Page 50 of Bachelor Cop Finally Caught? (Hot off the Press! 2)

He didn’t have a clue what she thinking.

She was so light against him, her figure slender and willowy. He knew now that there was a lot of passion packed into that small package. She held a lot of power in her small hands—the capability to bring him to his knees if he wasn’t careful.

“You’re getting nervous again,” she murmured, making him wonder if mind reading was among her powers.

“I’m not nervous,” he lied—just in case his thoughts were still a mystery to him.

She laughed softly. “Liar.”

She was only guessing, he assured himself, letting the accusation pass unanswered.

Lindsey shifted into a more comfortable position against him. Her soft bare skin brushing against his caused an immediate, and somewhat startling, reaction in his groin.

He cleared his throat. “Are you, uh, hungry or anything?”

“No, not really.” The very primness of her response let him know she was still amused by him.

“I’m glad you’re finding all this so entertaining,” he muttered.

She reached up to stroke his evening-rough skin. “When I’m happy, I can’t help laughing.”

His momentary irritation vanished. Lindsey’s happiness was, after all, extremely important to him. If laughing at him made her happy, then he might as well take it gracefully.

She brushed her lips against his throat, lingering to plant a kiss just beneath his ear. This time he made no effort to hide his response. One smooth move, and he had her on top of him. She gave another startled, breathless laugh, then covered his mouth with hers.

Lindsey was awakened by the shrill ring of a telephone. Her first instinct was to grope toward her nightstand. When her hand encountered empty air where her phone should be, she opened her eyes, only then realizing that she wasn’t in her own bed.

At the same time that fact occurred to her, she heard Dan’s deep voice saying, “Hello?”

Moments later he sat up in the bed, the sheets falling to his waist. Holding the bedclothes to her chin, Lindsey pushed herself onto one elbow, peering blearily at the clock. It

was only 5:00 a.m. Poor Dan—how often did he get roused out of bed like this? His was definitely not a forty-hour-a-week job. She didn’t fault him for that; she admired him for taking his responsibilities so seriously.

He hung up and turned to her. His voice was still gruff from sleep when he said, “I’ve got to go.”

“Not another fire?”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his clothes. “No.”

Something in his tone told her she would very likely be interested on a professional level in the call he’d just received. And Dan knew it. “What’s going on?”

He answered with obvious reluctance. “Eddie Stamps has turned up. He’s holed up in his bedroom with a gun.”

“Oh, no.” She jumped from the bed and started groping for her clothes. “I guess it will look better if we take separate cars. I’ll meet you there.”

“There’s no need for you to go there at all,” he said, shoving his feet into his boots. “The kid has a gun, Lindsey.”

“And I intend to stay out of range. But I will be there, Dan. This is my job.”

“It’s my job, not yours. It’s too dangerous for you to be there. I’ll let you know what happens.”

“My job is to be on the scene covering the news in person whenever possible.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still wearing the bandage from the last time you did that, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten, and I promise I’ll be more careful this time. But I am going. You can’t stop me.”

“Damn it.”

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