Bad, Bad Girlfriend Page 2

  All the man ever had to do was crook his finger, and she scampered over to him, panting and eager to please.

  He might be the finest thing she’d ever seen draped across her sheets, but enough was enough.

  No more. Gabe Devine had just had the last free ride he was gonna get. The next time he wanted anything—an éclair or a blowjob—it was gonna cost him one engagement ring.

  Not that she wanted anything extravagant. He was a cop after all.

  She stared down at her naked hand and curled her fingers into claws.

  Time to wake him up and tell him what for.

  Jolie took a deep breath and approached the bed, hovering over him for a moment and sucking in the scent of him—male musk, sex, a slight whiff of the spicy cologne she’d given him for his birthday. Dayum, the man made her mouth water. Just the smell of him made her knees weak and her sex all soft and wet.

  She reached out an index finger and poked his shoulder, afraid to touch him with her entire hand, well, because she knew where that would lead. “Gabe, time to wake up.”

  He grunted, and his hand closed tighter around his sex. His eyes cracked open and shards of icy-blue glinted at her. “’S early.” He scowled and glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Then he turned back, a dark eyebrow rising. “Need somethin’, baby?”

  God, that sexy purr of his melted her like butter. She firmed her lips and poked him with a stiff finger again. “I need for you to get your sorry ass out of my bed.”

  His eyes widened, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Before she could suck in a deep breath, he’d pulled her down on top of him. “Mad ’cause I fell asleep?”

  “Nope.”

  “Mad ’cause I didn’t make you come?”

  She pursed her lips. “You know damn well you did.”

  “So, what’s got you all hot and bothered?”

  Jolie clamped her lips together. This close, plastered to his chest, his thickening cock nudging against her open thighs, she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be strong. She melted all over him, her breasts flattening against his chest, her belly rubbing against his.

  The bastard had the nerve to smile. Prickling started at the backs of her eyes.

  He rolled her, his arms encircling her, and thrust a knee between her legs. “Baby, don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” she muttered. Although she already knew. Her eyes were quickly filling, and he hated tears, even happy ones, and these weren’t happy. She blinked away her frustration.

  God, she was doing it again. Pleasing him.

  She jutted out her chin and stiffened her body. “Get off me, Devine.”

  “I’m not ready to. You woke me up.”

  “Doesn’t mean I wanted this.”

  “Sure you did.” To prove his point, he reached down, parted her robe and slid his silky, hot cock between her folds.

  Her pussy clasped him, the wet sound louder than their deepening breaths.

  Gabe stroked deep and sighed. “This is good. What we have.”

  It’s not enough, she wanted to say, but she didn’t want him stopping, not yet. Already her body tightened; her belly curved to take him deeper. She sighed, resigned to the fact that she couldn’t kick him out until after she’d come. She opened her legs, lifting her thighs to hug his narrow hips.

  His cock thrust deeper, burrowing into her body just as he had her heart nearly a year ago when their gazes had met over the top of his coffee cup.

  Thinking about that day, rather than what he was doing to her now, helped her forestall the orgasm she wanted to hold off—just long enough to make him work hard for it. Why the hell should she make it so damn easy? She’d all but fallen into his arms from the first day they’d met.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  The previous year

  That sunny winter day, Jolie had swung by the bakery on her day off to deliver a half dozen chocolate chip and caramel cookies she’d baked the night before, and which had tempted her beyond her control to resist. She’d bagged them before leaving her house, grinning as she thought, Rachel could use the extra inches around her butt better than me.

  Mike sat with his fine ass against the edge of the counter, flirting with Rachel. Another cute cop leaned against the wall, watching the couple while he sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup until Jolie strode up.

  With his gaze snagged, that fine thing’s jaw dropped an inch as she gave him a long sultry look. Then she smacked her lips, feeling safe flirting because he was so much younger than she was.

  Setting aside his cup, he grinned, his blue eyes drifting down her body. His lips pursed and blew a quiet whistle.

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “So I whistled,” he said, shrugging, his grin stretching. “You smacked your lips like you tasted something good. Gonna report me for sexual harassment?”

  Jolie laughed, shaking her head and setting the bag of cookies on the counter.

  Mike snatched it up and dug his hand into the bag, drawing out a large golden cookie.

  Mr. Happy Pants reached around her for the bag, his solid, muscled body pressing against her back, his arm sliding along her waist.

  She held her breath as Mike lifted the bag out of reach.

  “No way, man,” Mike said, laughing. “I know how you like to eat.”

  “Those cookies are mine,” Rachel said, pinching Mike’s arm.

  “Gonna deny me sustenance?” he said, giving Rachel a wink. “I need my strength.”

  Rachel blushed, but her eyes flashed with humor. “Take the cookies, but you have to split them with Gabe.” She glanced at Jolie. “You’ve met Gabe, right?”

  Jolie glanced over her shoulder.

  Gabe had dropped his arm but hadn’t moved away.

  His eyebrows waggled. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  The deep rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “And you won’t,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

  Gabe shrugged and stepped away, leaving her back feeling strangely chilled. She eyed both men. “What are San Francisco’s finest doing here, anyway?”

  Rachel blushed again and cleared her throat. “Mike, here, doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. He thought he needed backup this time.”

  “He asked you out?” Jolie said, giving the tall police officer another look. He was a little young, but her brand new chef deserved happiness. She’d been alone since moving to San Francisco from Texas.

  “She thinks I’m too young,” Mike said, echoing Jolie’s thoughts. His gaze settled on Rachel whose cheeks darkened further.

  Jolie felt sympathy for her friend because she knew Rachel wasn’t really ready to rejoin the dating game. And she’d known, even before she’d introduced Mike to her best friend Lucy, that he wasn’t the right man for Rachel. He didn’t wear a cowboy hat. Jolie shoved her hands on her hips. “What the hell do you think she needs with a wet-behind-the-ears boy?”

  Mike grimaced. “Not helping here.”

  “Why should I help you?”

  “Because my buddy wouldn’t mind making it a double-date.”

  She blinked at that. The thought shocked her for just a moment before she gathered her pride and aimed a glare at Gabe. “You two need to scurry along. You got my cookies. You’re not gettin’ anything else.”

  Gabe grabbed for the bag, snatching it from Mike, and thrust his hand inside. He took a bite of one of the cookies, and his eyes closed as he groaned.

  Jolie squeezed her thighs together.

  “Better than sex, isn’t it?” Mike said, laughter once again in his voice.

  Gabe’s wicked gaze slid over her like a caress, but he shook his head. “Nothing’s better than sex. But these are good.”

  She’d left the bakery walking on a cloud of air, all because a handsome cop in a uniform had eaten her up with his pretty blue gaze while he’d swallowed down her cookies…

  *

  The present

&n
bsp; Gabe stroked faster, and she whimpered, biting her bottom lip to try to hold back the sound.

  “No, you don’t,” he growled. “I’m working hard for this.”

  She bit his shoulder, and he chuckled, but he wasn’t so in control himself. He brought his arms from under her and pushed up to rest on his elbows while he hammered faster.

  Jolie clung to the sight of him hovering over her, and wondered if this might be the last time. Could she really put her foot down? This was pretty damn good. Better than she’d ever had.

  His arms were thickly muscled, the biceps bulging, made for holding her. He made her feel so safe.

  His body pleased her, especially like this. Naked and straining, his back and buttocks flexing. He was a god in bed, a living, breathing dream. And yet she wasn’t satisfied.

  She ought to be. She wasn’t little Miss Perfect. Far from it. She liked her own cooking too much. Her hips were fleshy and jiggled when she walked. Her breasts were full—too full—and every bra she’d ever tried cut deep into her back and sides.

  He could have any woman he wanted, but he came to her. For this. For sex. For all the comforts and spoiling she showered on him.

  “You’re thinking too much,” he muttered, and powered faster, harder. He leaned down and rubbed his mouth over her lips, suctioning to seal their mouths together until he took her breath.

  She slid her tongue into his mouth and moaned, wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed.

  Deeper, harder, he tunneled, plowing through her silky wet walls, the motions sharpening and causing his groin to slap noisily in the moisture coating her sex. The sounds were dirty, lush. The scent of them, sweat and arousal, pulled her deeper into the moment. When the tension began to uncurl inside her, she slammed open her eyes and clutched his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin as she came apart.

  His eyes closed, and his head jerked back. He came, hot spurts bathing her womb until he was swimming in the juice he’d spilled and her own creamy pleasure. He slowed the motion of his hips, and his face sank to the pillow beside her.

  With his weight pressing her into the bed, she felt surrounded, warm, cherished. But she knew the feeling was like fool’s gold. Worthless.

  She dropped her hands to the bed and took a deep breath. It had to be said.

  “Don’t ask me to move,” he grumbled.

  The pleasurable afterglow evaporated. “Get off.”

  He huffed and rolled to his back.

  Lying side by side, still touching, she’d never felt farther apart from him. “Gabe?”

  “Yeah, baby,” he said, his voice losing its husky tone.

  Damn right, he should be wary. “Where’s this going?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lord, when had she become the clingy woman? The woman in the romance movies she wanted to bitch-slap. The one she wanted to tell, Woman, can’t you figure out he’s not that into you? Still, she took a deep breath and blurted, “Do I mean anything at all to you?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. A sure-fire signal he was annoyed. “I…like you, Jolie. I like this. Maybe someday…”

  Well, she might have inherited the doormat gene from her mama, but her half-Irish, half-Sioux daddy had given her a temper. “What? Someday you’ll grow a set and marry me?”

  He coughed. “Marry you?” Gabe rolled to his side, coming up on an elbow. “What brought this on? You been talking to Lucy?”

  Her lower lip pushed outward. “And if I have?”

  “Baby, you need to pay closer attention. Didn’t you see what Mike’s shooting put her through?”

  “He was shot. She stuck by his side through the whole thing. I brought him a shit load of cookies. I don’t think I missed a damn thing.”

  His eyebrows lowered, but it wasn’t anger gleaming in his eyes. A deep hurt was mirrored in the blue depths. “He could have died. He would have left her alone. Devastated. I wouldn’t want that for you.”

  “You’re trying to protect me from grief?” she asked, incredulous.

  “I’m not willing to put you through that. What we have is good. Why would we want to change a thing?”

  She shook her head. “Why indeed? You can come here for a meal, drop by my work for a cookie or goddamn doughnut—”

  The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Love your doughnuts, babe.”

  Oh no, he didn’t! Turning on the charm wasn’t gonna cut it. “You drop by my apartment anytime you want for a quick fix, and then you leave. I can see how this must seem so fucking perfect for you.”

  His lips tightened. “Don’t act like you don’t get something out of it too.”

  “Oh I do. I get a great fuck. But what about when all I want is to be held? For someone to fix the sink or my car?”

  “You know I’d help you with anything you need.”

  “But you won’t be there when the needing’s done, will you? I want more.”

  His face expression shuttered. The gleam in his eyes faded. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, I want you to commit. To something. To moving in and sharing expenses and chores. To being there for me when I want someone to hold me when I cry.”

  His face screwed up in a grimace.

  She swatted him. “See there? That look? I’m not always your happy, jolly, good-time girl. I’m flesh and blood and tears. I’m a woman, Gabe, and by God, you have to decide whether I mean enough to you to make this permanent.”

  “And if I’m not ready?”

  She blinked, willing her eyes to remain dry, because no way in hell would she let him know his callous unconcern for her feelings cut her to the bone. “Then you need to move on. And so do I. I’m not gettin’ any younger, and someday soon I’ll want kids and a house with a garage, a fucking white-picket fence and a mortgage.”

  “Sounds complicated,” he said, his voice flat. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and reached for his clothes.

  “That’s right. Anytime I wanna talk about something other than how you want me to blow you, you’re out the door.”

  “I can’t talk to you when you get worked up,” he muttered over his shoulder. “I’ll drop by later. Once you’ve gotten rid of whatever bug crawled up your ass.”

  “The only thing ever crawled up my ass was you. And don’t bother dropping by. I might not be here.”

  That stopped him. He aimed a glare her way. “What are you saying?”

  “Not too bright, are you? I’m sayin’, if you can’t give me what I need, I’ll find someone else who can.”

  “Fine, do that,” he bit out, standing with the jumble of his clothing in his arms.

  “Fine, I will.”

  His mouth tightened into a thin line. He pivoted on his heel and stomped out of the bedroom.

  Jolie swallowed hard then the tears quickly followed.

  Lord, what had she just done? She’d wanted to break it to him easy, let the idea slide into his mind and stick like a tick to a dog’s back, but she’d ranted at him like a crazy woman. She’d be lucky if he didn’t run a hundred miles away from her.

  Sobbing, she picked up the phone and hit her speed dial. “Lucy, I did it. I gave him the ultimatum and kicked him to the door. What do I do now?”

  *

  As soon as the bedroom door slammed behind him, Gabe hesitated.

  What the hell had just happened? I can’t leave like this, he argued with himself, reaching for the doorknob. Then he heard the sounds of Jolie crying.

  Gabe leaned his forehead against the door, closing his eyes tightly. He hated it when a woman cried. Hated feeling helpless and guilty. But he couldn’t solve this problem. Not now. He needed to think. Otherwise, he’d just make things worse. He straightened from the door and walked away, the guilt eating away at him, each step refilling the well of his anger.

  He dressed in the living room, giving the muffins on the counter only a glance because his appetite was gone, and slammed out of the apartment. He flew down the steps of her
apartment building and stalked toward his car. Cool mist wrapped around him and blurred the streetlights into soft yellow smudges. He flicked up the door handle of his car, but the alarm went off, and he cussed as he dug into his pocket for his keys then hit the remote to silence the incessant whine.

  He wished he’d had a button to shut Jolie up before she’d gone and said something he couldn’t ignore.

  She wanted him to marry her? Didn’t she know him better than that? He wasn’t the marrying kind, wasn’t good enough for her. And he’d meant what he’d said about not wanting her to marry a cop. She deserved better.

  But she couldn’t be ready to find “better” now. He hadn’t had his fill of Jolie Ledbetter. Not by a long shot. No matter what bullshit he’d told himself earlier.

  He slid across the leather seat of his Mustang, twisted the key into the ignition and reached for his cell.

  “Why the fuck are you calling me at three o’clock in the morning?” Mike barked.

  “Is that what time it is?” Gabe growled back. Bed sheets rustling sounded in his ear.

  Mike yawned. “You and Jolie must have had a fight. Lucy got a call a minute ago. She’s in the living room now.”

  Jolie had called Lucy? Fucking great. The nosy woman would give Jolie some more crazy advice, and then he’d really be in the shithouse.

  “Jolie wants me to marry her,” Gabe ground out. “Or at least move in.”

  “And that’s a problem, why? You like her.”

  “Like” seemed a pale word for what he felt for the woman. “I like her fine, but I’m not marrying anyone. Look what you put Lucy through when you got your ass shot.”

  Mike sighed. “Yeah, it was rough on her. Still is. She has nightmares.”

  “See? Jolie doesn’t want that. Not really. She needs a nine-to-five kind of guy. Someone steady with a safe, boring job. Someone who’ll be there. The last thing she wants is the chief showing up on her doorstep with the chaplain in tow.”

  The line was silent so long Gabe wondered if Mike had gone back to sleep.

  Then, “So let her go.”

  Gabe slammed the gear shaft, stomped on the gas pedal, and peeled away from the curb. “Let her go?”