He swept away her hands and peeled her shirt over her head, easy enough, as she raised her arms to accommodate him. Which happened to put her br**sts within easy reach for touching, licking, sucking until her head writhed against the door. And oh God, she had the all-over honey tone to her skin he’d wondered about. No tan lines. Just pure sweet Rachel, bared for his total and undivided attention.
Her nails scored down his back until her hand came around and grazed the front of his fly. His legs just about buckled underneath him.
Bracing one hand against the door, he stroked her hair away from her face with the other, enjoying the glide of dark strands between his fingers. “When did you decide on taking this step?”
“I thought about it the first time I saw you. And then about a thousand times since then. As for when I decided to act on it? I’m not sure exactly. Maybe somewhere between when you fed the puppy and when you felt me up in the parking lot.” She nibbled along his jaw, her tongue flicking his earlobe. “Some things in life just happen. This was meant to happen.”
“That works for me.”
She stroked the length of him. “Condom? Do you have one?”
“In my wallet, remember? Three of them, I think.” He wished he had more.
“Yes…” She yanked the leather billfold out and open. More cash tumbled to the floor, but thank God, so did three plastic packets.
He grabbed one off the floor and tore it open while she unfastened the button fly of his jeans. The pressure of her hands, her touch even through denim, had him throbbing harder.
The floor vibrated under his feet. Or was it the door? His brain cleared enough to realize someone was pounding from outside.
His reflexes went on alert. He snatched Rachel’s shirt off the back of the chair and passed it to her, pushing her behind him in one fluid movement.
“Police,” a male voice shouted from outside. The fist pounded again. “Open up.”
Biting back a curse, Liam buttoned his pants and reached for his .45 caliber on the table.
“Sir, ma’am?” the voice shouted again. “Open this door now or I’m going to be forced to kick it down.”
Liam tucked his hand behind him, silver handgun in his fist, and opened the door. A burly dude in uniform blocked the doorjamb with his foot and flashed his badge. It looked legit.
Carefully, Liam tucked the gun into his waistband at the small of his back, hidden in the hem of his shirt Rachel had tugged loose seconds earlier. They really didn’t need this kind of attention. But like it or not, this guy wasn’t going to disappear.
The faster they settled this, the better. “Is there a problem, officer?”
Liam heard a clink, sort of like ice cubes, until he realized. Shit. The officer held up handcuffs.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for soliciting a prostitute.”
Chapter 12
Rachel held the shirt to her bare chest, twenty-dollar bills on the floor around her feet. In a seedy motel room. This so didn’t look good.
Neither did the gun in the back waistband of Liam’s jeans. The cop really wasn’t going to like that. Or the arsenal stowed away in the duffel bag. And oh God, was the television camera crew still filming? She peeked over the officer’s shoulder and they didn’t seem to be interested in the little drama unfolding in her life. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Liam nudged his loose T-shirt over the gun and brought his empty hands around for the policeman to view. “What do you mean, under arrest for soliciting a prostitute?”
The cop pushed the door open wider, his backup now visible a few steps behind. The partner—a fresh-faced kid straight out of the academy, most likely—had his hand on his gun and looked entirely too twitchy.
The senior officer hitched a thumb in his belt. “Don’t bother denying it, sir. I saw your whole little exchange of cash outside the room—not wise, by the way. Especially in an establishment well-known for easy hooker traffic.” The police officer shook his head wearily. “I have heard more bullshit stories than you can imagine, trying to crack down on this place. So don’t even attempt to play on my sympathy by bringing in stories about your sick wife or your kids or your mama. Look me in the eyes. I do not care.”
Once the cops found the weapons, they were screwed. Road trip over. Right back in with the OSI and whatever made Liam haul her out of there in the first place.
She had to fix this for him. Now.
Rachel forced a blush up her face. “But Officer”—she glanced at his name tag—“Vogel, I’m not a hooker. I am his wife.”
Liam’s head whipped around.
Officer Vogel didn’t look impressed or convinced. Apparently he had heard it all.