Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (39 page)

H
e’
s pinching and squeezing my toes an
d—
oh holy dam
n—
I ca
n’
t catch my freaki
n
’ breath.  Little electric lightning bolts are striking my toe
s—
my foo
t—
and then traveling up, up, up.  Shivers of pleasure tickling me as he explores my scars with his fingers, I bite my lip and whisper
,“
No on
e’
s ever touched my foot like this
.
”

“
Yo
u’
ve had surgeries
?
”

“
Many
,”
I say
,“
but i
t’
s been years
.
”

Aidan touches lightly on a scar and probes tenderly.

I swallow and gaze into his eyes. 
Ther
e’
s a story in my scars. 
I’
ll tell you one da
y—
if yo
u’
re around.  Right now, just . . . keep . . . doing that.
 

“I’
d love to . . . continue, and I plan to, but I need to be honest with you
,”
he says.
 “I’
m not here because of your brother, Alaina
.
” 

What?
 

I finally manage to catch my breath.
 “
So . . . what do you want
?
”

“
I wan
t
—”

Aidan traces circles up the inside of my ankle, making me wish
I’
d not put on my jeans, or better yet that I could rip them off.
 “
This
,”
he says, and pulls my foot slowly to his lips and plants tender kisses all over it.
 “
I want this
.
”

This
would cause me to jump up and run screaming from anyone else, but instead the tender act of his lips touching my foot sends thrills racing up my ankle to the most remote spot inside me.  Far north of my throbbing core and worlds deeper, i
t’
s the spot
I’
ve kept hidden from everyone, even myself.  And when I realize wha
t’
s happening, I let go mentally.

* * *

Love-at-first-sight?

Love. 

I do not ever entertain the L word for several reasons, one of them being
I’
m a Colby.  The other?  I do
n’
t think
I’
ll ever find love, an
d—
of cours
e—
I do
n’
t believe in love at first sight, or love.  Period.  But against my will, I feel something working free.  Like a tiny unwilling gravel, wedged precariously beneath loose stone on a mountain slope, it rips loose and dislodges. 

Before it can reach the surface of my addled lust-crazed thinking, I stop it and focus instead on the real reason for my excitement, the second best L word in English: lust.  Or maybe i
t’
s the first, I think, when Aidan nibbles my big toe, and a pleasurable throb like liquid fire shoots up my thighs. 

On fire! Girl on fire! 

I close my eyes and sink low into the belly of my chair.  When he darts his tongue between my toes, tasting and licking my feet, the moist heat melts me.

“I’
ve come here for this
,”
he says, kissing and licking
,“
and for other things, which
I’
ll explai
n—
later
.
”
 
Then sliding my big toe into his mouth, he sucks. 

The sensuous waves of pleasure drive me to the edge of wild abandon.  I coul
d—
if he keeps this u
p—
have an orgasm sitting bolt upright. 

“
Aidan
.
”
 
The moan
I’
ve been fighting back escapes.  I scoot down deeper in the lap of my chair, giving him better access to my foot.
 “
What are th
e‘
other thing
s
’ you came for
?
”

He pauses mid-nibble.
 “
This is
n’
t the best time, Alain
a
—”

A little frisson of fear nudges my bad angel into action.
 “
No, seriously, what else
?
”

“
We need to talk about Angie Miller.  You could be her kille
r’
s next victim
.
”

Could anyone have worse timing than this?
 
“
Why would anyone want to kill me
?
” 

“
Nice polish
,”
he says, giving each toe more heated licks, ignoring my question.

“
I
t’
s calle
d‘
Wicked Black Pomegranate
,
’” I say, wiggling my foot into a better position next to his lips.  Dancers protect our feet but I also do it because, if I do
n’
t take care of them, I wo
n’
t be dancin
g—
or walking.  So after paying my bills, I spend my last dime searching Wal-Mart for the most exotic nail colors I can find. 

“
No on
e’
s ever made love to my feet, Aidan.  I had no idea I was this sensitive
.
”

“
Baby, let me teach you
,”
he says, pressing his tongue into my arch and running it up and down in a glissade of wet kisses and painful little nibbles that feel like ant bites.
 “
Let me teach you
.
” 

His bold licking whips me past crazy.  I
t’
s evident h
e’
s been around the block. 
I’
m the amateur.
 “I’
m down with that
,”
I say, scooting closer for more licks.
 “I’
m an honors student, quick learner.  What
else
do you know
?
”

“
I know I want to taste all of you
,”
he says.  Kneeling in front of my chair, he unzips my jeans and slips them down over my ankles.

“
Are you sure yo
u’
re ready
?”
he asks.
 “
W
e’
re not exactly acquainted yet
.
”

Oh hell, yeah.
 

O
r—
maybe
I’
m not.  H
e’
s right.  How well do I know him?

Call me sleep-deprived, but it hits me with the force of a meteorite that
I’
m mostly naked in front of Aidan Hawks, a stranger.  Yes, I dance naked in front of crowds of men, but this is different. 
I’
m alone with a cop who just said
,“
I want to taste all of you
.
”
 
I recall An
g’
s photos, the gnawed shoulder and bite wounds shaped like feet.  Who better to kill women in such a hideous manner?  Who better to get by with serial murder than a cop?  I yank myself up from my chair.  Stumbling as I pull up my jeans, I yell
,“
Get away
!
”

Aidan jumps to his feet, grabbing for the gun in his shoulder holster, hidden beneath his windbreaker. 
I’
ve also spotted another gun slung high on a hip holster. 

“
Wha
t’
s wrong
?”
he says, looking for the trouble only I can see.

I put half my living room between us and do a quick visual search for a weapon, but h
e’
s powerful and ripped.  Armed.  If he wants, he can break me in two and munch on me the same way Megalo would Ang.  I glance frantically around my apartment.  My criminology textboo
k’
s on the stand beside the couch.  Wo
n’
t work: too flimsy.  The pizza bo
x’
s where Stoke tossed it in the middle of my living room floor.  No help there, either.  Then I glance toward the hallway, where I stashed my backpack after Stoke left. 

My shiv.
  I could make a headlong dive for i
t
—

“
Alaina, wha
t’
s
wrong
?
”

—
but I ca
n’
t make it past Aidan.

“
If you come one step closer,
I’
l
l
—”

Reaching me in two steps, he grabs my shoulders and shakes gently.
 “
What the fuc
k’
s wrong
?
”

“
Stop or
I’
ll scream
!
”

“
Okay, okay
,”
he says, releasing me.
 “
But tell me wha
t’
s wrong
.
”

“
How do I know yo
u’
re not Angi
e’
s killer
?
”

He tosses back his head and laughs.
 “I’
m a cop.  Hellfire, Alaina, do you seriously think
I’
m Megalo Don
?
”

Hellfire?
  Would a serial killer use such a cute curse word?  Liking it, I decide to keep it.

“
Well, you said you wanted to taste all of me, and I . . . thought because you like to nibble fee
t
—”

He grabs me and folds me in his arms.
 “
Oh, damn, girl, I ca
n’
t believ
e—
okay, okay, I get it.  But
I’
m not him
.
”

But Berta has conditioned me well, and my old inability to trust claims the surface of my emotions for its turf.  I push from his arms.
 “
How do I know
?
”

“
Because
I’
m not.  Yo
u’
re going to have to trust me. 
I’
m here to protect you
.
” 

“
Protect me from what
?
”

The feel of his arms around me, the concern in his voice relaxes me.  And ther
e’
s also his possessive tone:
I’
m here to protect you.
  No on
e’
s ever protected me.  Sure, Stok
e’
s my self proclaimed Robin Hood, but h
e’
s a joke.  Robin also talks like h
e’
d defend me, but he can barely take care of himself:
I’
m
his
protector.  With a jolt of sweet delirium, or complete stupidity, I think:
I’
ll never have to worry about protecting or defending Aidan.  If he says h
e’
s here to protect me, he can.  My face crushed against his chest, I feel his heartbeat, smell the reassuring scent of mal
e—
strong protective alpha male.  It feels
good
. 

“
Is this the behavior of a sex-crazed killer
?”
he says, reaching down and kissing me with such tender passion my knees turn to Jell-O.

“
If so
,”
I say, yielding up my lips
,“
I definitely want to die
.
”