Chapter 9

I'm going to have to come four hundred times and jerk my dick clean off to get this woman and her cleavage out of my mind. What the fuck is wrong with me, and why am I looking at her cleavage like they're twin mounds of mashed potatoes I'd like to butter and stick my face into?

The fact that this woman is so perfect, so damn loveable, and even has a sweet dog that I'd steal if I got a chance is maddening. I don't know whether to turn her over my knee and spank her for her misbehavior or gently kiss my way from her feet to her ears while I make her come on my fingers.

The thought of both runs through my mind.

I'm so utterly destroyed by everything in this woman's house. The scent of candy. The pink of her bathroom and her kitchen, even though I've never been able to stomach the color until now. Damn her and her ability to get away with selling drugs and even making pink attractive. If I could find a way to legally burn her greenhouse crop, I'd pick her up, carry her to her bedroom, and slide my dick in and out of her until she screams that she'll behave for the rest of her life.

"I've always been a great baker," she says proudly, and I crinkle my eyes, momentarily forgetting that I asked her a question. I'm still thinking about spanking her. Her head is tilted, and loose hair is spilling down her cheeks. It's all I can do not to push it behind her ear.

"Why do I see you with a baked good stand as a little girl? You used to sell lemonade with cookies and brownies, right?"

"How did you know?"

"I'm a cop. I have an eye for these things. You seem like the lemonade stand type, even now."

The kettle shrieks, and she turns to get it off the stove and pour the hot water into two mugs with tea bags. I take the time to check out her ass while she does it.

As far as asses go, it's damn near perfect. Rounded at the back but rounded up, not out. Her waist is thin, and her legs are long and lean, perfect for wrapping around my waist while I…

"Do you take anything with your tea?"

I clear my throat and set my face into what I call my cop expression. A grim line. "A little sugar."

She adds sugar from an almost empty sugar bowl and puts the cup in front of me. "Anyway, I got into health stuff," she says, pulling out a stool and sitting next to me like we're good friends having a chat.

Damn, I want to be friends with this woman. Really good friends. The urge hits me like a board to the face.

"I was what you'd probably call granola," she says, and I force my mind to focus on what she's saying and not what I'd like to do to her.

"I'd still call you granola."

She smiles. "I got into natural herbs, tinctures, and essential oils. But the one thing I couldn't stop was baked goods. I love pie and would never give it up. Do you like pie?"

"I enjoy a good pie on occasion."

Fuck, I sound like an idiot, but I like pie. I also wouldn't mind eating her pie, and I don't mean the kind stuffed with fruit. In fact, if she weren't a common drug pusher I'm taking in for processing, I'd spend my Friday night spreading her legs on the kitchen counter and burying my face in her pussy. My mouth waters at the thought. What would she taste like? Sugar, spice, and everything nice?

"I finally decided not to fight my love of baked goods and combine my two loves. Holistic living and good pastry. And here we are," she says, waving her handcuffed hands around her kitchen. "I got a food truck because food trucks are hot, applied for all the permits when marijuana became legal, and an officer of the law is now in my kitchen harassing me for making people happy."

"You make people high."

"Right. Happy."

We slurp our tea in silence as I look around her kitchen. She said the health inspector has already been out, but I catalog little things I can point him to. A small hole in the floor the size of a penny that a mouse could get through if it wanted. The temperature setting on the fridge. Could I bump it up a couple of degrees without her looking before we leave? Does she sanitize the dishes she uses to bake her death wares? I don't see sanitizer, but it could be under the sink. She keeps her counters clean.

Before long, my cup is empty, and I slide off my stool, adjusting myself a bit to cover the burgeoning erection for this woman. Sanitation inspections aside, I can't get the idea of taking her for my own out of my mind.

Mine.

Is that what I want? Why her? Of all the women I've met that go to church and work as kindergarten teachers and librarians, why is the drug-dealing baker the only one that I've thought this way about in years?

"We need to go. Enough dicking around, Lorelei." I hate my voice when I say it. It doesn't sound like I'm taking her to jail. It sounds like I'm begging her to get on her knees and take my cock into her mouth.

She doesn't notice my voice or my dark eyes. She stands and drains her own cup. "I need to put Bogey back in the kennel."

I look down at the dog wagging his tail at Lorelei's feet and looking up at her like she's a goddess. The dog watches her like I'd like to look at her if she wasn't who she is and I wasn't who I am.

I also like the damn dog and don't want him to have to go back into his kennel. "Does he like car rides?"

She bends down and kisses him on his nose, and I've never been so jealous of a dog. "He loves them. Don't you Bogey?" she coos.

"Let's bring him. We need to process you, but you'll be free to go after that. He can ride in the car, and I'll bring you home."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it usually works," she says.

I chuckle, and my laughter makes Lorelei turn her head like she's watching something interesting. Then again, I've probably never laughed around her. "What about tonight has been normal?"

"You don't take other busts to your mom's and then come back to their house for tea?"

"It's definitely been a first," I say, putting my hand on her lower back and guiding her out to my car.

I can't help but feel like my hand belongs there. Right on her back and supporting her.

"Whose dog is that?" Chase asks, throwing an apple down on his desk and nodding at the dog sitting dutifully in my lap.

"This is Bogey. Whatever you're going to say…don't."

"Is he a stray? Why does he look like he likes you?"

I put up my middle finger. "He's Lorelei Rogers's dog."

"The hot pot baker?" Chase says a little too loudly, looking around the cubicle area.

I almost spill Bogey onto the floor as I lean forward and make a shushing gesture. "Shut the fuck up!" I hiss. "She's here. I brought her in. If she hears that I think she's hot, I'll never hear the end of it, and I will beat you to death."

"You have weird date ideas, bro." He sits down and puts his feet on the desk.

"It's not a date. I caught her food truck of death and destruction on the public walkway."

Chase furrows his brow and purses his lips. "How far onto the public walkway?"

"Shut up." I look back at my file and run my hand down Bogey's black fur.

"A foot? Don't tell me you brought that wonderful, sexy goddess into the station for a foot."

I shift my legs uncomfortably under Bogey. He's part lab and part rottweiler and not the size of an average lapdog, but he insisted on curling up in as much of my lap as he could take. His head is propped on my desk since it didn't quite fit with the rest of his body.

"Half an inch," I mumble.

"Your dick is only half an inch? Sorry about that, but how much was she over the line?"

I stare at him, and I'm suddenly filled with shame that broils in my stomach and nauseates me. Even Chase is going to give me shit over this. "Half an inch."

It dawns on him, and he lets out a low whistle. "Well, it's safe to say you've ruined the entire department's chances with that one. Good job, asshole. I would have asked her out, and now I'll need to apologize for my dick partner."

"Fuck off. You weren't going to ask her out."

"I sure was. I looked her up on that website of hers."

"You're not asking her out."

"Don't get all holy with me. Pot's legal now. She's no different than the bartender you took home last year after Mardi Gras."

I flex my jaw and grit my teeth. "She's totally fucking different. Everything about her is different. You stay the fuck away from her!" I growl, jabbing a pen at him.

He puts his hands up like he's being robbed. "Whoa, soldier. Fine. Won't ask her out." An evil smile spreads across his face, and I look back at my laptop. "She's obviously already spoken for."

"She's single."

"Do you want her to be, though?"

I ruffle Bogey's fur and am rewarded with a long lick up my hand. I want to take this dog home, or at least ask Lorelei where she found him. He's exactly what I'd want if I got another dog. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. You like her, don't you?"

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh," he drawls, nodding and biting his lip. "Are we going to throw out an ‘I'm rubber and you're glue' next?"

I stare at my laptop and try to concentrate as Bogey wags his tail, hitting my thigh with it every few seconds. "We need to focus on this Lambert character," I say. I nod at the screen, and Chase stiffens. "I don't want to talk about Lorelei."

Chase takes the hint and straightens in his chair. Jacob Lambert is a meth dealer we've been after for almost a year. He doesn't do the cooking. Most meth users and dealers make their own since it's not something that people plan out. The entire meth operation is one born of desperation and scarce supplies. But Jacob Lambert has treated his meth organization like it's cocaine in the eighties. He has several cookers in locations all over the state and runners between all of them. He runs a true meth ring, and he operates his home base in our county.

Chase opens his laptop, Lorelei forgotten, and types in his credentials. For the next fifteen minutes, we discuss the movement of supplies and go over information from a couple of undercover guys. The undercover officers have infiltrated the organization, and we have six months of intel for us to go over. We're getting closer to getting him, and we're going to make our move against him soon.

Eventually, the door from the processing area opens, and Lorelei walks into the room. I flex my jaw and gnash my teeth when I see the young officer about Lorelei's age put his hand on her lower back to guide her to my cubicle. He's smiling like they're new best friends, and I want to punch the smile off his face.

Lorelei throws her head back mid-walk and stops to grab the officer's arm. She laughs, and the sound makes every head turn. "Your girl's here," Chase mutters under his breath just as Bogey stands on my lap and yaps.

"There's my boy!" Lorelei coos in my direction, and my heart speeds up. It takes a moment to realize she's talking to Bogey and not me. The smile on my face isn't lost on Chase, and he snorts.

I ignore him. "Are you ready to go home?" I ask.

"I can take her," the officer walking with her says. "It's on my beat. We just came for the dog."

I nail him with a glare that he doesn't understand. He doesn't even blink. "I'll take her home."

"It's on the way," he says, still not understanding. He points over his shoulder.

"I love that I have two big, strong men willing to take me home," Lorelei giggles. She runs her hand up the other officer's bicep, and I bite down so hard I think my teeth will crack. "There's enough of me to go around, gentlemen."

No, there God damn is not. I don't want her touching his bicep or any other man's bicep. I want my bicep to be the only one she touches. I know it's ridiculous to feel that way after I've spent the last week harassing her business, but something about talking to her tonight and getting to know her has me already jealous of any man that would get to spend time with her.

I need to out-alpha this beat cop. "I'm heading out. I will take her, officer." I drag out the last word, throwing my rank as a lieutenant on the drug task force over the beat officer.

He finally catches on, and the poor sap deflates in front of me. His shoulders slouch, a frown furrowing his face. He turns to Lorelei and gives her puppy dog eyes. "It was nice to meet you, even if I had to take your mug shot. Do you want to hang out or something? Dinner?"

"Bogey has to shit!" I yell louder than necessary. I grab Lorelei's arm and spin her toward the door as I grab Bogey's leash. Thankfully, the dog dutifully comes along with me. "Better get going before we have another mess on the carpet."

"If you're referring to that burrito night incident, that's unfair," Chase replies, kicking his feet back on his desk with a coy smile. I glower at him before quickly walking Lorelei and Bogey out to my car, worrying the whole way about how I'll say goodbye to her when I get her home.