitchen and bar.
Before, when he’d left with Darryl Newsome – the man threatening the young woman – the place had been buzzing. Now, after Betty and Molly had kicked everyone out, only one unofficial patron remained.
Anthony sucked in a breath when his eyes collided with the fiery browns of the policewoman. Her gaze appeared shuttered, an expression he saw in the mirror every morning. Then she licked her lips, a sure sign she needed exactly what he did – a night of mindless sex.
The woman’s mouth opened. ‘Hi.’
Anthony stepped out from behind the bar and prowled towards her. With each stride he took, she swivelled on the stool, until he stood right between her legs. Anthony tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears. ‘Long night?’
She set the glass she’d been nursing aside. ‘Something like that.’
He reached over and covered her smaller, much softer hand in his calloused ones. ‘Will you allow me to salvage your… well, early Sunday morning?’
A soft grin shone on her face, and her eyes danced. ‘How do you plan to do that?’
Now he smirked. Oh, he had a few ideas – some rigorous, others gentle, some in bed and others to do with every surface he could hold her against. Anthony leaned in until he caught her scent – something sweet and earthy. It had tugged at him earlier when he’d separated that man from her. And now again. He growled, ‘Why don’t we start with heading upstairs?’
The hand he’d clasped in his turned. ‘We could, but first I have some questions.’ When she rested her palm against his heart and inhaled so her breasts rose, Anthony’s dick hardened, even more than when he’d first laid eyes on her.
He groaned. ‘Can that wait until after?’
She shook her head. ‘Your colleague informed me the kitchen had closed, yet here I sat for the last half hour eating the best margherita I’ve ever eaten with a stiff glass of your finest whisky. And Betty said it was all on the house.’
Anthony would have liked to have watched her eat. But sometimes his work got in the way of pleasure. He flexed his hand again, then placed it on her elbow. ‘The chef thanks you for the compliment.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘Hold on – you made it?’
Tilting his head, Anthony skimmed his lips over her forehead. ‘Our chef left way before you arrived. When you entered, I thought I’d head in the back and see what I could put together. You looked like you could eat.’
Her eyebrows rose, making Anthony realise what he’d said. Usually he had a way with words; saying something ambiguous was not how he worked. ‘I mean, I thought you’d appreciate someone cooking for you.’
She smiled again, her hands drifting to the few buttons on his shirt. ‘I do. Usually I don’t find men cooking for me on the first date.’
‘I apologise for the oversight my gender has shown you. And I’m also glad you consider this a date.’