Laura And The Lawman. Shelley Cooper
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series of dips, and the truck began bucking like one of the crack addicts she’d wrestled to the ground early in her career with the NYPD. Michael’s arm shot out, pinning her securely against the seat. It wasn’t until he had brought the truck to an abrupt halt and she looked down that she realized his hand was cupped securely around her right breast.
For one breathless moment, she simply marveled at how smooth the skin of Michael’s hand seemed. Yet there was nothing weak or lazy about it. His fingers were long and extremely capable looking; his nails clean and neatly trimmed. She had never realized before how beautifully sculpted a man’s knuckles could be.
Then reality dawned, and Laura came to her senses. “Uh, Michael.”
“What?” He was staring at the terrain in front of them and sounded distracted.
“Your hand.”
“What about it?”
“Would you mind removing it from my…from me?”
An impatient twist of his head brought his gaze to hers. She looked pointedly down. Comprehension filled his eyes, along with an expression akin to horror. Michael snatched his hand from her body as if the contact burned.
“Sorry about that,” he mumbled, his cheeks taking on a ruddy hue. “When we hit those bumps… All I can say is, it was an automatic response.”
“I know, Michael.”
“I just want you to know I didn’t mean to…I had no intention of…I would never just…”
She gritted her teeth. Would it have been so awful if he had meant to touch her that way? Not that she wanted him to. Not by a long shot.
“I know, Michael.”
It wasn’t the warmth of his hand against her breast that unsettled her so. There had been nothing sexual in the gesture, just as there had been nothing sexual in her response to it. It was the protective nature of his reaching out to her that rattled her far more than if he had simply groped her.
She’d told him that her father had been undemonstrative and cold. But that was the story she had concocted for Ruby, to explain Ruby’s behavior. In truth, Laura’s father—and her mother—had been warm, caring and open when it came to expressing their love. A freak storm during her freshman year of college, when the roof of the store they were in collapsed, had taken them from her. A few years after that, she’d lost her husband and son. She still had her brother, who, like the mythical brother she had invented for Ruby, was a priest. But Alex, who was assigned to a church in New Mexico, was busy with his parishioners and their needs. Laura tried to impose on him as little as possible.
It troubled her to admit it, but after four years of depending on no one but herself, it had felt gloriously wonderful to have someone be concerned for her welfare. Even if the sign of that caring had come in the form of a hand closed around her breast. And even if that someone was Michael Corsi, a convicted felon who—if she’d understood him correctly, and she was fairly certain she had—was looking for another opportunity to skirt the law.
She covertly studied the man at her side, taking in his strong profile with its prominent Roman nose and determined chin. The muscles of his arms were well-defined. His shoulders were broad. If he wanted to, Michael Corsi could make one formidable protector.
Laura felt her mouth tighten grimly. What was that old cartoon saying? If only he had used his power for good, instead of evil. If only Michael had learned the error of his ways during his incarceration, then maybe… Her brain shied away from the thought.
Without warning he turned in his seat. They stared wordlessly at each other, and a sudden tension filled the cab. The restlessness that had been so much a part of her life of late took hold of Laura and refused to let go. She suddenly found herself wishing that he had tried to cop a feel. The outrage that action would have prompted would have left her immune to any unwelcome and inappropriate thoughts. At least, she believed it would. Unfortunately, nothing much had been making sense in her life recently.
Her confusion, and her chagrin about that confusion, put a bite into her voice. “Do me a favor. If we hit another series of bumps like that last set, would you please remember that I’m wearing a seat belt? I don’t need anything, or anyone, to hold me in place.”
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