The Watson Brothers. Lori Foster
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a thin layer of silk keeping his nose from glory.
Damn it, why did things like this happen to him at all the wrong times?
He fought for air, breathed in her warm musk scent, and managed to shove her rump a few inches off his face. He was just in time to see the same meaty fist that had dazed him now headed straight toward her very tiny and very cute nose. Outrage exploded inside him.
He was supposed to be drunk, an easy mark.
He was undercover for the night.
But goddammit, no way could he let her get hurt.
Moving quicker than any drunk could, Sam caught the oversized fist in his own, gave one evil, toothy grin—which was somewhat smothered by Ariel’s bottom cheeks—and twisted. Hard.
He heard crackling and then a loud pop.
The startled shock of pain on his target’s face abruptly turned to one of sheer agony, accompanied by a guttural roar. Sam wanted to break his damn arm. Maybe a leg, too, just for good measure.
How dare he attempt to hit a woman?
Sam was still considering the possibility of doing more injury, when his backup finally charged onto the scene with a cliched, “Hold it right there!”
Hold it? They had to be fucking kidding, right? He had a woman straddling his neck, an unethical bastard trying to strike her, and they wanted him to hold it?
He gave the fist another squeeze, then shoved, causing the man to shout and recoil on the ground in the fetal position, cradling his impaired wrist.
Sam didn’t have a chance to move Ariel before Fuller Ruth, one of the cops working the undercover sting with him that night, caught her under her arms and lifted her up and away. Sam got a bird’s eye view of her more womanly parts in silky panties while her high heels poked him in the abdomen, the thigh, and damn near his groin.
“You okay?” Fuller asked her, while still letting her dangle in the air. Fuller was as big as the assailant, but unlike the assailant he had a very fastidious nature. He kept his brown hair well trimmed, his clothes wrinkle free, and he was always clean-shaven. His blue eyes were so pale, they reminded Sam of a Husky.
Ariel clutched at the front of her dress where it had gotten torn. “Put me down, you oaf. I’m fine.”
Fuller set her on her feet, but then had to grab for her again when she turned in a rush, trying to get to Sam.
“Hey lady, easy now. Just come with me.”
Fuller attempted to lead her away, but she turned on him, too, thumping him on the chest. “Turn me loose! I have to see if he’s all right.” In her fit, she forgot about the tear in her dress and the whole right side drooped down, exposing the top of one pale breast and a good bit of her beige, satin bra.
“Hey! Stop that.” Fuller looked to be playing patty-cake with her the way he swatted at her flying fists. “Damn it, lady, you’re spilling your purse. Just settle down. He’ll be all right. Let the officer check him.”
The officer he meant was Isaac Star, half Native American, half junkyard dog. People considered Sam dark, but that was until they saw him next to Isaac. Much leaner than Fuller, Isaac had the blackest hair and eyes Sam had ever seen. He was currently snapping handcuffs onto the giant, who yelled and complained of a broken arm. The big sissy.
“Let—me—go.”
It was a toss-up who made more noise, the perp or Ariel. Since he was supposed to be a drunken slob, Sam couldn’t very well just sit up and explain to her that he was plenty fine, other than the damage she’d inflicted. He did, however, work his way to his elbows to mutter drunkenly, “Whass goin’ on?”
Isaac grinned at him, making himself look like a pleased sultan. “I just saved your sorry ass, my man. This goon was set to roll you for your wallet.”
Feigning confusion, Sam patted his chest, his front pants pockets, and finally his ass until he located the pocket holding the packed wallet. He wrested it out, held it up, and said, “S’that right? Thank you, of’ser. Got my paycheck inside.”
Isaac was lean, but his size was deceptive. He was strong as an ox. He pulled the giant to his feet with no effort. “Not too smart. Stay put while I stick this guy in the car.”
Not more than twelve yards away, two official police cars lit up the block with flashing red and green lights. To the spectators, it looked as though the cops had just happened onto the mugging—not like the whole thing had been planned.
As soon as Isaac had the giant out of hearing range, Sam pulled himself to his feet. For the benefit of onlookers, he stood there weaving, but he gave one barely perceptible nod to Fuller, who then let Ariel go with a shrug.
She launched herself at Sam, big tears glistening in her hazel eyes, her mouth open to blast him with questions, with mothering concern that he neither wanted nor needed.
Sam grabbed her close, squeezed her so tight she couldn’t say a single word, and growled into her ear, “I’m working, goddammit, so you better have a good excuse for this stunt.”
“Working?” she squeaked out.
Damn, it felt good to hold her so close. He shook his head and tried to ignore the way her belly pressed into his crotch, how her breasts flattened on his chest, and how her soft hair smelled so sweet.
Better than half the customers from the bar who were now out front to watch the proceedings. Sam had to keep his head, because he had to keep his cover. “That’s right, and since you jumped into the middle of things, you damn well better play your part.” That said, he slumped into her, forcing her to stagger under his considerable weight. She was five-two, maybe. He was six-three and outweighed her by damn near a hundred pounds.
The twit.
She grunted and nearly fell, until Fuller flattened a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her upright again. Under normal circumstances, no cop worth his salt would let a drunk manhandle a woman. But these weren’t normal circumstances, he wasn’t really drunk, and his two buds had already figured out that she was an acquaintance.
Cops were notorious for trying to help each other get laid. If they thought Sam wanted her—which he did, but would never admit to anyone—they’d happily let him take advantage of the situation.
“Yer an angel,” Sam said, leering at Ariel’s breast with sincere interest. He’d seen more of her tonight than he had in the entire two months she’d been hanging around the family.
He rubbed his nose into her neck, making her lose her balance once more.
She tried to shove him away, but he snaked one hand down her back and grabbed her ass. Oh, now that was nice. Real firm and plump. Not quite as generous as he liked, being he was a dedicated ass-man, but still nice.
She gasped and struggled, but Sam didn’t let go. Huh-uh. No way.
Fuller rolled his eyes. There was a limit to how much help he’d give in this particular campaign. “Here now.” He dragged Ariel behind him, out of Sam’s reach, then held Sam up with one outstretched arm. “You’re drunk, man. I hope you weren’t planning on driving home.”
“Nope. Gonna walk.”
“Well, you can thank the lady for being a good citizen and trying to help you.”
Ariel stood there, her enormous eyes luminous in the dark night, her hair mussed in what Sam could only call a “just laid” way, and her makeup smudged. She smoothed her skirt with one hand while clutching her bodice with the other.
“That’s quite all right, Officer. I did what anyone would have done under the circumstances.” She looked at Sam with malice glinting in her golden eyes. “The poor drunken fool might have gotten killed otherwise.”
Fuller choked on a laugh. “True, true. Now don’t either of you take off, hear? I’ll need statements from the