Free Slave to Love by Nikita Black

friends in the department.”
    “Ever invite them home?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “And lovers? Why no lovers?”
    “You don't. Why should I?” she fired back, ignoring the heat that suddenly rocketed through her veins.
    “I have plenty of lovers. Just not on the job.”
    An unexpected jolt of raw jealously pierced her gut. She clamped down hard on it. “Well, if you must know, Julio—”
    “Is gay.”
    She looked up from her wine in shock. “How did you—”
    “I'm a detective, Caroline. And you're avoiding the question.”
    She made a physical effort to calm her unruly reactions. “That's because it's absurd. Everyone knows my reputation.”
    “Uh-huh. A reputation based on your assignment in vice.” He nodded, a calculated expression crossing his face, as if a puzzle piece had just fallen into place. “Short skirts, flirty smile, always a sexy come-back. Yeah, I know the drill. But you're pretending to be hot and heavy with a gay man, and the only other guy you’ve ever actually come on to—namely me—was a whole year ago and you knew damn well I would turn you down. Now, when you finally get me alone, you won't let me come within ten feet of you.”
    She stared, helpless to deny his annoyingly accurate observations.
    “You don't want to get involved any more than I do,” he said. “You just have a different way of avoiding it.”
    “Who died and made you so damn smart?” she muttered.
    Before her eyes, his features subtly changed, became edgier. More forceful. More dangerous .
    His smile was slow and lazy, like a wolf's. “Like I said, I'm a detective.”
    In a supple movement he rose and prowled around the furniture toward her. At the floor lamp he stopped and carefully turned it off. Goosebumps skittered down her arms. Oh, God .
    “You know, I've been wondering about something.”
    “What's that?” she said, battling the herd of butterflies that all at once invaded her stomach.
    He moved a few steps closer.
    She was holding her glass so tightly she was afraid it might crack, but for the life of her she couldn't loosen up.
    “I've been wondering what you have on under that T-shirt.”
    She froze. This time his words didn’t leave much open to interpretation.
    “Well, what do you think?” she hedged, whirling to refill her glass again, her mind suddenly unable to function. What was he doing ?
    Before she realized he'd moved again, he was right behind her.
    His warm breath fanned through her hair, tickling the nape of her neck. “I think you're naked under it.”
    A strangled noise squeaked past the lump in her throat. Her eyes locked with his in the mirror over the wet bar. She wanted to tear them away—oh! how she wanted to!—but she couldn't. The power of his gaze, too potent to fight, held her helplessly captive. He reached out and flicked off the bar lights, leaving the room in a pale blue glow. Then he opened his hand, and several small, red packets spilled onto the bar.
    Her pulse scrambled. God no. Not this . She didn’t want to make this choice. He was too tempting.
    “You don't even like me,” she choked out.
    “You'll get over it.”
    Her temper made a last-ditch effort to save her from herself. “You are a fucking arrogant bastard.”
    “Three out of three.”
    “You can't be serious!”
    He stepped closer still, and all she could think of was how very much she wanted him to be serious. She must have a giant screw loose.
    The large frame of his body whispered against the back of hers, from his jaw all the way down to the boots grazing her bare feet. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sensation, only to feel his incredible heat penetrate the thin layers of cotton that separated them. Just as surely as he'd already penetrated her inadequate defenses.
    The scent of him, dark and musky, wove around her, snaring her in its seductive web. Deep, rough masculine breaths licked across her ear. He moved infinitesimally. His steel hard arousal settled intimately into the cleft of