Chapter 3
SACHI
I wear Velcro kids’ shoes with flashing lights and neon colors because I can—one of the perks of being short. I sculpt animals out of mashed potatoes when I eat at fancy restaurants and collect pictures I take of dogs I see at the park because I think they’re cute.
I suppose it shouldn’t come as a shock to me that I just asked a stranger to dance with me, yet I’m a bit flabbergasted at myself. Not a single person is dancing in the entire ballroom. I’m not even sure there’s a dance floor. And I didn’t just ask the man to dance, I practically demanded it.
The man I only know as Malone never even flinches.
He sets down our drinks on a nearby table, then guides me back into his arms. A small ensemble of musicians is playing an assortment of Christmas classics in a corner of the ballroom, filling the air with cheerful ambiance.
The current number is a sultry rendition of “I’ll Have a Blue Christmas Without You”—perfect for a romantic turn about the floor.
I adore the way I feel in Malone’s confident hold. His one hand holds mine while his other hand rests at my lower back, keeping my body close to his.
I’m not sure which is more tantalizing.
The hand at my back radiates warmth to an already volcanic heat building in my center, while the skin-on-skin contact of our joined hands sends bolts of liquid lightning through my veins enough to power the entire Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center.
“Considering I’m pretending to be your date,” Malone begins as we gently sway in tandem, “surely, it’s not too forward to ask your name.”
Name? Oh my God.
I’ve been so caught up that I completely forgot he doesn’t have any clue who I am. Not that I know him all that well, but I knew of him, and I had a name. I could be Joan of Arc for all he knows, and he certainly has no idea I’m friends with Sante and Tommy.
A sliver of unease trickles down my spine.
It’s fine, Sach. None of that matters. This is just a dance—a single night of fun, okay?
Absolutely. Right. No reason to worry.
“Sachi,” I offer, keeping my last name to myself. “And you are?” I ask because he doesn’t need to know that I know, but I also have no clue whether Malone is a first or last name. Hell, my memory could suck, and I could have the wrong guy altogether.
“Dean Malone. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Sachi. Of course, I hope you’re aware that half this room probably knows you called me Daddy by now.”
I was right. He is Malone, and that’s his last name. Good to know.
“A tough guy like you can handle a little ribbing, right?” I fight back a grin.
“I tell you what,” he says, then pulls me closer—close enough that our bodies graze one another. “You call me whatever you want, so long as you’re calling me.”
Oh damn.
He’s good. Like, really freaking good.
Because despite the corniness of his lines, the sincerity in his voice has me gobbling up every word.
Tonight was supposed to be a simple indulgence—a little fun and a good story—but I get the feeling something big is being set into motion, and I don’t want it to stop. I’m enjoying myself with a man more than I have in … maybe ever.
The realization and his candid appreciation of me gives me a wealth of confidence.
I feel desirable and bold and effervescent.
Eyes follow us as we sway together from one song into the next, talking quietly about everything and nothing.
We’re discussing the optimal height of the perfect snowman when a voice lances through our conversation.
“Malone! I thought you said you came alone.” A young guy in his early twenties stops beside us, interrupting our moment with an impressive degree of cluelessness. If “wet behind the ears” was literal, he’d have puddles at his feet from being so earnestly naive.
“Eckerman.” Dean nods curtly, keeping his hand at my lower back. It’s a tad possessive, considering we hardly know one another, but I’m not mad about it. His comforting strength feels too good to resent. “This is Sachi. Sachi, our newest officer, Ralph Eckerman.”
The unmasked man grins proudly and extends his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” His grip is firm, though the shake lasts a smidge longer than is customary. It’s purely unintentional. He’s just so dang enthusiastic that I have to laugh.
“Good to meet you, too.”
“Speaking of dates, Eck, where’s your wife?” Dean asks abruptly. He doesn’t seem nearly as entertained by the momentary interruption.
Ralph motions over his shoulder. “Bathroom.”
Dean lifts his chin. “You should probably get back to her. Wouldn’t want to get separated in this crowd.”
“Oh yeah. Right.” The recruit winks with a grin. “You two enjoy your evening.” He disappears with a wave.
“He’s kind of adorable in a golden retriever sort of way,” I muse aloud.
Dean narrows his eyes and pulls me back into our dance hold. “I suppose, if you like that sort of thing.” His huffy response is endearing because it bears a hint of humor that softens the jealousy.
“You work together?”
“Not exactly. I’m a detective, and he’s a beat cop, but he’s sort of latched onto me.” His wry tone has a humorous undercurrent, like he wants to be grumpy, but he’s just too decent to let it fully take hold.
I bite back a smile. “I thought this event was for higher-ups.”
“His father’s a captain at another precinct.”
“Ah.”
He makes a rumbling noise in agreement that causes a flutter deep in my chest.
“He gets preferential treatment,” I observe, curious about Dean’s thoughts on the matter.
“Maybe some, but he’s actually a decent cop, just green.”
“And you? What kind of detective are you?”
The musicians launch into a lively instrumental of “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,” though the upbeat music barely registers in my ears. I’m too intent on hearing Dean’s reply. He’s intriguing in a way I can’t define but has me hanging on every word he says.
“I’m the persistent kind of detective.”
I appreciate his choice of descriptors. He didn’t say something generic like “I’m a good detective” or “veteran detective” or list the awards he’s received. He chose to share what he sees as admirable, and to him, that’s persistence—something I imagine is rather crucial in solving crime.
He’s persistent and perceptive and generous and deliciously self-assured—all qualities that would serve him well as a detective. They also have the potential to make him an incredible lover. What I wouldn’t give to test that theory…
Holy hell, am I really considering that?
Am I willing to have sex with a man I hardly know?
I’ve never had a one-night stand. It always seemed a little risky to be so vulnerable with a man I don’t know. Being quirky and impulsive about my wardrobe or hobbies is one thing. Having sex with a stranger is a whole other level of courage.
But this guy’s a cop—one my friends seem to think is a decent guy.
Maybe this is my chance to have my cake and eat it, too.
Man-dy cane cake.
Mmm…
I lick my suddenly parched lips.
Dean leans in close to my ear. “You do realize you just broadcasted every last thought that passed behind your expressive eyes. You’re definitely going on Santa’s naughty list.”
“Do you think he’ll cuff me for being bad?” If it wouldn’t make me look a smidge crazy, I’d take a look around to see where that saucy statement came from because I know it can’t be me.
And the hunger in my raspy voice? Where did this sexy vixen come from, and can I keep her?
Dean’s hand releases mine before cupping the back of my neck, his entire body going stiff. “Careful, kitten. You’re adding to an already … sensitive situation.”
The realization that I’m arousing this gorgeous man beyond the point of his control intoxicates me. I want more. I need more. So much so that I don’t have the capacity to overthink my actions. The only thing on my mind is getting more of Dean.
I allow my body to drift lazily across his, reveling in the feel of his hardening length as it grazes my lower belly.
“Then maybe we should leave,” I suggest in a breathy whisper.
Holy shit, I can’t believe it.
I did it.
I just offered myself up for a night of what promises to be off-the-charts sex with a man I hardly know. Never have I ever been so forward or brazen. Nor have I ever been so grateful. I want this man.
I want to be his for the night. I want it so badly that I’m a tangled knot of every emotion possible as I wait for his response.
Just one perfect night.
That’s all I’m asking…