Witch (Sydney Hart #1)

Witch (Sydney Hart #1) Page 2

Of course I went back to the farmhouse on the Wednesday  -  I had to. Since meeting Michael, I hadn't been able to get him out of my head. I had never met a guy so in my face before. At first I wondered if I hadn't imagined how he had come on to me; had I read too much into the situation? I knew I hadn't. Michael had flirted with me  -  he had made it so obvious that he liked me, and I liked him, too. To be honest, since leaving the farmhouse on that bleak afternoon, I had been unable to stop wondering what it would feel like to have those short, sharp bristles and rough hands all over me.

That very afternoon, after getting off from work, and unable to get him out of my head and shake off those feelings of wanting Michael, I paced between the bedroom, living room, and kitchen of my poky apartment. My skin felt hot and flushed, and I had a warm, needy, sensation in the pit of my stomach. I busied myself by ransacking my wardrobe, pulling out dresses and skirts for an evening of clubbing with my friends. In the end I didn't go out, I had an early night instead, lying alone in the dark, one hand between my thighs, fantasizing about Michael.

So on Wednesday, kidding myself that I would be spending my afternoon undertaking police work, I wrote in the office diary that I was out taking statements for the rest of the shift. Even as my patrol car lurched over the uneven dirt road which led up to the farmhouse, I told myself that my afternoon would be spent in the company of the disgruntled farmer and his son, completing the paperwork necessary to file my crime report. I climbed from the car. The day was cold, but not wet, so I left my raincoat on the backseat of the car along with my cap. I made my way up to the front door, utility belt with all of its equipment swinging about my hips.

With my fist, I knocked on the door once before it swung open. Michael stood in the doorway. He wore a red checked shirt unbuttoned down the front and the same pair of faded jeans he had been wearing a few days before. Without saying anything, his eyes locked on mine. Michael stepped to one side, gesturing for me to enter. He closed the door behind me. I felt a nervous tension inside the cluttered kitchen. I turned to look at Michael. He stood with his back against the closed door, barring my exit, shirt open. I could see his well-defined stomach and chest. It looked rock hard, as if chiselled from stone. My eyes followed that sexy 'v' line that was such a turn on for me, a thin line of wispy black hair poking up from beneath the waist of his jeans. He caught me staring at him, that warm sensation spreading out from my stomach, downwards.

Knowing the answer to my question before I even asked it, I said, "Is your father home?"

"No," Michael said with a shake of his head, his thick black hair spilling over his brow. "He won't be back for ages, but you knew that already, didn't you?"

"Did I?" I asked back, the room suddenly feeling hot and claustrophobic.

"Of course you did," he half-smiled, stepping away from the door and heading across the room. He stopped before the kitchen table, and picking up a bottle of whiskey, he poured two glasses. Michael came back across the room and offered me one of them.

"I'm on duty," I told him, refusing to take the glass.

Slowly he raised the other glass to his mouth, taking a gulp. Michael peered at me over the rim of the glass. "Do you always play by the rules, officer?"

"Yes," I told him, as he continued to hold the glass of whiskey out before me.

"That's good to know," he smiled wistfully at me, then emptied his glass. "So if I were to break the law, you would have to punish me, right?"

"It wouldn't be down to me to punish you..." I started as he waved the glass beneath my nose again. This time I took it and drank its contents straight down. The liquid scalded the back of my throat and I fought desperately not to cough and splutter.

"But you would have to arrest me, right?" he said, heading back towards the whiskey bottle. He picked it up and poured another glass almost to the brim. Sipping it, Michael headed back across the kitchen towards me.

"Whether I arrest you or not all depends on what sort of crime you committed," I told him, placing my empty glass down and taking the one he had been drinking from. I gulped down the remains, and with a smile, I said, "Why? Do you have something you want to confess?"

Slowly, Michael reached out and cupped one of my breasts in his large hand. I looked down as he gently brushed his thumb over my nipple. It felt good.

"You'd have to arrest me for assaulting a police officer," he smiled, taking his hand away.

We stood and looked at each other in the quietness of the kitchen. The only sound was that of my racing heart.

"Are you going to arrest me?" Michael dared, his eyes wide with delight.

"This is insane," I breathed.

"What is?" he whispered.

"This," I said, reaching out for him and pulling him close.

Our lips met as we kissed. Michael eased his tongue into my mouth, where it slid wildly about. I kissed him back with as much passion, my own tongue darting beneath his. He buried his hands in my hair, loosening the bun I had pulled it into. Once my hair was free, he yanked and pulled at my shirt, desperate to get at what lay beneath. I ran my hands down his back, his body hard beneath my touch.

"I've got a good mind to take you into custody," I whispered in his ear.

"Do what you like, officer," he said, pressing himself against me. I could feel his cock was hard beneath his jeans. He started to move his hips in a slow, deliberate, circular motion as he rubbed against me. I was tempted to unfasten his jeans and release it  -  take it in my hands. Before I'd had the chance, Michael was guiding me back towards the kitchen table, his rough hands now working their way down the back of my trousers and squeezing my arse. My utility belt came free, my baton, radio, and quick-cuffs clattering against the stone floor.

I looked sideways at the front door. If I was going to leave, then I had to do it now. I knew that if I stayed, there was no going back. I would've crossed a line which I might never come back from. With Michael's hands now between my legs and just wanting him, I closed my eyes on the door and on all of my reasoning.