Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
He wasn’t answering that. She already knew why he hated going home.
“Isn’t it time for you to take another cigarette break?” His partner slammed shut the file she’d been reviewing for over an hour while Sharpe scowled at nothing.
It was his resting bastard face. His mouth only turned one way: downward. He was starting to believe he’d been born with no smiling muscles.
“There’s only four hours left of the night, Sharpe, fuckin’ suck it up.” Kelly grabbed her stained Virginia Tech mug and kicked his chair on her way past. “Be gone when I come back.”
Sharpe flipped her off. “Witch,” he yelled at her back. He wouldn’t dare call her the B-word. He preferred to keep his front teeth.
He didn’t hate February fourteenth. He felt nothing for the day that brought him a myriad of bad memories.
Boyfriends he’d ignored out of obligation to the badge, Valentine’s dinners he’d missed because he’d lost track of time. Gifts that were never given because he always forgot.
This so-called holiday was for kids who thought they knew what love was or couples who were new and still on their best behavior.
Sharpe made his way through the mostly empty station, ignoring the handful of unwed officers on duty tonight. He threw open the station doors and released a long exhale before starting up the dark walkway.
His attitude cooled the moment he was outside. He preferred this time of night. Quiet, empty, as if he were the sole survivor after an apocalypse.
Sharpe turned down the alley behind the station, passing overflowing dumpsters and puddles of what he hoped wasn’t vomit.
He stopped when he was clear of the glow from the streetlights. He wanted to stand in the dark because it was always how he felt inside.
He removed his crumpled pack of cigarettes and lighter from his back pocket, but he paused with his smoke halfway to his lips.
The only smells that should be back here were trash, urine, pungent Chinese food from the restaurant next door, and rat shit.
Sharpe closed his eyes, his dick flexing at the citrusy-lavender scent drifting past him, the scent he’d been jerking off to every morning.
Motherfucker.
He leaned against the cold cement wall and shook his head in disbelief.
He finished lighting his cigarette before he asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Lincoln stood on the opposite side of the alley, nestled farther into the dark.
“Not bad, Detective.” That suave, sexy voice was a lot closer than he’d thought. “You couldn’t see me, but…”
“I could smell you,” Sharpe finished.
“Good evening.” Lincoln was right in front of him now, his minty tobacco-scented breath brushing Sharpe’s lips.
“Why are you here?” Sharpe repeated, trying but failing not to react to the surprise and the closeness.
Lincoln pressed one hand against the wall, his forearm brushing Sharpe’s ear.
“Why do you think I’m here?” Lincoln fucking purred against his earlobe. “I’m a gentleman, and it’s Valentine’s Day…I came to see my Valentine.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Sharpe scoffed.
Lincoln chuckled, dark and seductive. “You know nothing, Detective.”
Sharpe almost growled at the way Lincoln used his title.
“But I can damn sure teach you.”
There was no way Lincoln couldn’t feel the lead pipe stabbing his pelvis because he could damn sure feel Lincoln’s.
He tried to act annoyed at this unexpected visit, but his cock and pounding heart were all evidence to the contrary.
“How long have you been out here?”
“For as long as it took.”
Sharpe hated that the man liked to speak in riddles.
Instead of insisting on a straight answer, knowing he wouldn’t get it, he brought his cigarette to his lips. He inhaled, and the glowing embers illuminated Lincoln’s gorgeous face.
Those soul-piercing blue eyes almost made him choke.
“That’s quite enough of that.” Lincoln eased the cigarette from between Sharpe’s fingers and took his own slow pull before tossing it aside.
“You’re here pretty late, Detective. I assume later than needed.”
“Your point?” he rumbled.
Lincoln nudged Sharpe’s stance wider and made himself comfortable between his legs.
“Fuck,” he grunted, an exhilarating panic clenching his gut.
Lincoln was so close. A glaring warning rang in Sharpe’s mind.
Lincoln turned his head, his soft lips grazing his neck.
“That anxiety and pain you feel in the pit of your stomach.” Lincoln pressed his hand between Sharpe’s pecs. He went silent as if he were listening to something inside him. “That pounding behind your rib cage is your heart sensing healing within its reach, but…”
Sharpe closed his eyes and took a slow, calming breath that didn’t work.
“You’re doing all you can to combat it.”
“Lincoln.” Sharpe groaned at the ache and the truth.
Lincoln’s dick jerked along with his, and again, he was helpless to stop the moan of pleasure.
Narrow, confident fingers wove through the mess of Sharpe’s hair, idly massaging the back of his neck.
“I feel your heart screaming out to me,” Lincoln whispered, his breathing shallow and erratic.
Sharpe could’ve pushed Lincoln away anytime, but some invisible force kept him rooted in place, his fists clenching at his side.