Page 144 of Hot Cops

He deserved that. Even so, his pride—the same pride that had screwed things up between them so many years ago—surfaced. “I’m game if you are.”

“That’s it. Last straw. I’m not doing this. My mother can find someone else to take these damn pictures.” She turned away from him, reaching for her phone, intent on calling her mother back.

He walked across the room and wrapped his hand around her wrist to stop her. “Wait.”

She whirled on him, her temper blowing fast and hot. It took all the strength in his body not to grin. A smile when she was in the midst of an explosion was tantamount to committing suicide. Chloe may be small, but her boxer of a father and three older brothers had taught her well when it came to self-defense. Hell, it might be more accurate to say they’d given her brilliant lessons in all-out offensive attacks.

“Don’t touch me.”

Blake didn’t remove his hand. Maybe the termmimbodid work for him. He’d never been accused of being too bright. Trying to keep hold of this miniature raging bull proved that. “Don’t quit because of me.”

She struggled to escape, but he merely tightened his grip. His body had shifted into overdrive the second he’d gotten close enough to smell her floral perfume and feel the undeniable heat that rose up every time the two of them got within a few feet of each other.

He could tell Chloe felt it as well. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and her face was flushed. Their brief scuffle hadn’t produced either side effect. It was the same for him. Two minutes with her and he was on fire, his cock hard enough to pound nails in concrete.

When it became obvious he wasn’t going to release her, she froze, her body rigid with fury…and arousal. Even after all these years, he knew her well enough to recognize both.

“The committee is going to have to find another photographer. I’ve hit my limit on manhandling for the day.”

It was the only thing she could have said that would have prompted him to loosen his grip. He dropped her hand. “What do you mean manhandling?”

She closed her eyes as if praying for patience. Blake had provoked that response in her no less than a million times in the past. And as always, it hit him like the world’s most powerful aphrodisiac. He still drove her crazy. For some reason, that idea turned him on even more.

“How the hell did you get involved in this calendar, Blake? I can’t imagine the committee actually thought it was a good idea to include some punk-ass biker as part of the collection.” Then her gaze sharpened. “Did my mom call you to do this?”

He shook his head quickly. “Of course not.” He hadn’t seen Mama Lewis in nearly a decade. The same day he’d hopped on his motorcycle and driven away from Chloe without a word. He’d been a fool. Chloe had been adorable, cute at nineteen. At twenty-nine, she was a fucking knockout.

“I doubt your mom even knows I’m involved. I drew the short straw this morning down at the precinct. My captain’s wife is on the committee and decided the NOPD needed to be represented. Captain Rogers isn’t exactly known for being organized. He forgot to round someone up until today when his wife showed up and read him the riot act for it. Next thing I know, I’m on my way here.”

Chloe’s brows furrowed in confusion. “NOPD? Precinct?” Then she erupted in laughter…and it was just as Blake had remembered. Loud. Infectious. “Dear God, please tell me they didn’t let you join the police force.”

He smiled. “Detective Mills, at your service. Just got promoted to the Special Victims Unit last fall.”

She shook her head, her mirth dying as she realized he was telling her the truth. Chloe was allowed her shock. There was a big part of him that still couldn’t believe he’d joined the force. For most of his life, he’d half-expected his future to include time spent behind bars, not escorting others there.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Wanna see my handcuffs?” He winked at her wickedly, letting her know exactly how he’d use them on her.

She scowled. “It’s not possible. There’s no way?—”

“I’m a cop, Chloe.” He whipped out his badge and flashed it at her.

She reached into her back pocket to retrieve her cell phone. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still calling my mother. Surely there has to be someone who can?—”

“Take pictures as good as you? Not likely, CJ Lewis.”

Shock registered on her face when he used her pen name. Chloe had made a name for herself in the world of photography, having published a collection of her work calledThe Face of New Orleans. Blake had spotted it in the window of a bookstore and bought it instantly. He couldn’t begin to count the hours he’d poured over the pictures, amazed by her talent and her eye for hidden beauty. She’d captured the people of New Orleans perfectly, bringing their hometown to life in vivid color.

“How did you know that was me?”

He ran his finger along her cheek, trying not to let her see how much it hurt him when she winced and pulled away. What was he expecting? He’d broken her heart. “I always knew you’d find success with your photographs, Chloe Jeannette. You were too talented not to.” He also knew she’d been named after both her grandmothers.

“You remembered my middle name?”

He nodded. It was strange how much he recalled about Chloe. There were times when Blake thought he recalled her life story better than his own. At nineteen, he’d hung on her every word, certain she was the most beautiful, fascinating girl he’d ever met. Now, he was finding the woman she’d become just as enthralling.

“Chloe, this is an important project and you know it. The money raised is going to a good cause. Besides, do you really want to call Mama Lewis and tell her you’re bailing? You think that would be a fun phone call?”

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