Story shivered, her legs weakening underneath her. Yearning, hot and desperate, pulsed between her legs as memories of the previous afternoon broke free to run wild in her mind. Knowing he could so easily determine and satisfy her needs with devastating efficiency only heightened her desire for him. Nurse-chaser or not, nothing could stop her from wanting him now, at this moment in the dark stairwell.
Daniel hadn’t yet finished his verbal torture. “I should have left yesterday before I found out how hot you run. But I didn’t. And now I’m f**ked.” One hand dropped from the wall to grip the side of her hip, squeezing and releasing. “That exquisite body of yours needs a lot of care and attention. I didn’t even get a chance to use my tongue on you. I hate not knowing how you taste.”
Her head dropped back against the door. When his hand slipped under her dress to run up the outside of her thigh, a moan escaped her lips. Unconsciously, she thrust her br**sts upward, in the direction of his mouth.
“Yes, I see them, baby. I’d taste you there, too.” Slowly, his hand slid around toward the juncture between her thighs. “You came so quickly for me yesterday, like something out of a fantasy. Were you neglected here?” He ran a knuckle along the seam of her panties. “I know how to make it better.”
A door slammed on the floor beneath them, the noise echoing through the stairwell. Two women in the middle of a heated argument hurled insults at each other from below. In an attempt to catch her breath and calm the craving for more of Daniel’s expert touch, Story pushed his hand away and straightened from the door he’d backed her against. It didn’t help when she met his eyes and witnessed the stark arousal there, mixed with conflict.
Heart pounding in her ears, she sidestepped him to pick up the coffee cups. She kept her voice low so as not to alert the women fighting on the floor beneath. “What the hell was that, Daniel? Mixed signals much?” She hated the shakiness in her question.
Pinching his eyes shut, he made a low sound of frustration. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, dammit. My control disappears around you. It doesn’t help when you provoke me, either.”
She scoffed in disbelief. “Oh, this is my fault?” The argument paused beneath them. A door opened and closed once more, leaving them in silence.
“It’s nobody’s fault.” He sighed in defeat. “But it can’t happen—”
“Again. I get it.” She refused to give name to the gamut of emotions burning in her chest. “Can I leave the stairwell now, please?”
Jaw tight, Daniel stepped aside to let her pass.
“Oh, and just so you know, I am going out tonight. It will be after dark. And if you have a problem with that, you can kiss my perfectly palm-sized ass.”
Chapter Seven
“It’s your round, Danny boy.”
“Huh?”
Brent, Daniel’s best friend and fellow Emergency Services Unit member, leaned across the shiny bar table littered with empty pint glasses. “I said”—he made a walking motion with his fingers—“it’s your turn to get up and buy a round of drinks. Where is your head at tonight?”
Next to him, Matt’s grunt of agreement was barely audible among the loud music and buzz of conversation circulating through Quincy’s, their regular hangout. They both looked at him expectantly.
Daniel pasted a smile on his face, addressing Brent. “Sorry, I just can’t stop thinking about your sister lately. Think she’d date me?”
Brent smirked, shooing him from the table. “That’s very funny, you prick. You just bought the next round, too.”
Daniel shrugged and walked toward the bar, glad for a reprieve from his two friends. They were entirely too perceptive to be around in his current state of mind.
Brent and Matt had gone through the police academy roughly around the same time as him, but the three hadn’t met until being recruited into the Emergency Services Unit of the NYPD. ESU was called in frequently when a situation became too dangerous for regular-duty officers to handle on their own. Its operations included everything from high-rise building rescue to hazmat decontamination. Or in his case, hostage crises.
When New Yorkers need help, they call the police. When those police units need help, they call Emergency Services. But tonight was their night off.
Daniel sidled up to the bar and waved halfheartedly at the pretty redheaded bartender to signal for three more beers. When she slid the drinks in front of him with a flourish, she sent Daniel a smile clearly meant as an invitation. Unable to muster an ounce of interest, he returned her smile politely. Brent and Matt watched him through narrowed eyes when he sat back down.
He tipped his drink to his lips and pretended not to notice. With an air of nonchalance, he feigned interest in the baseball game taking place on the flat-screen located above the bar. But with his thoughts consumed by Story, he saw none of it. Where had she gone tonight? What was she doing? Shit, on a Friday night in Manhattan, a beautiful girl like her wouldn’t make it ten feet without getting hit on. Men would try to take her home or at least score her number. Was she wearing the same flimsy dress she’d had on this morning at the hospital, or had she changed into something else? Jesus, he’d gotten her all wound up in that stairwell this morning without satisfying her, and even now she could be flirting with some lucky f**ker who would benefit from his touch.
It made him want to repeatedly bang his head against the table. At least in his unconscious state, he wouldn’t have to think about her with someone else. He temporarily appeased himself by slamming his already-empty glass down on the table.
“All right, Danny. Out with it.” Brent slapped his own glass down. “You’ve barely spoken since we got here, which makes it difficult to have a decent conversation since Troy never leaves his troublemaking girlfriend alone for more than two seconds, and Matt here barely talks even on his best day. And”—he shivered in mock disgust—“do you realize you’ve been watching a Yankees game for the better part of an hour?”
Holy shit. Had he? Like Brent and Matt, Daniel was a die-hard Mets fan, through and through. Watching the Yankees when they weren’t playing the Mets was tantamount to treason.
“It’s nothing.”
Matt elbowed Brent in the ribs, jerking his chin toward something behind Daniel, but he didn’t turn to see what it could be. Brent, however, leaned to the left, peered around Daniel and gave a low whistle.
“Nice call, Matt.” They high-fived. “Danny, our mute colleague here just pointed out the cure for what ails you. There are two incredibly attractive females sitting less than forty yards away with your name on them. Go for it.” He nodded solemnly. “I’ll be right here if you require my assistance, soldier.”
When Daniel made no move to stand up or even bother turning around for a glimpse of the girls in question, both Matt and Brent leaned forward slowly, twin looks of comical disbelief on their faces.
“Oh, dear, sweet Jesus. It’s a girl. Danny’s all f**ked up over a girl.” Brent turned and called to the bar. “We need some shots over here STAT!” He turned back to Daniel. “Who is she?”
He kept his expression bland. “Who?”
“Don’t give me that shit. Do I know her?”