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I can still smell her scent, something floral and smoky, a contrast as confusing as the girl herself. I glance back at the store, half expecting to see her peeking out, those piercing green eyes locking onto mine once again. But she's gone, slipped away into the tangle of streets and stories that make up this city.
"McLean, you're playing with fire," I scold myself, knowing full well that I'm not just talking about bending the rules. There's a flame inside me now, ignited by her intensity, and it's burning a hole through the rulebook I've followed for years.
The radio crackles at my side, a reminder of the world moving on, of duties and calls waiting to be answered. I give it a cursory glance before clipping it back on my belt. Right now, it's just noise, background static to the thoughts of a girl with jet black hair and an air of mystery that could bring a man to his knees.
"Focus, Doug," I chide, trying to snap myself back to reality. I need to clear my head, get back to being the cop I know I am, the one who doesn't let pretty faces sway him from what's right. But damn if Lori White hasn't left her mark on me.
The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows down the avenues. My shift finally ends, and it’s time to head home.
I'm still buzzing from the encounter when I get home. The image of Lori's smoldering green eyes is burned into my brain, igniting a fire that I can't stamp out, no matter how hard I try. As I peel off my uniform back at my apartment, each piece of fabric I shed feels like a layer of restraint falling away.
Standing in front of the mirror, I catch sight of my bare chest, muscles tense and skin flushed with an undeniable hunger. My hands run over my torso, fingertips tracing the lines and contours as if they're searching for her touch, the phantom sensation of her against me. There's a raw, primal need building inside, and it's as intoxicating as it is dangerous.
"Fuck," I groan, the word a guttural sound in the quiet room. It's been a long time since anyone's gotten under my skin like this—since I've craved someone's body with such reckless abandon.
The shower does nothing to quell the heat—if anything, it stokes the flames higher. Water cascades over me, sluicing down my back, but all I can picture is Lori’s figure beneath the spray, water clinging to her jet-black hair like beads of desire. My hand wanders lower, grasping the length of my arousal, and I'm lost to the fantasy.
"Christ, Lori," I pant out her name like a prayer or a curse—I'm not sure which. The tiles are cold against my palm as I brace myself, my movements growing more frantic as I imagine it's her hand on me, her breath hot on my neck, whispering for more.
I finally come with a muffled grunt. I splay my hand against the tiles to keep myself from collapsing as my knees go weak.
But still I’m not entirely sated. This little indulgence has only made me want her more.
What started as a call to a shoplifting scene has spiraled into something wildly inappropriate, yet undeniably intoxicating. Lori White, with her jet-black hair and heart-stopping eyes, has me wrapped around her little finger, and I'm not sure how to untangle myself. Hell, I’m not even sure I want to.
I make a silent vow to protect her, from whatever and whoever, including myself.
CHAPTER TWO
Doug
Her face haunts me. Those damn green eyes, like a signal flare in the night. They light up my darkest corners, and I'm screwed. Totally hooked on Lori White, and she doesn't even know it.
I can't shake her. Every time I close my eyes, there she is. It's a constant battle in my head—wanting her, needing to protect her, but knowing I gotta keep my hands off.
Lori's got this tough shell, but I see the cracks. I see the girl who's been kicked by life more times than anyone deserves. She’s a survivor—she doesn’t need saving, not really. But hell, that doesn’t stop me from wanting to wrap her in my arms and shield her from the next blow.
So, what do I do? I make a call. A decision that goes against every rule in the book. I decide to shadow her, watch over her from a distance. It’s a tightrope walk, keeping her safe while battling these urges to just swoop in and claim her as mine.
I stalk the shadows like some guardian angel with a badge. Dammit, I should be arresting punks, not tailing a girl who's gotten under my skin in ways I can't explain.
But there’s something about Lori. Something that makes me want to break all the rules. So, I follow at a distance, always there but never close enough to touch. It's a kind of self-torture only a guy like me would sign up for.
I tell myself it's the cop in me—that protective instinct that won't shut off. But deep down, where the truth doesn’t sugarcoat itself, I know it's more than that. It's raw, it's relentless, and if I'm not careful, it's gonna consume me.
The city pulses around me, a living, thrumming beast. Yellow cabs honk like impatient geese as they weave through traffic, and the scent of food carts—grease and promise—fills the air. Lori moves ahead, a swan in a pond of pigeons. She's fluid grace in this concrete jungle, and I'm the shadow just out of sight.
I dodge a cluster of tourists snapping photos of the endless skyscrapers. My gaze never leaves Lori, glued to her every dip and weave through the crowd. Her black hair catches the sunlight, a beacon for my hungry eyes.
My boots hit the pavement, soft taps drowned by the cacophony of city sounds. Each step is measured, timed with the rhythm of her walk. I'm close enough to see the fabric of her jacket flutter with each gust of wind, but far enough to be just another faceless New Yorker.
A street performer juggles flaming batons nearby, drawing a crowd. Lori pauses, her head tilting curiously, and damn, my heart skips. Does she sense me? No, she's captivated by the spectacle, her green eyes reflecting the firelight. A quick glance over her shoulder, and I slip behind a hot dog stand, my pulse a wild drum in my ears.
I bite back the rush that threatens to expose me. I can't afford to screw this up. There's heat in this chase, a thrill that licks at my insides, leaving a trail of fire. The danger of her noticing me, the risk—it's intoxicating.
She moves on, and I follow, a silent guardian in a dance only I know we're doing. Every shout, every car alarm, is a potential siren calling me out. But I stay focused, locked on her like she's the North Star guiding me through a stormy night.
Lori stops abruptly, and I nearly collide with a man selling knock-off watches. "Watch it, buddy!" he barks, but I'm already melting back into the stream of people. My heart's pounding so hard, I swear it could break ribs. Close call, too close.
