Officer out of Uniform

CHAPTER 1

Henry had had a hard-on pretty much constantly for three days straight, and there was no end in sight. There had to be something wrong with him.

The hardness that made his uniform pants uncomfortable was all natural, but snippets of late-night prescription drug commercials haunted his thoughts anyway: see a doctor if an erection persists for more than 4 hours.

4 hours? He hoped to God that that timeframe only applied to men who used those drugs. Because if that was a rule of thumb for everyone, he was in serious trouble. And seeing a doctor wasn’t going to fix it.

Damn it. He sucked in a quick breath as he buckled his duty belt, fastening the heavy black nylon around his hips. He was used to wearing it, but with his dick in the way, it was suddenly uncomfortable.

Wolf, his German Shepherd, raised his head off the kitchen tile, ears perked forward, gaze questioning, like he was waiting for a command.

Henry spared a glance for the silver sable dog. It’s nothing, boy.

Now fully dressed for work, he filled Wolf’s food and water bowls, then downed the rest of his half-finished, half-cold cup of morning coffee. It tasted like nothing at all, just the impression of bitterness sweeping over his tongue, leaving him even thirstier than before.

He drank a glass of water, but that didn’t help either. The craving that kept nagging at him just wasn’t that kind of thirst. Setting down his glass, he closed his eyes and saw red.

Fire engine red, to be specific.

Ah, damn it. He swore again, his words resonating through his house – a small house that now seemed too big, too empty. Like he hadn’t been living by himself ever since he’d been discharged from the Marine Corps five years ago. Like he wasn’t used to waking up alone and being just fine with it.

There was no question about it: as his dick twitched against the fly of his pants, he wasn’t fine. Not even close. He was a walking wreck of memories and nerves and lust that hadn’t been slaked by what’d happened three days ago.

He hated not having it together, not being in control of himself, almost as much as he hated the quiet emptiness of his home, something he’d relished for the past five years.

His house was his place. Secure and silent. Sanctuary. Only now, he would’ve given just about anything to share the limited space with a woman again. One very loud, very specific woman, in particular.

Jesus, he’d sell his soul to hear the silence shattered by her voice again. No words, just breath and sounds that didn’t translate into any language. Moaning. Screaming, really. The noises of that night were still echoing through his mind, fueling the erection he couldn’t get rid of.

And he’d tried like hell over the past couple days – had taken matters into his own hands plenty of times. Not that it’d helped. No, he’d felt his self-control slipping through his fingers each time, obliterated by the friction generated by his palm against his dick, by the memory of her red bikini.

He’d peeled her out of it after their day at the beach, had thrown it onto his bedroom floor.

There’d been sand dusted across the generous curves beneath, fine, pale grit against her fair skin. He’d brushed it away, seizing the excuse to put his hands all over her body, touching every last inch of her. And then he’d retraced his movements with his mouth, tasting the sweet skin he’d only touched once before then – to apply sunblock to the places she hadn’t been able to reach herself.

Thinking about it now had him breathing harder, aching more deeply. He glanced toward the hall, thought about collapsing onto his bed and jacking off before he left for his shift.

Instead, he headed for the door. He didn’t have time, and it wouldn’t help anyway.

Besides, work would quell the hardness he couldn’t lose on his own. There was nothing like a day spent inside a huge prison, surrounded by some of the shittiest human beings in the state of North Carolina, to get his mind off sex. Temporarily, anyway.

See you later, boy. He left Wolf in the house. The dog could go in and out as he pleased, thanks to a pet entrance that led out the kitchen door and into a small, fenced-in yard. Wolf would watch the house for him while he was gone, keep the place secure.

And when Henry got home, it’d be just as safe and empty as always.

The thought sent a pang of regret sailing through him as he climbed into his truck. Sasha had come at him like a freight train, fast and overpowering, direct and incredibly loud. They’d had the best sex of his life, but when he’d woken up in the morning, she’d been gone.

He’d only spoken to her once since then – he’d called her later that day, worried, wanting to make sure she was okay.

She’d claimed to be fine, but the conversation hadn’t lasted long. She’d seemed in a hurry to get off the phone.

And so, satisfied that she was okay, he’d spent the couple days since aching for more of her, wondering why he could make her scream beneath him one day yet couldn’t keep her on the phone the next.

Had she really meant for it to be a one night stand?

The thought was depressing as hell. But it was also balanced by the memory of what she’d said after they’d had sex, just minutes before they’d both succumbed to exhaustion and fallen asleep. She’d said she’d been waiting for what they’d done for what seemed like an eternity. And she’d said that if it’d been up to her, it never would’ve ended.

So unless that’d been complete bullshit, he didn’t get why she’d left him high and dry after their one and only time together.

Maybe it was something he’d done – or rather, hadn’t done. Maybe she was waiting for him to get his act together and do things right, take her on a real date. Not with their friends – just the two of them. Maybe the fact that she went after what she wanted when she wanted it didn’t mean that she didn’t want all the things they’d skipped in their haste, too.

He hoped so, anyway. Because he wasn’t about to chalk what they’d done up to a one-time thing. The people in his life meant something to him – each and every one. Including Sasha.

Especially Sasha. Apparently, she just didn’t know it yet. Which meant it was up to him to show her.

* * * * *

Sasha chopped vegetables like her life depended on it, turning the pepper, onion and celery into a fine blend of green, organic confetti. Perfect. The gumbo would turn out amazing, another exemplary dish in the long line of successes that’d landed her the position of head chef at the Wisteria Plantation House’s restaurant, Harvest at Wisteria.

If only all things were as simple as following a tried and true method like her gumbo recipe. There was nothing she couldn’t do with a knife and some heat. Unfortunately, she wasn’t nearly so organized or methodic in other areas of her life.

Actually, she was just the opposite. When she saw something she wanted, she went after it. And she’d never wanted anyone as badly as she’d wanted Henry. So when they’d finally gotten together, it’d been a fury of everything she’d fantasized about. Her heart had just about caved in when she’d left the next morning.

And now it was all she could think about – what they’d done, and when they’d do it again. Jesus, Henry fucked like some deity had designed him expressly for that purpose. She’d been dying to find out what he was like in bed ever since the first time she’d laid eyes on him, but he’d blown her expectations out of the water.

And her expectations were pretty high.

Ahh! Damn it… One of her sharpest knives clattered to the floor, narrowly missing her feet as she drew back her hand in reflex.

Great. She’d sliced into a finger, staining the cutting board. Grimacing, she raised her hand, bracing herself for the sight of the damage. Those sharp knives could sink to the bone before you even realized what you’d done to yourself.

Considering that, the wound wasn’t that bad. It bled fiercely, but it was small and she couldn’t see bone, even when she held her hand under tepid water, flushing it out and watching the water turn pink before it rushed down the sink drain.

This was exactly why she’d had to leave Henry after their long-awaited night together. Why she’d forced herself to walk out his front door, leaving him perfect and oblivious, asleep in his bed with a woman-shaped dent in the blankets beside him.

She wanted him too badly, liked him so much it was crazy. She’d always had a mind of her own, but when she was around him, it was like he became the air she breathed. It was a sensation she’d never felt before, not with any of the guys she’d been with in the past.

And it wasn’t just because of the way he looked, or the way he fucked. It was every little thing about him. Take the way he couldn’t seem to let his guard down, for instance. She’d caught little glimpses of his untouchable demeanor wavering when they’d flirted. And then, when he’d let his guard down – all the way down – for her, during their night together, it’d just about melted her from the inside out.

There’d been no doubt in her mind that his attention – all of it – had been focused on her that night. It had been intense, everything she’d hoped for and then some. She wanted more.

Normally, she considered herself pretty adept at attracting men. But she knew the level of crazy she felt for Henry was enough to send a guy running in the other direction. So no matter how agonizing it was, she’d reign herself in until he showed her that he wanted her just as badly. It’d been hell keeping calm when he’d called to check on her the next morning. Still, no way was she going to risk scaring him off.

She’d made the first move, and had a slew of breathtaking memories and aching, tingling emptiness to show for it. The ball was in his court.

CHAPTER 2

Henry knew the value of a well-laid plan. You never went into action without one. That’d been his original mistake – the one he’d made on beach day. Had he been looking forward to spending a day on the shore with the group?

Hell yes, he had. The prospect of seeing Sasha in a swimsuit had kept him up half the night before. But he’d never expected things to escalate so quickly between them. He’d figured he’d have to ease in … get to know her better before he asked her out alone, and then go from there. In his experience, intimacy was hard won and women worth having usually took some wooing. The group day at the beach had seemed like a perfect stepping stone to a solo date.

And then … well, she’d shown him what utter crap his assumptions had been. One thing was for sure: Sasha wasn’t like other women he’d dated in the past. Her flirting was more akin to a contact sport than simple fun or teasing.

He didn’t plan to be caught off guard again. Now that he knew what to make of her – sort of – he could think about his next step and avoid being sideswiped by her boldness again. He’d treat her to some actual romance this time, and hopefully that’d be enough to keep her from running off again.

Obviously, the first step in his plan was flowers. Every woman loved flowers. You couldn’t go wrong with a nice bouquet. Henry was sure of that … reasonably sure, anyway. So, after he finished his shift at the Riley Correctional Center, he climbed into his blue Dodge Ram and drove straight for town.

There was only one florist in the town of Cypress, a tiny little shop with lots of windows, all glass and blossoms, wedged in between a café and a seafood place on Seaside Avenue. The sidewalk was flooded with the salty scent of nearby sea water and richer aromas from restaurants.

Henry walked into Seaside Floral like he was storming a hostile territory, gaze assessing every detail, knowing he only had one chance to get this right, and that everything depended on it.

Everything he gave a damn about at the moment, anyway. When he thought of Sasha, her luscious curves and bold personality crowded his mind, leaving him unable to focus on much else.

Hello! Can I help you find something – an arrangement for someone special, maybe?

Henry turned to face a tiny woman with a perky smile. Make that tiny girl. She had to be a teenager – maybe even still a highschooler. That fact was a little unnerving. He’d been counting on some expert advice from a florist, not the opinion of some kid working part-time after school.

The girl bounced on her toes, reminding him of the hyper little terrier mutt, Holden, that belonged to his best friend Liam and his fiancée.

I’m looking for some flowers, he admitted. A bouquet for … someone special.

Right. The girl nodded and darted toward a glass display cabinet. It looked like the freezer aisle in a grocery store, only it was full of flowers instead of frozen vegetables and ice cream.

When she returned, she had her arms wrapped around a huge vase of roses. There had to be at least two dozen blossoms inside it, each one a different color. The arrangement seemed a little too chaotic and flashy, even for Sasha.

The girl stood on her tiptoes, thrusting the roses toward Henry as she peeked at him over the top of the blossoms. A rich perfume drifted up from the enormous container.

These flowers are just examples of the rose varieties we have to choose from. I want you to think of the person you’ll be giving the flowers to, she said. Think of the message you want to send. Go ahead and close your eyes… Don’t be afraid to concentrate.

There was no way in hell Henry was going to close his eyes. Not standing there exposed in the florist’s shop, surrounded by wide glass windows. Especially not in his uniform. Wearing the thing in public was like walking around with a target painted on his back.

The shop girl seemed satisfied with a few moments of silence, even if he did keep his eyes open. Okay, are you envisioning the message you want to send?

He nodded as visions of Sasha crowded his mind, filling him with a deep sense of desire that combined with the smell of roses to make his head spin.

Good. Now I’m going to help you choose flowers that will convey that message. What is it?

He blinked, almost took a step backward. Tell this kid about the ‘message’ he wanted to send to Sasha? Not a chance. It’d be indecent, not to mention awkward as hell. I don’t think that’s a good idea.

The girl’s wide smile wavered, but only briefly. Okay, how about I tell you what the different rose colors mean, and you stop me when I hit on the message you want to send?

Slowly, Henry nodded.

Pink roses are a great choice if you’re trying to show a woman how special she is to you. They’re a classic symbol of femininity and refinement, gentleness and grace. She pointed to a pink bloom. The darker shades can also be used to show appreciation. People usually send pink roses to their mothers, sisters—

We’re not related, Henry said quickly, trying not to scoff out loud at the idea of presenting Sasha with delicate pink flowers. Refinement? Gentleness?

Yeah, those words didn’t exactly capture her essence. Not that he was complaining.

Okay. Moving on… She plucked a yellow bloom from the vase and held it aloft. Yellow is the color of happiness and friendship. If—

Henry’s gaze was drawn to one rose in particular – a bright red blossom. Fire engine red, just like Sasha’s bikini. I think I’ll go with this, he said.

The girl’s eyes got wide, and her eyebrows bounced up and down. True red. That’s the color of romantic love and undying passion. Very dramatic, yet classic at the same time.

Very dramatic – Henry had just been thinking something similar about the girl’s rose color spiel.

I’ll take them, he said, suddenly sure of himself. A whole bouquet. Just do whatever you do to make them look good.

The girl beamed. Do you want one or two dozen?

One, he said, because he had a feeling that a dozen of the bold red flowers would convey his message just fine.

Perfect. She’ll love them.

He hoped so. Thought so, or he wouldn’t have been buying them. While he waited for the girl to assemble the bouquet, he stood with his back to the flower cooling unit, watching foot traffic stream by. Physically, he saw the middle-aged guy walking some kind of Blue Heeler mix on a leash, saw the mom shopping with twin little girls in tow.

But in his mind’s eye, all he saw was Sasha.

He had a feeling that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

* * * * *

As she walked through her front door after a long day at work, Sasha briefly considered sprinting back to her car, pressing the pedal to the floor and speeding to Henry’s house. The only thing that stopped her was the fact that she didn’t sprint – not without an industrial strength sports bra on, anyway. If she simply took off running without one, she’d probably be knocked out cold by one of the girls.

That thought had her sighing as she sat her purse down on the counter. Not because she relished the thought of dangerous athletic feats, but because she could remember Henry’s hands on her body, unhooking the tricky little buckle that’d held her bikini top strap together, caressing the curves of her breasts.

God, how long would she have to wait for him to make the next move? It’d only been three days, and already, her resolve to play it cool was wavering. Would it really hurt anything if she made an impromptu appearance at his place that evening, stopped by with something good to eat and a bottle of wine?

She knew there was no way he’d turn her down. Her home cooking, alcohol and the aforementioned girls constituted a potent trinity – one Henry would surely find irresistible.

Not that there’d been any alcohol involved in their night together. No, they’d both been completely sober. If they’d acted a little intoxicated, that’d only been an effect of their natural chemistry.

Just as Sasha cast a longing glance out the window at her car, her phone rang.

Immediately, her heart skipped a beat. Could it be Henry?

She fished her phone out of her purse and answered, trying her best to sound like she wasn’t fantasizing about sprinting out of the house, sports bra be damned.

Sasha, it’s me.

Oh, hi mom. She tried to keep her disappointment out of her voice, feeling guilty over wishing Henry had called instead of her mother.

I was just wondering whether you still plan to make the trip up here tomorrow, her mother said. I know you’ve been busy at work, and I hadn’t heard from you since last week…

Sasha swore silently inside her head. I’m sorry, mom. Of course I’m still coming. I just got caught up in everything that’s been going on and forgot to call. Her gaze drifted toward the calendar hanging beside the fridge, settling on tomorrow’s date.

Everything inside her seemed to condense, balling up into a tangle of longing and dull-edged pain. The feeling didn’t exactly pass, just faded slowly, leaving a sense of wistfulness in its wake.

Is everything all right? You all aren’t having trouble with anymore prison escapees down there, are you?

No, nothing like that. It’s been more than a month since those two broke out. You know one of them is dead, and the other is on the lam. Probably halfway around the world by now, lying low somewhere.

Of course. Your poor friends… Sometimes I worry about you Sasha, living so close to that prison.

I’m fine, mom. When I said I was busy, I only meant with work. Plus, I met a guy. She didn’t tell her mom every time she met a new guy, but right now, she’d say just about anything to distract her from her exaggerated fears about the prison. The Levinson brothers’ escape – which had happened earlier that summer – was the first time anyone had ever escaped from the Riley Correctional Center. It would probably never happen again.

For a few minutes, they chatted about Henry. Sasha didn’t reveal much, just assured her mom that he was a nice guy, and yes, he was very handsome. She didn’t mention that he worked as a correctional officer at the prison.

Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, her mother eventually said. I know it’s not going to be a very happy occasion, but I thought maybe we could get lunch together. Go somewhere nice. We don’t get to see each other nearly as often as I’d like.

Sure.

Okay. I’ll pick up the flowers. See you around…?

Eleven.

Moments later, Sasha slipped her phone back into her purse with a sigh. Maybe it was a good thing Henry hadn’t gotten in touch with her today. She had an early morning ahead of her, and it wasn’t going to be a particularly easy day, even with a full night’s sleep.

* * * * *

The bouquet of red roses Henry had bought for Sasha trembled in the passenger seat as he made his way toward home, intent on changing out of his uniform and taking a quick shower before he went to her place. He’d strapped the vase in using the passenger side seatbelt. As long as he didn’t make any sudden stops, the flowers would be fine.

He had to remind himself of that when he saw something that made him want to slam on the brakes.

Shit! He threw out a hand, holding the vase against the seat as he rolled to a rushed stop. Luckily, there was no one on the road behind him. With his truck mostly on the road’s narrow shoulder, he sat and stared for half a second, a sick feeling churning in his gut.

The scene that’d stopped him looked like something out of a horror movie, and it was just a few yards from the roadside.

CHAPTER 3

Henry tore his gaze away and glanced to where a long driveway led back to a rural home. The house was almost invisible behind a screen of pines, but Henry knew exactly who it belonged to, as most of the officers who worked at Riley likely did.

It was the warden’s place.

Henry reached for the Glock he kept in the console and unfastened his seatbelt as the bitter taste of adrenaline filled his mouth. Glancing back at the bloody scene baking in the sun, he could make out the warden’s square jaw and short grey hair. His body had been put on display in front of the closely spaced pines, where it was clearly meant to be seen.

As soon as Henry opened his truck door, the smell of death hit him like a ton of bricks. He had to brace himself against it, actually had to fight half a moment’s urge to turn back around and drive away. It was a disgusting scent, one that had been burnt into the olfactory region of his brain years ago, in Afghanistan.

Memories crowded his mind, blurring with the scene in front of him, bending reality. He had to fight to keep a clear head, to focus on one nightmare at a time as he moved forward, weapon at the ready.

The North Carolina heat was unforgiving. It wasn’t as scorching as the desert sun, but the climate was more humid, a fact which more than made up for the temperature difference. There was no way around it – in the South, a body started smelling awfully fast in July.

At least the smell answered Henry’s primary question – the one he’d