A bit of new Galex to welcome in 2012. Chapter One has a New Year theme so I wanted to get it posted this weekend - the rest may take a little longer, so bear with me!
As ever, I don't own these two. Oh, how I wish …
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The Heart of a Lion
Chapter 1
Alex blinked hard and examined the piece of paper again, surreptitiously checking that nobody in CID was watching. She knew she really shouldn't be prying, but she'd been flicking through his diary, it had fallen out, and now she couldn't resist the temptation. It was a list of New Years resolutions scrawled in Gene's distinctive hand.
'One, drink less. Two, cut down on the fags.' Yeah, right. 'Three, exercise more.' She snorted. Gene's idea of a daily workout was to make it from the Quattro to their table in Luigi's without breaking into a sweat. Unless you counted bedroom activities, of course. A dreamy look came over her face and she shook herself, re-reading the fourth entry. It consisted of just one word. 'French.'
She knew Gene hated anything with even the remotest Francophile connection, so what could it be referring to? Films? Fries? Kissing? She sighed. The latter was something he definitely didn't need any lessons in, although she really didn't mind him practising. Regularly.
She replaced the slip of paper and closed her eyes, allowing herself to fall into a daydream about their most recent amorous encounter, and a bolt of desire shot through her. Three months now, and they'd barely spent a night apart. And what nights …
"Something I can do fer yer, Lady Bols?"
He was leaning against the doorframe watching her intently, usual grumpy pout in place but the wicked glint in his eye betrayed him. Well, two could play at that game. She crossed one leg elegantly over the other, looking up at him from under lowered lashes.
"Hmmm … now let me think …"
She hitched her skirt up slowly, seeing his eyes narrow as her stocking top was finally revealed. He pushed the door to and swiftly closed the gap between them, his voice a low rumble against her ear.
"Come over here, yer dirty mare."
He sprawled in his chair and she moved round until she was perched on the desk next to him, close but not touching, legs parted invitingly. Piercing blue eyes locked with hazel green as his hand crept slowly up her inner thigh, both holding the gaze as though daring the other to call a halt before things went too far. To anyone in the outer office they appeared to be having a perfectly innocent discussion, but they couldn't hear her sharp intake of breath as his fingers reached soft skin and strayed higher.
"Bugger. Bloody Skelton on the approach."
He removed his hand and she huffed in frustration, crossing her arms. He smirked.
"Always did 'ave lousy timin', that boy …"
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The inevitable had finally happened one night in early October after a particularly harrowing day. As if the discovery of the partly decomposed body of a teenage girl wasn't bad enough, she'd apparently been the victim of a brutal rape and murder, and Alex kept seeing a recurring vision of Molly in her mind's eye, lost, alone and vulnerable. She knew Evan was reliable and trustworthy, but he wasn't a mother, didn't have her maternal instincts. She was the one who should be there for her daughter, looking out for her, protecting her. The obsessive fears threatened to overwhelm her, and she avoided Luigi's that evening, curling up on the sofa under a blanket with a bottle of red and finally crying herself to sleep. She was woken by a familiar pounding on the door, dragging herself over to answer it, surprised to find she was actually relieved to see him.
He took one look at her puffy eyes and trembling lower lip and lead her gently back to the sofa, pulling her onto his lap and letting her sob her heart out as he rocked her in his arms, waiting for the storm to pass. As she calmed, she became gradually aware that her face was buried in his neck, her fingers were tangled in his silky mane and her thigh was pressing against his groin. The nearness of him seemed to heighten all her senses: his musky masculine scent filling her nostrils, the softness of his hair under her fingertips and the warmth of the hand stroking comfortingly up and down her back were sending little shockwaves through her body. She wanted to taste his skin, hear the catch in his breathing as he felt the touch of her lips and see his eyes darken with desire.
She felt his pulse quicken as if he were reading her thoughts and she couldn't resist any longer, pressing her mouth to his neck in a hot open-mouthed kiss. He stiffened and pulled back, his eyes searching hers in confusion.
"Bols?"
She traced a finger slowly along his lower lip and a shiver ran through him. His voice was gruff.
"Alex, stop. Yer just feeling vulnerable tonight. Yer don' mean it …"
Her eyes moved back up from his lips to meet his gaze challengingly.
"Yes I do. I want you, Gene, have done for ages. I was just too pig-headed to do anything about it till now."
She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his and for a moment he didn't respond. Then slowly, tentatively he began to return the kiss and she opened willingly to his questing tongue, her arms going round his neck as he pulled her tightly against him. He tasted of wine and whiskey, and for a while she was oblivious to everything except the softness of his lips and the heavenly sensation of his tongue exploring, probing, sensually entwining with hers.
Breathlessly they pulled apart and he lifted her chin, his eyes searching hers for permission to continue. Need and want were warring with uncertainty, and she smiled seductively at him, certain now that this was what she wanted.
"Take me to bed, Gene …"
Suddenly it was as though a dam had burst and pent up desire overcame any inhibitions, rampant, wild and unconstrained. They kissed hungrily, desperately, attempting to shed their clothes without losing contact all the way to the bedroom. And then at long last he was above her, inside her, and she raised her hips to meet him thrust for thrust, raking her nails down his back and crying out his name as blissful release finally claimed her.
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It was New Year's Eve, a night she'd never really enjoyed and indeed sometimes dreaded. And yet here she was, sitting in Luigi's with a glass of chilled champagne, rolling her eyes at Shaz as Chris and Ray made prats of themselves trying to drink lighted Sambucas, and watching the man she loved make his way back through the crowd with another bottle of fizz.
She gazed transfixed as he narrowly avoided a drunken couple, moving as elegantly as a dancer, preserving himself and his precious cargo and falling into the seat next to her with a relieved grin.
"Blimey, it's murder on the dance floor tonight, Bols."
"But you'd better not kill the groove …"
"Wot?"
She suppressed a smile at his look of confusion.
"Never mind. Just pour me another glass and tell me we can sneak away before midnight."
He leaned in close, his warm breath against her ear making her shiver.
"Why? Fancy seein' the New Year in just me 'an you? Possibly horizontally?"
She gazed up at him seductively.
"It appears that you can count mind-reading among your many and varied skills, Mr Hunt."
The lustful gleam in his silver-grey eyes was making her tingle with anticipation. A hand moved up her thigh and squeezed gently.
"Get yer coat, luv. Yer've pulled …"
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Hope you enjoyed. If you did, please let me know. Champagne and canapés to everyone who bothers! And a Happy New Year all round. :)