Turn Me Loose Read online

  Back down the flagstone walk to her truck, parked at the curb. Riva hitched her skirt up to the tops of her thighs and clambered into the driver’s seat. Her hands were shaking as she jammed the key into the ignition.

  “Has he always been like that?”

  She turned the key with more force than necessary. “Like what?” she bluffed.

  Silence. She finally turned and looked at him. “Yes. I didn’t really understand until … until I left for college. I’m not just doing this for Isaiah. He’s all but destroyed her. I want him to go away for a very long time.”

  “That’s why you keep setting yourself up as his partner in Lancaster.”

  She had to be very, very careful here. “Seven years ago I was too weak to get myself out,” she said as she pulled out onto the street and headed for Kelly’s place. “If he hadn’t refused to help me when you arrested me, God only knows what I’d be doing right now. I’m stronger now. I just hope I’m strong enough to get her free, too.”

  ”You were stronger than you think you were,” he said. “I put you through hell, and you never hesitated.”

  “What choice did I have?”

  He didn’t answer that. He’d made sure she had no choice at all.

  “I can’t take credit for what I did when my back was to the wall, because I put my back at that wall. I couldn’t help her before. I can now. I know it’s not part of the plan, but I’m not leaving without her.”

  “Hey,” he said, reaching out to tuck her hair back from her face. “Plans change. You worry about your mom. I’ll worry about your dad. Okay?”

  Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded. He didn’t say anything else on the way to Kelly’s. The front door opened before Riva had shifted into park. Kelly paused in the doorway to kiss Grant and Wyatt good-bye. Grant waved at Kelly, waving Wyatt’s fat little fist for him as Kelly walked backward to the truck. Riva flung open the truck’s door and trotted up the sidewalk to hug Kelly, hard. “It’s so good to see you!”

  “I know, it’s been forever!” she said breathlessly. “Was I even pregnant the last time you saw me?”

  “I don’t think so,” Riva said, laughing. “You look amazing!”

  “You do, too. All that sunshine and work outdoors really agrees with you. You’re, like, healthy looking. Come say hi to Grant and meet Wyatt!”

  Riva’s heart was pounding as she followed Kelly up the walk, but Grant didn’t seem to see anything odd in her sudden reappearance. Wyatt was fussy, reaching for his mother, whimpering when she kissed his cheek but Grant successfully distracted him with a stuffed rabbit. As the front door closed she felt a swift pang of longing. Maybe someday she’d meet someone who wouldn’t care about her family, her past.

  Ian had watched the reunion from the truck’s cab, and was waiting patiently for them. Kelly climbed into the back seat and looked expectantly at Riva.

  “Kelly, Ian. Ian, Kelly.”

  “Hi,” Kelly said, then gave a breathless little squeal and reached between the seats to squeeze Riva’s shoulder. “I’m so excited! I haven’t seen you in, like, years. Remember buying those fake IDs from that kid in chemistry class? What was his name? He was supersmart and superstoned for most of school.”

  “Noah.” Her ears were burning. Nothing like sitting next to the straight-laced cop who had arrested you for selling drugs while your best friend talked about all kinds of illegal activities. “His name was Noah and can we talk about something else?”

  “Oh, come on,” Kelly said. “That was, like, eight years ago. Ian doesn’t care, do you?”

  “Nope,” Ian said cheerfully.

  “Noah had some kind of laminating machine, or something, and could mock up an ID, no problem. He used to do out-of-state IDs because the bouncers never knew what was an authentic Maine license, or Utah. He was pretty good at it. I wonder what he’s doing now? He’s one of, like, six people in our class who isn’t on Facebook, including you.”

  “I do social media for the farm and the restaurant,” Riva protested.

  “But how do we keep up on you? What you’re doing?”

  “The farm’s social media,” Riva said. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Ian’s on social media,” Kelly said, scrolling down on her phone. “Fallon, right? In Lancaster. I sent you a friend request.”

  “Got it,” Ian said, thumbing through his own phone. “And now we’re friends.”

  Kelly kept up a running series of questions about the farm and Ian’s pictures until they pulled into Lit’s parking lot. After Kelly slid out of the truck, Riva leaned over. “You have social media set up?”

  “Of course. It’s the first thing anyone checks these days. Most people accept friend requests from anyone. We’ve found outstanding warrants when they post pictures of themselves out in public, and used pictures of stolen property as evidence.”

  It was a little early, so the line to get in wasn’t long. The bouncer gave their IDs a cursory glance. “How depressing. We must actually look our age,” Kelly said. She headed straight for the bar.

  “Hold on a second,” Ian said. “Who’s driving?”

  “Not me,” Kelly said. She leaned over the gleaming metal bar and signaled for the bartender. “An apple martini, please. Riva?”

  “I’m driving,” Riva said. “It’s my truck.”

  “I’ll drive,” Ian said. “You two should have fun tonight.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Keys.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command, part cop, part protective man.

  “You’re wonderful,” Kelly gushed, casting Riva an unsubtle look. “That’s really great of you. What are you drinking?”

  “A mojito,” Riva said, giving in to the inevitable and handing Ian her key chain. No way was Ian Hawthorn getting drunk under these circumstances. “But I’ve got to be able to work tomorrow, so I’m not getting trashed.”

  “Just loose.” Kelly handed over a credit card to start a tab. Ian ordered a beer.

  They checked out the scene while they finished the cocktails. “Wow. Was it always this rundown?”

  Riva smiled. The place really hadn’t changed, the dance floor a little more scuffed, the finish on the bar a little more worn. It had the look of a place that went big with a particular age group and had never found a way to change with the times. “Remember how cool we thought we were?”

  “We’re still cool,” Kelly said loyally. “Let’s dance!”

  Riva looked at Ian, but he seemed to be quite content to nurse a beer and stake out a table between the bar and the dance floor. She let Kelly tow her to the dance floor. Once out there, she lost herself in the music. She’d always loved dancing, and for a while, thanks to the alcohol and the rhythm, her brain pushed aside the nagging reminder of Ian’s presence.

  Until her gaze caught his across the room.

  The look he flicked her, green-brown, molten, promising a level of heat and risk and desire she’d never felt, halted her breath midexhale. Images swept through her mind, the metal door hard against her shoulder blades, his hands snagging in her tangled hair, his cock grinding into her abdomen. His mouth would be hot, his skin would taste of salt and soap.

  She left Kelly dancing with a younger guy, obviously alone, and obviously not interested in anything more than a partner who knew how to move, and pushed her way through the crowd to his table. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “Ask me to dance with you.”

  He looked at her. Based on the residual foam in his glass, he was still nursing the same beer while she was two mojitos and an hour of dancing into the night, an assessment he made with one single flick of his gaze. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Think of it as part of your cover.” She let her gaze travel the length of his body, from hazel eyes to the deep creases along his mouth, across his muscled chest to his buckle to his boots, then back up. He shook his head.

  “You know what I’ve figured out? You’re afraid. All the t
ime. You use your rules and your goals and your attitude to hold it back. The question is, why?”

  Wow, the mojitos were doing a fair bit of talking for her right now. When he said nothing, she turned to go back to the dance floor. He reached for her wrist and brought her up short. “I’m afraid for you. Two dinners with your dad and I know we’ve got good reason to be on high alert right now.”

  She laughed. “That’s just life with my dad. Come on. Are you afraid for me, or of me? You don’t have any reason to be afraid of me. Unless…”

  Unless she could hurt him somehow. Unless he felt more for her than he’d ever let on. Unless this wasn’t just physical chemistry between them. “Unless…” she said again, this time in a stronger voice.

  He stepped into her personal space, using his body to guide her back toward the dance floor. “Dance with me, Riva.”

  His body and the pounding rhythm derailed her train of thought. “Sounds like an order. Ask me.”

  He laughed, half turned away, and ran both his hands through his hair. She felt an unaccountable urge to smooth down the tousled strands but held back. Ian needed to stop locking away his emotions.

  He also needed to ask. For himself, for her, for the fragile, reckless thing shimmering between them. There were a dozen ways she could have made this take a different path, things she should have said at certain moments, or not said, touches she should have resisted, doors she should have left closed, much less not walked through. This was one of them.

  “Ask me,” she whispered.

  He stepped into her personal space until her cells were vibrating in his direction, magnetized and drifting, all but closing the gap between them. Then he did this thing she felt before she saw, using his shoulders and his hips to get closer without confining her, much less touching her. He bent his head, and all she could think was how badly she wanted him to close that distance, how she wasn’t flinching.

  “Riva, would you dance with me?”

  His breath eddied against her cheek as he spoke, and oh, oh, oh, this was new, different, dangerous, because that single step into vulnerability turned the tables on her. She blinked, drew in a shuddering breath, because this … this was intimacy. Pulsating lights, throbbing music, a crush of people could have made it sterile, disconnected. Instead, she felt lit up, like his heartbeat was making her rib cage jump and thud, not the bass.

  “There. Was that so hard?”

  “I’m afraid of myself. I’m really afraid of you.”

  It was an admission of vulnerability she hadn’t expected. Fear of failure, fear of letting the department down, fear of getting played again were all logical fears, common fears. But afraid of himself? Or her?

  Now wasn’t the time to talk, not with the music dialed up to jet engine levels. Now was the time to move. On tiptoe, she said, “Then we both need this,” then grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor.

  There was always that transition moment, dancing with someone new, that moment where you figured out where to put hands, how close was close enough to dance but not so close you set off proximity alarms. All she could think about was the slight pressure of his fingers around hers, not a cop’s dispassionate touch and definitely not making her flinch.

  When they’d established some space for themselves on the crowded floor, he started moving to the beat, finding a rhythm with his hips with an ease that all but made her jaw drop open. The song had a faster beat, a souped-up synth pop song extended for a club mix, the kind of thing it was easy to sway and shuffle to, maybe lift your arms for a little extra something.

  Ian was doing all of those things, but with a total lack of self-consciousness. His eyes were closed, a little half smile on his face, like he’d rediscovered something he used to love.

  Then they opened again, found her standing stock-still in shock. He slid his hand to the small of her back and bent his head to her ear. “Come on, Riva. Dance with me.”

  Danger! Danger! Danger! her brain flared, not like a car alarm but like lights and sirens. Uneven terrain, edge of a cliff, rogue wave, metal glinting in the hand of a stranger in a dark alley, this moment could make or unmake you. But it wasn’t the risk of his hand on her body. This was deeper, different. This was never going away, and suddenly she didn’t know if she could handle what she’d asked for.

  Without waiting for her response, Ian slid his arm around her waist, dropped low to align their hips, and transformed the thumping bass into a sexy bump and grind that was pure rhythmic invitation.

  This was Ian as she’d never seen him, connected to his body in a way that felt real and honest and true. The boy had moves based on total comfort in his body, not looking cool or impressing girls but rather on feeling everything the music pushed at them in waves. A not-quite-subtle twist of his hips unlocked hers, as if her body was connected to his, easy and loose and uninhibited. Freefall. His arm dropped away, replaced by glancing, seductive bumps, hips and thighs and shoulders, bare hands brushing bare arms. They’d left their jackets in the truck. Sensations heightened. His jeans against her bare legs. His arms, rough with hair, against hers. All five fingers flattened against the small of her back for a second, two, three, while he slid his thigh between her legs and shimmied. She lifted her arms, closed her eyes, and swiveled in a circle in front of him, tossing her head so her hair whipped across her cheeks and mouth.

  Electric heat shot through her, followed by syrupy desire searing over newly sensitized nerves. From there it was nothing to wrap her arm around his neck and cling. One hand rested on her hip, fingers trembling, the touch light, at the edge of his control, but when she pressed her open mouth to his pulse, he pulled her close enough that they were simulating sex on the dance floor. She turned feral, grabbing his shoulder, his hip, grinding against him.

  She’d fooled herself into thinking she knew him, understood him. But the reality was Ian was hotter, wilder, more intense, more sexual than she’d ever imagined. This was the man underneath the cop’s rigid, controlled exterior?

  She pushed away, gaining precious inches of distance. He surfaced from the spell they’d cast, gaze heavy lidded and possessive. For tonight, she was the girl she’d never been, out with a friend, attracted to a hot guy, not a care in the world.

  “Come home with me,” she said. “Ian. Come home with me.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The practicalities of taking Ian home meant she had to find Kelly first. She tracked down her friend leaving the women’s restroom, scrolling through texts from Grant. “Wyatt’s having a hard time going to bed without me,” she said, her brow furrowed with concern. “Do you mind if we bail early?”

  “Not at all,” Riva said, relieved.

  They found Ian leaning against the wall by the door, arms folded across his chest, one booted foot braced against the wall. Women leaving tended to look him up and down, seeing the tight T-shirt, sweet leather jacket, and an undeniable presence and confidence. He ignored the looks, the whispers, scanning the crowd until his gaze locked on Riva.

  A hot thrill shot over her nerves, then pooled low in her belly. The truth was, getting comfortable with Ian’s touch didn’t ease the ache deep inside her. It only strengthened it, gave it the weight and heft of steam rising from a boiling pot.

  Ian escorted them through the parking lot, one hand hovering at the small of Riva’s back. She climbed into the passenger seat, Kelly in the back. Ian started the truck, adjusted the seat and mirrors, then paused. “Wallet and phone check, ladies.”

  Kelly held up her wristlet and cell. Riva pulled her phone from her front pocket. “My purse is in the console.”

  Satisfied, Ian pulled out into traffic. Riva kept the conversation going with Kelly by asking a few questions about Wyatt’s latest developmental milestones. When they arrived at Kelly’s house, Ian started to open the door. “Stay put,” she said. “I’ve got this.”

  She guided Kelly up the sidewalk and knocked on the front
door. Grant opened it, a burp cloth over his shoulder, Wyatt sleepy and adorable in pj’s, sucking his thumb, red eyes and head on Grant’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t go to sleep without you,” Grant said, swaying side to side. “We’ve been walking the floor.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Kelly said, whether to her husband or her son, Riva couldn’t tell. She held out her arms, careless of Wyatt’s runny nose and tear-stained cheeks rubbing against her silk top. Riva felt a little heartsick, watching the family reunion.

  “I’ll call you later,” Riva said.

  “Bye, hon,” Kelly replied.

  One down, one to go. Riva trotted back to the truck and got in. Ian backed out of the driveway and turned for home. He already knew the route.

  “Where do the good boys go to hide away?” she asked, the lyrics running through her brain.

  Ian huffed, a smile curving his lips. “No idea.”

  “Why are you so careful about drinking?” Riva asked idly. “Because you were worried about me? You could have had a few. I was okay to drive by the time we left.”

  He turned and looked out the front window. “It was no big deal. I never have more than two.”

  “That’s arbitrary. Why not?”

  “I used to get so drunk, I’d black out.”

  She turned to stare at him. Ian, blackout drunk? She couldn’t imagine it. “You did?” she said cautiously. “Like, in college?”

  “Around that time, yeah.”

  That was before she’d met him. “Any particular reason, or just because that’s what all the cool kids did? I can’t imagine you doing what the cool kids did.”

  Silence. All the heat and passion they’d found at the club was cooling rapidly in the spring night.

  “Oh, so you can know all my secrets but I can’t know yours? That’s why I do things like talk to my dad without telling you,” she snapped. “And yes, I know exactly how immature that sounds. But we’re in this together, and you don’t even trust me.”

  He turned down her street, driving slowly through the pools of light and dark, light and dark as they approached the house. “I trust you. I can count on one hand the number of people I trust.” He held up his right hand, thumb out. “My dad. My mom. My brother. Sorenson.” He stared at his curled pinky. “You.”