Free Taking Her Time by Cait London Page A

glimpsed Norma above him.
    The cold water pouring down on her caused Carly to gasp and to struggle for breath.
    Tucker cursed and wiped her face with a brisk swipe of his hand. He slowly turned to look up at Norma. “She attacked me. I was just holding her down until you arrived,” he said darkly as he eased to his feet and stood in front of Carly.
    She struggled to sit up and smooth her clothes at the same time, using Tucker’s big body as a shield. She struggled to place herself away from the fire and the hunger with Tucker into the reality of the Saturday evening—rolling on her grandmother’s front lawn with her ex-husband, the bane of her lifetime.
    â€œThanks for turning on the water, Norma. The lawn needed it.” He reached down and grabbed the back of her borrowed shirt, easily hoisting her to her feet. While she dangled almost on tip-toe, he studied her with a disgusted expression.
    â€œShe’s all yours,” he said firmly, before he shoved her at Norma. Tucker walked to the garden hose faucet, turned off the water and stalked into the house.
    â€œI guess that about says it,” Norma stated briskly as she handcuffed Carly. “I gave you fair warning.”
    â€œThis is my grandmother’s house. You can’t do this.”
    Norma dramatically adjusted her uniform belt’s night stick, leather pistol holster and pepper spray holder. “Watch me. And don’t get mud all over the back of my squad car.”
    â€œThat’s not a squad car, Norma. You have to have several cars and more than one policewoman to make a squad. I bet you haven’t even used that roll of crime-scene tape you ordered a hundred years ago.”
    Norma huffed up and glared at Carly. “I can add resisting arrest to the charges. Don’t make me. Wipe your feet on the lawn. There’s mud between your toes. Since you’re already dirty, you might as well clean the fish that Tyrell brought over for my supper. You used to be real good at that.”
    â€œI’ve forgotten how,” Carly stated with as much dignity as she could as Norma marched her to the “squad” car and put her in the back seat.
    The blast of Norma’s siren muffled Carly’s protests. The siren brought people to the sidewalks to stare at her—riding in the back seat of the car.
    Â 
    Tucker took a long, slow shower and, absorbed in his brooding, grabbed Carly’s shampoo. He was seated in his recliner, drinking a beer, the television blaring no-channel static noises, before he caught the scent of flowers. He sniffed, scowled as he remembered using Carly’s shampoo, and quickly poured beer into his palm. He brushed his hands together and then rubbed his hair hard to remove the scent.
    Nothing would remove the feel of Carly moving beneath him, all full and hot and ripe and hungry.
    Nothing could remove the need to hear those sounds again.
    Or maybe the need had grown to hear those orgasmic hungry, sensual sounds, combined with her moving beneath him.
    That Carly had ruined his life, his peace, and his Saturday night was obvious. He was feeling—vulnerable. He had to get Carly out of his system, one way or the other, but just now he had to calm down and think—
    When the telephone rang, he supposed it was her single alotted call from jail. Norma wouldn’t let Carly ring that many times.
    It continued to ring and with a sigh, and he rose to answer it. “Tucker, here.”
    The silence wasn’t typical of Carly. By now, she would have burned his ears and got his temper simmering. A man’s deep voice spoke slowly, carefully, “This is Gary Kingsley. I’m calling for Carly Redford. May I speak to her, please?”
    â€œShe’s not here. She’s in jail. If you want her, call there. I’m not running a message service.” Tucker gave the number and decided he might as well make Carly’s life as miserable as she’d made his. After