Officer on Duty (Lock and Key Book 4) by Ranae Rose Page A

about stuff like the stupid reasons people get speeding tickets, or Capri pants vs. shorts … I’m here.”
    “Are you available for anything more than talking?”
    Maybe asking was a little clumsy, as far as flirting went, but he was her neighbor, and so were his daughter and mother. She didn’t want to risk misunderstanding and making things weird or complicated for any of them.
    “The only person who has any claim on me is Paige.” He smiled. “That’s a lot of responsibility, of course, but beyond that, I’m as available as it gets.”
    “I had to ask; it seemed too unlikely to just assume.”
    He laughed. “The only unlikely thing about this is you caring whether or not I’m available.”
    She arched a brow. “You’ve got to be kidding me. After a dozen years in law enforcement, I know you’ve got to realize that most women love a man in uniform.”
    “Maybe, but I doubt they’d love the paycheck that comes with it. Or the hours. Between my job and Paige, I don’t exactly have a lot of time left over to play Casanova.”
    “Maybe that’s for the best. If you did, you’d have women dropping at your feet left and right. It wouldn’t be fair to the ordinary men of Riley County.”
    His mouth curved in a wry smile, and he shook his head when it faded.  “If my leg wasn’t so sore, I’d pinch myself just to make sure I was awake.”
    She grinned. “Really, though: you look so good in uniform, it’s almost criminal. And I know your job and fatherhood are both demanding. But it seems like you do get some time to yourself.”
    She gestured to indicate the empty house.
    “A little here and there.”
    She reached out and touched the hand he had resting on the table.
    He was hot, not warm, to the touch. Skin-to-skin contact made her ache to press more than her fingertips against him.
    Surprise arrowed through her when he turned his hand over and gripped her fingers. Tightly.
    When he leaned forward, the scrape of his chair against the tile failed to drown out the drumbeat of her speeding heart. It rang in her ears as he came close enough for her to smell, close enough that the dark stubble on his jaw tickled the corner of her mouth for a split second before their lips touched.
    Oh, God. His lips were hot heaven roughened by the scrape of all that dark stubble. It made the nerves running along her spine sing, lighting up the pleasure center in her brain, and sent the butterflies in her belly into absolute insanity.
    He kissed like he meant it, and his passion was fuel to her fire. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she realized she’d been holding her breath.
    She started breathing again, each breath more hard-won than the last. For every exhalation, her heart beat half a dozen times.
    Then he put a hand in her hair, and the pressure of his fingertips against her skull had her fighting a shiver. The feeling of his palm curving to conform to the back of her head felt even better. His fingers were tangled in her curls, and he held on like he didn’t mean to let go.
    But he did, eventually. He slid that hand slowly out of her hair, taking care not to pull. And their lips broke apart.
    She needed air, even if she didn’t want it. Fighting to steady her breathing, she met his eyes.
    He didn’t sweep her off her feet and back to his bed, or throw her onto the table in a fit of passion, like in a movie. He just held her gaze, and the hunger she saw there surprised her, even after the way they’d kissed.
    It was controlled, but raging. His light eyes showed her that, transparent as glass, and everything below her belly tightened.
    Part of her wished he would sweep her off her feet, but of course, his leg was too badly wounded for that kind of theatrical exertion.
    Another part of her enjoyed the thrill of seeing him look at her like this. Of watching desire smolder in his eyes, a slow burn she felt in every fiber of her being.
    “How painful is your leg?” she asked.
    “I don’t remember.”
    She