Though something had happened between them the night he tied her up. Rollicking passion, yes. Numerous orgasms, definitely. But a bond had been strengthened, a connection that had always simmered between them but now seemed fused together permanently. She made him ache all over, inside and out, and drove him to claim her in bed endlessly in the drive to get rid of the madness. So far, no good.
Maybe once anger management was over, things would calm.
He’d work an extra shift. Pick up a little OT, gain some distance, and remind himself about real life. It would be good for both of them.
Stone pulled up to her house and glanced at his companion. The sore spots had now fully healed. Her new pink collar glittered with fake bling, which embarrassed the hell out of him, but since it was a present from Arilyn and Pinky seemed to like it, he hadn’t ripped it off. Yet. Hell, he’d almost bought a spiked leather collar at the pet store, but it reminded him too much of a BDSM relationship. So the pink stayed.
Her bat ears stood straight up with pale pink centers, and she panted with what he now knew was excitement. Her jaw jutted out with the excitement, exposing tiny sharp teeth. Those chocolate-brown eyes stared at him with sheer adoration, making him shake his head. “Come on, you little rat fink. Let’s go see Robert.” He scratched her head affectionately and pulled her into the crook of his arm.
He didn’t knock. When he came for dinner, she left the door open, and already the scents and sounds of the small bungalow drifted from inside. He walked in.
Arilyn stood in the kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans. She wore a stained apron that encouraged him to KISS THE CHEF. Feet bare, hair twisted up, clad in yoga pants, she grabbed her glass of wine and sipped while the sounds of a singer belting out lyrics not in English filled the air. Robert lay near the edge of the kitchen, purple bunny squeaker tucked firmly between his paws, head lifted as he waited for scraps to drop. Mrs. Blackfire and Patrick sat at the pine table with crackers and what looked like hummus, arguing over old movies and who were the greatest actor and actress of all time.
“There’s just no way you can’t pick Bogie,” Patrick stated. “He was a man’s man and a great romantic lead. No one touched him.”
Mrs. Blackfire snorted with disgust. “He mumbled and talked weird. Also not what you’d call handsome. Sorry, the real winner is Newman. Mr. Blue Eyes himself. He was a much better actor. Arilyn, do you have Ritz? These wheat things are a bit too crunchy.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Blackfire, Poppy needs to watch his salt intake, along with getting more fiber. How about the rosemary and garlic toast bits I made?”
“Yes, they’re better. Well, hello, Officer Stone. Were you called out to the bingo hall? Marilyn said there’s a thief who’s stealing the petty cash. Did you catch her?”
Stone nodded a greeting, clapped Patrick’s shoulder, and eased into the kitchen. “Wasn’t a theft, Mrs. Blackfire. Mr. Olsen is beginning to forget things, so he moved the cash and didn’t tell anyone. We found it. Crisis averted.”
“Oh. Well, I’d keep an eye on him. I always knew he looked suspicious. He’s even wearing an eye patch now!”
“He had cataract surgery.” He stopped in front of Arilyn. “Hi.”
She smiled and his heart stuttered. Damn undependable organ. “Hi.” He kissed her properly, his hands skating over her slim hips. “Need help?”
She laughed, rising up on her toes, and kissed him again. “Not your kind.”
“Hey, I helped the last time.”
“You thought the Brussels sprouts were broccoli.”
“They look the same.”
“Trust me, you’re a better help out there. Keep an eye on Poppy and make sure he’s not sneaking slugs of beer. I cut him off.”
“Mmm. ’Kay.” They stared at each other for a few moments. Funny, he’d never experienced that sensation of having the world melt away, but he couldn’t give a crap if a crime happened right in front of him. Stone seemed unable to move from the spell of those green eyes. Her delicious clean scent rose to his nostrils like heaven. “Whatcha making?”
“Pasta with creamy cauliflower sauce. I saw it on Thug Kitchen. I promise you’ll like this one.”
His lip twitched. It was a fifty-fifty shot. Some of her recipes he was actually getting used to. Other times she finally took pity on him and gave him something he recognized. Still, he left with his belly full, feeling pampered and cared for in a way he had never experienced.
Patrick spoke up. “With real sausage. She promised.”
He raised his brow. “Seriously?”
She shook her head but grinned. “Yes. I went to the organic butcher. I bend if you bend.”
“Sweet.” He opened the refrigerator, grabbed an IPA, and took a pull. Reaching into the right top cabinet, he took down four bowls and lined up the silverware. “Mrs. Blackfire, I saw your driveway is starting to crack. It’ll never make the winter. Do you have someone you trust to do it?”
“The last company did a terrible job, but they won’t come back to fix it. I called several times.”
Stone frowned as he set the table. “Is it that place on the edge of town with the dirty red truck parked in front?”
“Yes! I can’t get them to make good on the work, even though I paid for a guarantee.”
“I’ll take care of it. I know some people over there.”
“Thank you.” It came out soft and grudgingly, but Stone had been making great strides in cracking Mrs. Blackfire’s hard shell. The more he got to know her, he realized it was all a farce. She had no one in her life, and because she was so abrasive, people didn’t stay around long enough to get to know her. Arilyn set out the portions, with a vase of happy yellow flowers, and poured water in all the glasses. “Of course, you can really help if you convince your girlfriend to chop down that tree for the winter. When the snow piles up, it’s going to fall.”