Pushing His Luck (Surf, Sun & Sex Book 3) Read online

  When she grew too sensitive for his touch, Paul reluctantly pulled his head back, his fingers digging into her hips as he rose back to his feet. Her face was flushed and damp, lower lip caught tight in her teeth, her breasts rising and falling with her jagged breaths, and he felt his heart clench in his chest as he stared down at her. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and as her lashes fluttered, her brown eyes blinking open—passion-drenched gaze hazy and soft as she stared back at him—he couldn’t stop the words rumbling up from inside him, his voice rough with emotion as he said, “I can’t give you up, Rin. You’re mine. You’re in my fucking blood.”

  She blinked again, exhaling a shaky breath, and he shoved one hand into her soft hair, the other one tugging her against his chest as he went on. “I know you feel it too. So let me carry you over to that bed and make all this shit that happened up to you, in the best way I know how. I swear to God you won’t regret it.”

  “Wait…what?” She pressed her hands against his chest, her brows drawing into a little vee as she stared up at him. “We’re… We’re not even dating, Paul.” Her voice was soft, threaded with confusion. “No way in hell am I having sex with you.”

  He licked her taste off his bottom lip and started to smile, thinking they’d already covered the oral part, but her sudden glare killed it dead. “I’ll fucking worship you all night,” he promised, sounding desperate even to his own ears. But, damn it, he was desperate. “With my tongue and my cock. Hard and rough. Slow and sweet. Fast and dirty. However the fuck you want it, Rin, for as long as you can take it.”

  “That’s not happening,” she said tightly, pushing against his chest until he finally got the hint and took a step back. “Despite my full participation in what just…happened, I’m still mad at you. You hurt me.”

  There were those three little words again, and Paul felt like she’d just reached into his chest and took a mallet to his heart. “Fuck, I know,” he scraped out, ready to get down on his goddamn knees again and beg for her forgiveness. He curled his hands into fists at sides, fighting the urge to pull her back into his arms, where she goddamn belonged. Where he fucking knew she would already be, if he hadn’t been such a spineless prick. “I know,” he repeated roughly, “but we’re never going to get past it until you let me make things right. Until you let me prove to you that I’m in this one hundred percent.”

  “Prove it to me how?” Karin demanded in a quiet rasp, quickly throwing her shorts back on, then reaching for her top. “With your dick?”

  Frustration and regret tightened his features as he yanked his boxers and shorts up, his tone gruff as he said, “No. By being here for you.”

  Pulling the top over her head, she blinked to hold back the stupid tears in her eyes, her throat burning and her head spinning. “I…can’t. Not like this, when your default is to keep everything inside and shut me out. You did it once, and you’ll only do it again.”

  “I won’t.”

  Picking her cardigan up off the floor and pulling that on too, as if an extra layer of clothing could somehow provide her with more emotional armor, she shook her head as she looked at him. “And what happens when life throws you another curveball? When something awful happens at work or with one of your friends? Your family? Life isn’t perfect and shit happens. Horrible shit, at any random time, for no rhyme or reason. What makes it bearable is having the people you care about by your side, working through it with you. I… I couldn’t go through the pain of watching you shut down in front of me. Feeling you shut me out. I don’t deserve it.”

  His dark eyes searched hers, and she watched as disappointment fell over his beautiful gaze like a shadow. “You really don’t trust me at all, do you?”

  A surprised bark of laughter slipped past her lips before she could stop it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tugging the cardigan so tight she was practically choking herself with it. “God knows I don’t find any of this funny.” She tilted her head a bit to the side as she studied his grim expression, her voice soft as she said, “But can you really blame me for not trusting you?”

  “No,” he husked, looking away from her to pick up his own shirt, and even in the midst of one of the most wrenching conversations of her life, her appreciative gaze still ate up every ripple and flex of muscle as he pulled the shirt over his head. He ran both hands over his scalp, smoothing his hair back from his rugged face, then looked right at her as he pulled in a deep breath and quietly said, “Like I’ve already told you, Rin, I fucked up. I know that, and it fucking kills me. I just…”

  She waited, heart pounding so hard it was a physical pain in her chest, but when he didn’t say anything—didn’t finish that thought—she finally gave a tired sigh. “Yeah, well, it’s late and Jase is going to be up early. I…need to get some sleep.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his frustration so intense she almost felt bad for the way the entire conversation had gone. But she couldn’t take any of it back, because it was all true. And if she didn’t stand up for herself now, when would she? Because it would be far too freaking easy to fall into bed with him, fuck him until she couldn’t remember her own name, and grab at the pleasure while she could. But he wasn’t just some sexy cop that she wanted to get down and dirty with. He was Paul, damn it. An incredible man who could make her wet with little more than a look, but who also actually meant something to her—a man that she cared about, deeply—and if he’d just give himself the chance, she truly believed that he could care about her too. She just… She couldn’t go down that road with him like this, when his first instinct was to turn away from her and keep her in the dark.

  She followed him out of her bedroom and through the quiet rooms of the condo, every thump of her heart feeling like a punch inside her chest, her hands literally itching with the desire to reach out and grab hold of those big, broad shoulders, draping herself over his back as she begged him to stay.

  He stopped as he reached the front door, one rugged, masculine hand already on the handle as he glanced over at her, his expression tight with what looked like a chaotic blend of emotions. “I meant what I said in the truck. When I came up to your balcony the other week, I… I realized I was just fighting the inevitable.”

  “The inevitable?”

  “Yeah.” His blue eyes were piercing and bright beneath his dark eyelashes. “You and me. Us. And there is an us, Rin. Don’t even try to tell me you don’t feel it too.”

  “No,” she said softly. “I won’t try to tell you that.”

  He wet his bottom lip with a nervous flick of his tongue, his corded throat working with a hard swallow as he roughly went on. “So, I know I have shit to sort out. Just…give me some time. Please. And…don’t see him again.”

  “Who?” she asked with confusion. “James?”

  He nodded with a sharp jerk of his chin.

  “Trust me, I wasn’t planning on it.” Her lips twitched with a wry smile. “Does it make me an awful person to admit that I hope he’s puking his guts out down on the beach right now?”

  “Naw,” he muttered with a gritty laugh, the tiniest spark of relief flickering through his beautiful eyes as he finally opened the door and walked out onto her welcome mat. But then he pulled in another deep breath as he turned to fully face her again, his hands shoved deep in his front pockets and his voice dropping to a guttural murmur as he said, “Just…don’t see anyone else, either.”

  She opened her mouth, no idea really as to what she was going to say—yes, no, are you out of your freaking mind?—but before she could get a single word out, he husked, “I won’t either. I just…need some time. Please.”

  Time? Time for what? To get her to cave and forgive him? To decide if he was ready for what dating a single mom would mean to his lifestyle? To figure his shit out?

  Whatever the reason, she knew there was only one response she could give him.

  Quietly, but in a tone that was far firmer than she’d expected, Karin gripped the door handle and sai
d, “Focus on you right now, Paul—not me. Not us. But…I’m always here, if you need a friend.”

  Then she took a deep breath and did the hardest thing she’d ever had to do in her entire life…

  And closed the door in his face.

  Chapter Seven

  Monday morning

  It had been two days since Karin had shut her front door in his face, and Paul still couldn’t believe that she’d done it. That she’d turned him down—after he’d made her come so hard she’d had to cover her mouth to stifle her husky cries of passion—as well as the door part.

  He knew she wanted him. There was no way in hell a woman could orgasm like she had and be faking it. He’d felt her tight, sweet pussy clutching rhythmically at his tongue as he licked inside her, her juicy cum spilling down his throat as he swallowed her up like a meal, and it had been the most real…most perfect moment of his entire life.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t going to allow her body to make her decisions for her, as evidenced by that closed door. No, she was too smart and tough and incredible to settle for anything less than what she deserved. More than strong enough to raise an amazing kid on her own, run a successful business…and stand up to his stupid, arrogant ass.

  Fuck, the woman was a goddamn miracle. And he wanted her so badly he couldn’t see straight.

  He’d texted her first thing on Saturday morning, while he was still lying in bed with morning wood and the smell of her on his skin—and unlike before, she’d actually texted him back. In fact, they’d messaged each other all weekend long, and he knew she’d deliberately kept things light and easy for him.

  They’d shared their favorite movies. His: Coppola’s The Godfather. Hers: Ritchie’s The Gentlemen.

  Their favorite TV shows. His: The Sopranos. Hers: Stranger Things.

  Their favorite bands. His: Foo Fighters. Hers: Muse.

  Their favorite food. His: Lasagne. Hers: Nachos.

  They’d also texted about everything from football (they were both avid fans) to politics and police reform, along with a lengthy discussion about the perfect place to vacation—His: Hawaii, for the surfing. Hers: Paris, for the museums. And while he hadn’t put it down in a message, he’d privately figured they could just take two vacations a year, since he knew she would be happy hanging out on a Hawaiian beach with Jase while he surfed, and he’d happily walk from one end of Paris to the other, visiting every museum they came across, so long as he got to be the man that was by her side, holding her hand.

  But she hadn’t once asked him if he’d found a therapist to talk to…or if he even planned to.

  And he hadn’t brought it up either.

  Instead, they were in this weird limbo—where they talked about everything but what they really needed to be talking about, which was their fucking relationship—and he didn’t know how to get the hell out of it.

  You could actually take her advice and find someone to talk to, a smart-ass voice drawled inside his head, and he cursed under his breath, drawing a weird look from Higgins, one of the other detectives, who happened to be walking by Paul’s desk at that exact moment. Higgins thankfully wasn’t the nosy type, so the guy just kept on walking, and Paul braced his elbows on his desk, before shoving his hands through his hair as he leaned his head forward, his chest so tight he was half-afraid he was having a fucking panic attack in the middle of the goddamn bullpen.

  He told himself to calm the fuck down and chill, but the idea of spilling his guts to some stranger made him feel like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.

  And yet, the thought of watching Karin finally meet and fall in love with some other man who wasn’t emotionally stunted…

  Fuck, there were no words for how panicked that made him feel.

  And, hell, he couldn’t even blame his “closed down” attitude on a screwed-up childhood or unresolved trauma, because other than the disappointing end to his surfing career, he’d had a fucking golden life. Great parents, who had managed to be there for him and Sean even during the end of their marriage. He had the best brother and sister in the world, who put up with him even when he was a shit. Christ, they never even gave him a hard time for bailing out on the weekly “sibling dinners” that Peyton had started last year, and which he’d finally started going to. Natalie came along now too, and he enjoyed those nights to the point that he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t just gone to them from the beginning.

  Then again, maybe he did know, and just hadn’t wanted to think about it. Because there was no denying, if he were being brutally honest with himself, that the only way he’d managed to deal with Dixon’s death had been by bottling shit up. And then, somewhere along the way, he’d adopted that silence as his coping mechanism. He’d even started pulling back from his mom and his sister. He’d only stayed close to Sean, and that was because his brother didn’t push him…and they spent most of their time out on the waves.

  It had been a shit way to treat the people who cared about him, but he was working on it. And, Christ, he hoped like hell that he somehow got to the point where he’d be showing up at those weekly dinners with Karin and Jase on either side of him. Because it was where they belonged.

  By his side.

  In his family.

  The most important parts of his life.

  “Hey, man,” Michael drawled, and Paul lifted his head just in time to see his partner setting a steaming Starbucks cup down in front of him that smelled like heaven. “You look even shittier today than you did on Friday.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered, taking a grateful sip of the coffee. For weeks now, Michael had been giving him a hard time about how bad he looked, but it was difficult to get a good night’s sleep when the woman you were crazy about kept ignoring you…and then turned you down.

  Instead of moving to his own desk, Michael propped his hip up on the edge of Paul’s, his dark gaze shadowed by concern as he said, “You ready to talk to me yet?”

  He snorted as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re not my fucking therapist, Mike.”

  His partner slowly shook his head. “Naw, man, I’m not. I’m just your friend. But I’ve got a number for a good one if you want it.”

  “You… Wait, what?”

  “I’ve got the number for a good therapist,” Michael said smoothly, before taking a drink of his own coffee.

  Paul was pretty sure his eyebrows had lifted all the way to his hairline. “You see one?”

  “I have in the past,” Michael admitted with an easy shrug, his tailored gray shirt fitting perfectly across his linebacker-sized shoulders. “And she’s good, man. The best.”

  “I…” He shook his head a little, trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. “Was it the job?”

  Michael nodded. “A bad case, right at the time when my dad passed away. I just needed someone to talk it out with, you know? It’s amazing how much shit like that can help.” His partner tilted his head a bit to the side, the guy’s dark gaze searching his as he added, “Or maybe you don’t know.”

  “I…your dad died?” he scraped out. “When?”

  “Last year.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” And, shit, he thought, please don’t tell me I was walking around with my head stuck so far up my ass, I didn’t realize my own partner’s dad had died.

  “Thanks, man,” Michael murmured, his deep voice a bit huskier than before. “It happened a few months before I transferred out of Vice and we started working together. My old man was my goddamn hero, and it hit me hard when we lost him, but Dr. Ross helped me get through it…along with some other things.” Michael moved to his feet and walked around to his desk, set his coffee down as he opened the top drawer, and pulled out a business card. “You should give her a call,” he said, holding the card out for Paul.

  Leaning forward, he took the card from Michael’s outstretched hand…and had to resist the knee-jerk impulse to toss it into the trash can under his desk, which would have been a total dick move. Instead, he sucked i
n a deep breath and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Thanks,” he muttered. “And I’ll, um, think about it.”

  Sinking down into his chair, Michael gave him a knowing smile. “You know, it doesn’t make you less of a man or revoke your badass-cop card to need some help every now and then.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he grumbled. “I’m not that fucking archaic. I just… I don’t like talking about personal shit. With anyone.”

  “Then the doc will be good practice,” Michael said, picking his coffee back up, “because if you’re serious about starting something with the lovely Karin that I keep hearing so much about, then you had better fucking learn how to open up. No woman wants to be stuck with some jackass who’s too afraid to talk to her about the things that are important. Hell, about anything and everything. Communication is key, man.”

  “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

  “You know I’m right, brother,” Michael said with a deep, rumbling laugh.

  Scowling at his know-it-all friend, he muttered, “And I’m never going to hear the end of it, am I?”

  Michael’s smile was as sharp as a knife. “Not in this lifetime.”

  Shit, he thought, dropping his head back into his hands. I’m so screwed.

  That night, Paul went over to Sean and Natalie’s for dinner—a thunderstorm making it too dangerous for them to go out on the water—and it was impossible not to latch on to every noise that came from beyond their front door, his ears desperate for the sound of Karin’s voice. Her SUV hadn’t been in her parking spot when he’d arrived, which meant that she and Jase were out. She looked so young, it still sometimes blew his mind that she had a seven-year-old son. But then he would see the two of them together, and he would be blown away even more by what an amazing mom she was.