Sunday Snog

I love Sunday Snog! And here's a smooch from not one but two hot cops!

“You go on deck while I make coffee?” Jose said.

I hesitated. Dillon was on deck and I didn’t fancy any more of his withering glares or flesh-slicing remarks; I’d had enough wounds for one day.

I glanced at the small galley window. Morning light shone through, enticing and beckoning, almost as tempting as the thought of coffee. Hot, strong black coffee.

“Go on,” he said, gesturing to the short flight of steps to the deck. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“But—”

“Its okay. He won’t bite.” He tipped his head and grinned. “Well, not too hard anyway.”

“I don’t fancy being bitten at all.” I placed my hands on the wooden paneling of the wall and allowed my dress to fall down over my feet, the floaty material soft and silky against my skin.

“I’m teasing,” Jose said. “Just go up and sit down. But don’t go near the edge of the boat if you’re not a strong swimmer. Don’t want you falling in, do we.”

I swallowed tightly. I was as good as a non-swimmer with these damn cuffs on.

“One minute, that’s all it will take and then you get coffee. Everything will seem better then.” He made a flicking motion with his hand. “Go.”

It seemed I had no choice. When had I last had no choice in something? I couldn’t remember. But I wasn’t going to argue with Jose, not when he’d been sweet, despite my surliness. And if he’d saved me from amputation then I had a lot to thank him for.

I moved slowly up the steps. There were only six but it took quite a bit of maneuvering to reach the top. My dress was slippery and the hem gathered around my legs. My foot was painful, and I ended up toppling out onto the deck into the blinding light of day.

Yelping, I lunged forward, my right foot completely wrapped in my floor-length gown, my toes tangled and twisted.

“For crying out loud, what the fuck are you trying to do? Kill yourself?”

I felt Dillon’s solid arms wrap around my waist and he hoisted me into a standing position.

I gasped and gripped his thick forearms as my back hit his sun-hot chest.

“This is the most ridiculous outfit I’ve ever seen someone wear on a boat,” he said into my ear. He sounded exasperated, impatient and completely pissed off with me.

Wriggling in his grip, I shoved at him. “Well, I didn’t exactly intend this little cruise to Nassau.”

“Well I did, and I don’t want your company.”

A sudden rush of anger welled within me. My vision blurred and my heart rate cranked into overdrive. How dare he? How dare he grab me, cuff me, threaten me? He was supposed to be a protector, a man of peace. Yet he was behaving like a thug. “Get off me,” I said, trying to jab him with my elbows. But it was no good. They guy’s torso was as hard as a block of concrete. “Haven’t you taken an oath or something to promise to protect the public?”

“Ah, but I thought you were India Moore, the India Moore.” His breath was hot and heavy in my ear. “Doesn’t that raise you above Joe Public? Aren’t you special?”

“I demand you release me this minute.”

“What, the cuffs or my hold on you?”

“Both.” I squirmed, fighting to get away from him.

He grunted. “Okay, but not the cuffs, the cuffs stay.”

He loosened his grip, though not entirely. Next thing I knew I was being lifted into the air.

He stood me on a long bench by the doorway and I was forced to scrabble for his left shoulder to regain my balance. It was hot and hard, like gripping a sun-drenched paving slab. “Hey, what are you doing? I—”

“I’m going to make sure you don’t drown yourself. I don’t want the responsibility.”

He stared at me with those glacial blue eyes again. My foot hurt like hell, but for a moment the pain receded. He really did communicate with his eyes. I could see irritation, frustration and a steely determination setting in for whatever it was he was about to do.

“But I’m not going near the water,” I said quietly as a small tremor shook in my belly.

“No, but in this stupid dress you’ll trip and fall in.”

He moved away and I grabbed a silver bar running over the entrance to the cabin for support. Clutching it with both hands, I glanced at the doorway. Where was Jose? He’d said he would only be a minute. And Dillon was growling and snapping. I suspected he would bite soon.

“What are you doing?” I asked again.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a long, curved-blade fishing knife from a box on the floor.

“What, Jesus…” I shifted away, fear welling in my chest. “Please, no. Just leave me alone. I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

He shook his head. “Some crazy-assed trip this is. Should have just gone to the Bermuda triangle and got it over with,” he muttered. “It would have been less stressful than being stuck here with a whimpering starlet and her ridiculous outfit.”

I watched in horror as he fisted the delicate material of my dress, tugged it away from my legs and began to cut into it with the knife, sliding the wickedly sharp blade horizontally. Fraying and severing the fragile silk.

“For fuck’s sake,” I gasped, too afraid to move even an inch as he wielded the knife so close to my skin. “This dress is a limited edition Yves Saint Laurent.”

He didn’t answer, just continued to shred my dress. Hacking and cutting so that it became mid-thigh length.

I felt a firm shove on my ass. He turned me so that he could finish the job at the back.

The warm sea breeze wrapped around my bare legs. There was a final ripping sound then he stepped away, holding up the bright red slash of material. It flicked and flacked in the wind, gliding up behind him.

“Much safer,” he said.

“You’ll have to pay me back for that.” Fear was replaced with indignation and grew like a great big ball of fire within me. “That dress is worth over four thousand dollars, you know.”

He widened his eyes and looked at the billowing material. “Really? Thousands for a scrap of material?”

“Yes, really.”

“Did you buy it?”

I set down my shoulders, tilted my chin. “Well no, it was a gift from the designers. They like me to be photographed in their clothes.”

He shrugged. “But if you didn’t buy it then why should I pay you back?”

“Because, because…that’s not the point. You should have asked before you damaged my property.”

He slid the knife into a suede sheath and set it aside. “You should have asked before you climbed onto my boat.” 

If I’d had two good feet I would have stamped one of them. The nerve of the man. At first he’d scared me half to death, now he was just making me angry.

“What’s going on here?” Jose appeared on deck holding a tray with three mugs. “Ah, a new look.” He nodded at my freshly shortened dress and allowed his gaze to scan down my legs.

I scowled and went to fold my arms. Realized I couldn’t do that either because of the cuffs. Damn these men. I stared between the two of them and then snapped, “Just help me down and give me some coffee.”

 

Good Cop, Bad Cop is only available from Amazon.