The Watson Brothers. Lori Foster

struck him. Had she gotten hurt? She’d landed on his face pretty hard. He couldn’t see her knees beneath the hem of her dress. Maybe she was bruised.

      Playing it up, Fuller took Sam’s arm and headed him in the same direction. Under his breath, he said, “Don’t molest her, okay?”

      “Don’t be stupid.”

      “You’re looking at her like she’s the Christmas goose, but I need you to fill out paperwork, not be behind bars, resting on your lazy ass.”

      Sam grinned. “She won’t be pressing any charges.” Fuller pushed him to sit next to Ariel, causing her to scramble farther over on the rough metal step. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

      She tucked her skirt in around her legs and smiled with false sweetness. “I won’t press charges. But I might break your nose.”

      Fuller threw up his hands. “Young love.”

      He was gone too quick to hear Sam’s rude snort. Ariel heard though, and she pursed her mouth, then slanted a look at Sam.

      God, he hurt all over. All he needed was a boner to finish off the night.

      Cautiously, every small movement enough to bring on a wince, Sam turned sideways and eased back against the brick wall, then sighed. “I’m too damn old for this shit.”

      Under her breath, but not under enough, Ariel muttered, “You’re in your prime.”

      Sam stared at her, incredulous. “What was that?” Had she actually complimented him even while sending him dirty looks?

      Without looking at him, she said, “Just because you’re older than your brothers doesn’t make you old, you know.”

      Sam grunted. Being six years older than Gil, his middle brother, and fourteen years older than Pete, he’d always felt old. Especially after their father had died three years ago with a heart attack.

      Sam had tried to help his family cope as much as possible. He’d handled all the funeral arrangements for his mother, supported Gil in taking over the family business, and did his best to console Pete, who’d had the hardest time with the unexpected loss.

      There was no denying that Pete had been a happy accident for their parents. Older and more settled when they had him, they’d doted on him in ways they hadn’t been able to do with Sam and Gil. By far, Pete had been the closest with their dad.

      “Does being on the downhill slide to forty make me old?”

      “Hardly.” Her voice was tinged with disgust. “And you’re only thirty-six.”

      How the hell did she know that? “And here I thought all teenagers considered anyone over thirty ancient.”

      Apparently touchy about her age, she jerked around to face him. “Sam Watson, you know good and well I’m twenty-four, not a teenager. Wasn’t that your big complaint about my friendship with Pete? That he was two years younger than me?”

      Sam stared off toward the cruiser, wishing like hell they’d hurry up. He didn’t want to sit this close to her. He didn’t want to talk about her and Pete.

      “Well?”

      His biggest complaint? There’d been so many it was tough to pick a favorite. His baby brother was too young, far too immature, and entirely too unsettled to be getting serious about any one woman.

      And Sam didn’t exactly consider Ariel old enough either. She’d at least finished a trade school and was working as a beautician. But Pete had college to finish and he needed to do that without distractions of the female variety, which Sam knew were the very worst kind.

      Worse than all that, though, Sam wanted her. It ate him up to think about Pete, who was a good kid but still a knucklehead, fumbling around in the dark with her. Sam wouldn’t fumble. Hell no. He knew exactly where he wanted to touch and taste her—not that he ever would. Nope.

      He changed the subject. “What the hell are you doing in the bar by yourself?”

      “None of your business.”

      “Yeah?” Just what he needed to clear his head: a fight with the little darling. He spoke in a growled whisper that nonetheless expressed his anger. “Well I’m making it my business seeing as you damn near blew my cover.”

      Her whisper was every bit as quiet and fierce as his. “How was I supposed to know you were working?”

      Sam eyed her. She had a death grip on her torn dress, pulling the material so tight across her breasts that he could see the outline of her nipples. It was a hot, muggy night, but her nipples stood out like diamonds as if she were freezing. Shock maybe? Or had she liked him playing grab-ass with her?

      He groaned.

      Immediately concerned, she leaned over him, her small hand on his brow, her sweet breath in his face. “Ohmigod, Sam. How bad are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

      Not unless a man could die of unfulfilled horniness. “Back off, Florence Nightingale. I’ll live.”

      At his insulting tone, she puckered up and smacked his shoulder, making him groan again. Damn fickle woman.

      She sat hunched over, her shoulders rounded, her forearms on her knees. Sam asked, “Did you see me in the bar?”

      “That’s a stupid question.” She hugged herself, staring down at her feet. “When you’re in a room, you’re in it. Of course I saw you.”

      “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

      Giving him a sloe-eyed look, she said, “Even as a miserable drunk, you’re sexy. I spotted you the second I stepped inside.”

      He tried to close his ears, doing his best to tune out her stirring comments….

      “Every woman in the bar noticed you.”

      “No shit?” Now that cheered him up. “I like that.”

      She went back to moping.

      Sam looked around. The crowd had finally dispersed with only a few lingerers still standing around. Fuller was headed back toward him with a pen and pad, no doubt ready to take his fictitious statement just in case anyone should notice.

      He stretched out his legs and bumped his big feet into her strappy, high-heeled sandals. She had her toenails painted pink. “So tell me this, Einstein. Have you ever seen me drunk before?”

      A little wary, she said, “No.”

      “But you know I’m a cop, right?”

      “Undercover. Lots of commendations. Heralded for being fearless by many, called careless by some, me included. But I know you’re a good cop, Sam.”

      She surprised him with that string of mixed praise and censure, making him shake his head. “Yet you came charging into what could have been a very dangerous situation.”

      Her lips tightened; her shoulders hunched more. In a nearly imperceptible whisper, she grouched, “I thought you were getting hurt.”

      Sam’s temper snapped. “And so you thought you, a pintsized beautician, would dash to my rescue? Ha! Do you know what could have happened to you—what could have happened to me because you got in the way?” It took all he had not to shake her. “God save me from illogical women.”

      Ariel shot to her feet. “Shut up, Sam. Just…shut up.” Her entire puny body vibrated with anger, and she actually stomped one small foot. “You are so incredibly insufferable with all your endless harping.”

      Fuller said, “Now, now, kiddies. Let’s play nice for the remaining spectators.”

      Pinning her with his gaze, Sam stared at her but spoke to the officer. “Ask me a question, Fuller.”

      “Right. Uh, how about…”

      “Good enough. Here’s my answer.