Page 28 of On the Chase
Then his lips were on hers, and Grace was lost.
Chapter 9
There was no hesitation, no moment of shock. From the second their mouths met, Grace was kissing him back. All the anger, all the worry, all the aggravation she’d been feeling just seconds before were burned away by heat and need.
Hugh yanked her against him, and she went willingly, clutching at his shoulders. She’d never felt anything so intense, so incredible, as the feel of his mouth on hers. He kissed her hard, taking control. Sliding a hand behind his head, she nipped his lower lip and bossed him right back. They traded, giving and taking, back and forth, as if one of their arguments had transformed into a kiss—and it was wonderful.
She couldn’t stay still, wanting to feel all of him at once, her hands greedily roaming over his shoulders and up his neck to the back of his head and then down again. Her fingers clenched around handfuls of his shirt, bunching it in her fists so she could use her grip to drag him even more tightly against her. She felt as if she couldn’t get near enough, couldn’t kiss him hard enough, couldn’t hold him tightly enough.
With a grunt of pleasure, he pulled her even closer, his kiss deepening until she forgot to breathe. His hands roved over her as if he would die if he couldn’t touch her, sliding over her back and then down to grab her hips. His squeeze sent a shock of desire through her, so intense and unexpected that she lurched forward, knocking them both off-balance. Hugh took a step back to catch them, never letting go of her. She loved how easily he caught her and held both of them upright.
There was a sharpthwack, the sound so close that her eardrum buzzed. A spot on her cheek stung sharply, like she’d been poked by a needle. Hugh’s arms turned into hard bands of steel around her as his entire body stiffened.
Before she could manage to make a sound, she was on the ground with Hugh on top of her, no longer kissing. Her brain, still lost in the kiss, tried to catch up with what was happening. As her thoughts spun and her cheek throbbed, Hugh’s weight ground her shoulder blades painfully into the pavement.
“What?” she tried to ask, but shock and Hugh’s bulk pressed all the air out of her lungs. Before she could figure out how to breathe again, Hugh yanked her to her feet and gripped her arm, half pulling and half carrying her the short distance to her car.
“Get down,” he barked, yanking her into the narrow space between her Subaru and the dumpsters. He had his gun out, gripped in the hand that wasn’t holding on to her. As they crouched next to the car, he scanned the buildings around them.
Her shocked confusion was fading enough for her to fumble for her phone. “What’s happening?” she asked, keeping her voice low. Her fingers were shaking, making it hard to dial, but she managed to punch in 911. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that she’d been reduced to huddling by a dumpster again. This time, at least, Hugh was with her.
“Someone took a shot at us,” he said. He didn’t sound like Hugh, or even look like Hugh at that moment. It was as if someone had replaced the sarcastic cop with someone else—someone harder, sharper. It took a second for her to understand what he was talking about, and her gaze flew over to the wall where they’d just been standing, locked together in a kiss.
There was a large chunk of brick missing from a spot right where their heads had been. If she hadn’t lurched forward at his touch, making them lose their balance, one of them would be dead.
Martin Jovanovic had found her.
Even before terror washed over her, regret and guilt hit her hard. Hugh’s arm circled her, keeping her below the window line while, at the same time, keeping her close to him. Even though Grace knew she didn’t deserve it, that it was her fault this innocent man had almost been killed, she was grateful for the heavy, comforting weight of his arm and the warm shelter of his body. Even as her heart pounded, as every muscle tightened in anticipation of the next gunshot, she leaned into his warmth, soaking in the rare feeling of being protected.
Guilt seeped in, though, pushing her to tell the truth. She opened her mouth to apologize, to confess that she’d nearly gotten Hugh killed, but the dispatcher answered before she could.
“Nine-One-One Emergency.”
“Someone—oh God—someone shot at us!” Grace stammered out a mixed-up version of what was happening and where they were. Too much was tumbling through her head, though, and she kept losing her train of thought. She stared across the street, trying to figure out what Hugh was focused on—if it was the shooter—but all she saw was an empty building.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you still there?”
“Sorry!” Realizing that she’d missed one of the dispatcher’s questions, Grace put the phone on speaker.
“Was anyone hit? What is your status?” The dispatcher’s voice echoed from her phone speaker, sounding too loud in the tense silence.
When Hugh paused instead of answering, Grace glanced at him and found that he was staring at her cheek, scowling fiercely. She touched the spot, pulling her hand away so she could look at it. There was a small smear of blood on her fingers. She remembered the sting as the bullet hit the wall, but her cheek didn’t hurt anymore. She assumed her face had been scratched by a chip of dislodged brick or something. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Although his frown didn’t lessen, Hugh told the dispatcher, “No one was hit.”
“Is the shooter still in the area?”
“I don’t know.” Tensing, Hugh focused on the building across the street again. “There haven’t been any other shots fired since the first.”
As the dispatcher continued asking questions, Hugh clipped out the answers, still sounding like a cold, brusque stranger. Despite that, Grace tucked herself a little more tightly against him. Stranger or not, Hugh felt safe. His arm tightened, and she felt another surge of regret. If he knew that she was the reason they’d been shot at, that she’d let him blindly risk his life while she knew that someone as dangerous and far-reaching as Martin Jovanovic was trying to kill her, he wouldn’t be offering her comfort.
“I’m so sorry.”
“What?” Hugh asked, even as he kept scanning the area. “Why are you sorry?”
“For almost getting you killed.”
This time, he looked at her, just a quick flash of surprise before his attention turned back to searching out the threat. “What are you talking about? It wasn’t your fault.” His brow furrowed. “I’m the one someone is trying to shoot…or blow up.”
