Hetch (Men OF S.W.A.T. #1) Read online

  “Ha ha. No, I don’t need cock. I need to find myself. This issue with the neighbor is a setback. It’s done. It’s over. We need to move on.”

  “Well, if finding yourself is what you’re after, I think you’re about to find it in another setback.” Fee’s smug look confuses me for a second until Payton’s eyes find mine.

  “Ah, B. He’s coming over here.” Her mouth barely moves over the rim of her glass, but I hear her loud and clear.

  “Shit.” I groan under my breath. I didn’t think about how he was going to react to my brushoff, but having him come over here wasn’t one of the scenarios.

  “Evening, ladies.” His voice is clear, calm. The smooth baritone dances over my skin and down my spine.

  “Good evening.” Payton smiles up at the mystery man, then back to me.

  “I wanted to know if there was something wrong with the drink I sent over?” He places a drink, the one I just sent back, down in front of me.

  I take the opportunity to turn and look up at him. Dark blond hair, green eyes, strong jaw, slightly visible under a five o’clock shadow. A healthy ego more visible the closer he steps into me.

  “No, nothing wrong. I’m just not looking for a drink right now.” His left eyebrow arches as the start of one of the sexiest grins I’ve ever seen starts to pull at the side of his kissable mouth.

  “Seems to me you’re about ready for a refill anyway.” He motions to my almost empty glass.

  “Like I said, I’m good.” I set my lips into my best get-lost-now smile and turn back to face my girls. The table is silent, and for a second, I fight my body’s response as I work through some conversation starters.

  “You know, where I come from, a man offers to buy you a drink, you say thank you and don’t be rude about it.” It takes me a second to forcibly let his bullshit mentality slide, before turning back to him.

  “Well, where I come from, accepting a drink from a stranger is dangerous.” The grin I thought was sexy, spills wider over his face, rendering me stupid.

  Fuck, not dimples.

  Case in point, Fee. Talking leads to dimples. Dimples lead to sex.

  Hot, sweaty, dimple-filled sex.

  “You think I laced your drink?” It takes a second to work through the words that filtered into my mind before I can answer.

  “For all I know—” I begin.

  “I didn’t.” He loses the dimples, his pinched mouth masking them.

  “Yeah, I’m sure all serial killers say that before drugging their victims,” I counter. Payton clears her throat, fighting a snort, but I don’t waver.

  “I’m a cop.”

  Wow, three words I wasn’t expecting from him.

  “I bet a few have used that line too,” I fire back, still not cracking.

  Jesus, I’m dealing with dimples, arrogance, and a cop.

  I sure know how to pick them.

  “I can show you my badge.” He pulls out a chain from the neckline of his shirt and presents it to me like the good kid in class, handing in an essay a day early.

  “Is this supposed to impress me?” At this point, I don’t know why I’m still engaging. Sure he’s hot, dangerous dimples, and looks amazing in the tight jeans and dark Henley he’s wearing, but the man is cocky as hell.

  That combo never mixes well.

  “You always this bitchy?” He tucks his badge back in his shirt and brings back the dimples.

  “And strike three, you’re out.” I spin back to face my friends. If I wasn’t so set alight, I would find their slack jaws almost comical.

  Seriously, did they expect anything less from me?

  “Aww, come on, B. I thought he had, at least, one more strike in his favor.” Payton offers him a lifeline, and I have to hold myself back from kicking her under the table.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Dimple’s tone is playful, but I still catch an air of arrogance.

  I turn back, happy to lay it out for him. “Buying me a drink without asking.” I raise one finger and count them off. “Showing me your badge and expecting me to drop my panties at the sight of it.” I raise a second finger. “And calling me a bitch.” I raise a third. “You’re so out it’s almost laughable.”

  “Hey, now, I didn’t call you a bitch. I said bitchy.” His hands move to his narrow hips, drawing my eyes down to his package.

  “Same thing.” I force them back up.

  “It’s not.” He fires back, not giving in, and even though I struck him out, and he’s still arguing with me about it, I find myself awfully attracted to him and surprisingly, this conversation.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, tilting our banter on its axis.

  Don’t engage.

  Don’t engage.

  Do not engage.

  “Liberty.” My stupid tongue answers without permission. Because let’s be honest, deep down, she knew the second he walked over my self-appointed sabbatical was in danger.

  “Nice to meet you, Liberty.” He leans in closer. “Can I buy you that drink?” The smooth baritone of his voice deepens at the change of volume while his hot breath moves over my skin. A strong awareness of my heartbeat takes over, as again, I find myself having to work through the words to find the question he asked.

  “I think I’m good.” I manage past the excessive moisture my mouth seems to have collected.

  “Jesus, woman, I’m not sure if you’re always this difficult or it’s me, but you have some serious attitude.”

  “I’m not sure if you’re always an ass, or it’s me, but being a huge dick won’t make yours grow bigger,” I counter, my comebacks growing bolder the longer this goes on.

  “Invite me to sit with you for a drink and find out.”

  I open my mouth to turn him down, but Fee beats me to it.

  “Would you and your friends like to join us for a drink?”

  That bitch.

  “I’d like that. Let me grab a water and I’ll introduce you to my friends.” His smug gaze rakes down my body, those stupid dimples deepening when I raise a brow at his blatant checking me out.

  When he doesn’t move away from me, I press. “Take your time.” He shakes his head with a soft chuckle before he steps away back toward the bar.

  “Holy shit, Lib.” Payton pounces as soon as sexy-as-sin cop walks out of earshot.

  “What the hell, Fee?” I ignore Payton and set my scowl on Fee.

  “Sorry, I slipped.” She doesn’t look sorry; in fact, she looks satisfied.

  Uggh.

  “You can’t be angry.” Sophie comes to Fee’s defense. “If the roles were reversed, you would have done the same damn thing.” She’s not wrong. I probably would have.

  “Yeah, besides,” Fee pipes back up, “maybe you were too busy eye-fucking cocky McCocky pants, but did you see his friends? A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.” She fans herself with the bar coaster. I turn in my chair and catch a glimpse at the rest of the guys sitting at the bar with Dimples.

  Jesus, she’s not wrong.

  “Ugggh, fine. But you owe me.” I turn back, reach out, snatch the coaster from her grasp, and start waving it in front of my face. The light fan of air does nothing to cool me down after the encounter, so I drop it back to the table.

  “Please, by the end of the night you’ll be thanking her.” Payton raises her glass in a toast, encouraging us to follow suit. “Here’s to saying fuck the sabbatical, and hello wild sex to piss our neighbors off.”

  Jesus, why did she have to go there?

  “And then what happened?” I ask Hetch, more enthralled in his story than anyone else sitting at the table. Thirty minutes, three drinks, and one interesting story later, my sabbatical is more in danger than I care to admit.

  After Dimples had returned to the table with his water and friends, he offered me his name.

  Liam Hetcherson.

  Hetch.

  Ugghh, even his name is worthy of abandoning a sex ban.

  “We had to wait it out. Then I was able to talk h
im down. We got there in the end.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal while I’m left looking at him in a different light.

  Hetch is a badass.

  A sexy-as–sin badass.

  I’m officially ruined.

  “So, what do you do, Liberty?” he asks, taking the attention off him for a minute. Since the moment he sat down, he’s had my full attention, walking me through the craziness of his work. I think it’s part of his game plan, since talking about a day in the life of a SWAT officer equals panties melted.

  “Well, I can’t say it’s anything as exciting as your line of work, but I’m a youth worker. I’m the program director at Boys Haven.” There’s a slight shift in the tilt of his head, before some kind of understanding flashes in his eyes.

  “The big house over on 5th, right?”

  “Yeah, you been there?”

  “No, but I’ve driven past it a few times.” The easy smile he’s been wearing twists into a grim line.

  Ignoring his shift in attitude, I continue to chat about the kids I work with and how much I love it. He listens intently for the most part but doesn’t engage with any questions. Eventually, I fall quiet, the silence between us growing more awkward than comfortable.

  “You okay?” I finally ask, wondering where I lost him.

  “Ah, yeah.” He clears his throat before taking a sip of his drink. “Just remembering someone.” I don’t push on his weird reaction; instead, I let the silence grow between us and take in the rest of the table’s conversation.

  Payton has been in deep conversation with one of Hetch’s workmates, Hart, since they joined the table. He’s the oldest of the team, not that you can tell. Other than a few gray flecks around his hairline, you wouldn’t know the gentle-looking giant is almost forty years old.

  I’m not surprised Payton and Hart are getting on. As soon as he said he was a single father, he and Payton had a level ground. Though they seem to have hit it off, I know it’s an innocent conversation. As much as Payton likes to play the outrageous friend who acts like she’s into everything, and anything, for reasons still unknown to me, she’s still madly in love with my stupid brother.

  If only he wasn’t such an idiot.

  Sophie has been talking with Tate, the cute younger member of the team. Tate is quiet, a little shy, Sophie’s type down to a T. Add in his blond hair and blue eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised if something more ends up happening after tonight.

  And Fee has been sharing her attention between Sterling and Fox.

  If ever there were two men polar opposite, these men would be it. Where Sterling is light, Fox is dark.

  Clean shaven, to a full beard.

  Green, gentle eyes to brown, assessing ones.

  Soft smiles to deep scowls.

  Sterling ticks all the boxes for a good guy. Fox screams fuck-your-checklist; I am the ultimate bad boy. In fact, I’m still not sure how to take him. He’s barely said a word, other than a few grunts, but it hasn’t slipped my attention the few times he’s thrown one of his scowls Payton and Hart’s way.

  I’m not sure how to read him, considering he seems to be the type of guy who looks pissed off all the time, but I’m definitely getting a vibe.

  “So, is the tactical team a full-time unit?” Fee asks the guys, still interested in their line of work.

  Sterling answers first, and I listen to him rattle off how they technically are a part-time unit, but practically train and work as a full-time unit, until I feel Hetch’s gaze on me. I try harder to stay engaged in the conversation, nodding along like I’m taking in everything he’s saying, but after a few more minutes, the soft touch of Hetch’s finger starts to glide over my jean-clad thigh.

  Jesus.

  Ignoring his touch makes it harder to stay focused. And staying focused makes it harder to ignore his touch.

  Hetch seems unaffected, answering another question Fee asks. All the while his fingers are innocently stroking my thigh, in the most devilish way.

  “You okay, Liberty?” Sterling asks me when Hetch’s finger inches closer toward the middle of my legs.

  “Ahh, yeah.” I squeeze my thighs together, locking him out. It’s like he teased me into a trance.

  Jesus, get it together.

  Needing a moment to compose myself, I stand from my chair.

  “Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom.” I find Payton’s eyes, letting her know where I am.

  “You okay?” she mouths. I nod once with a reassuring smile and then make my way to the bathroom.

  The line to the restroom is short, and after using the toilet, and washing my hands, I take a minute to force some deep breaths into my lungs.

  “Keep it together, Lib,” I coax myself through the mirror, trying to talk myself down from the arousal he’s stirred in me. “Do you really want a one-night stand right now?” My body is saying yes, but my head says no. Deciding on an action plan, I take one last look in the mirror, fix my lipstick, tell myself to stay strong, then step out into the hall, only to find Hetch waiting for me.

  Shoulders to the wall, hands in the pockets of his deliciously tight jeans, which fit his ass perfectly, he smirks when our eyes collide.

  Yep, dangerously perfect.

  “Hey, you.” He pushes off the wall, and steps forward, invading my space.

  “Ahh, hey, back at ya.” I try to keep some distance, but his overpowering presence makes it hard. I’ve never seen myself as short. I mean five feet seven’s not model tall, but with heels these days, I find I’m around eye level with an average male. Standing in front of Hetch, it’s not the case. The guy has to have a foot on me. Even with my heels.

  “You want to get out of here, Liberty?” His face lowers to mine in a slow, measured pace. My mind is screaming at me, reminding me about a certain sabbatical I promised myself, but my body is melting against him, ignoring all rational thought.

  “Yeah,” I think I reply, or maybe I sigh. I can’t be sure, nor do I have a chance to figure it out, before the soft touch of his lips find mine and wipe any and all thinking from my capacity. At first, it’s a ghost of a touch, then a little more. Expecting to be consumed with the sweep of his tongue, and anticipating the power of his lips, I’m rather disappointed when, after a modest graze of our lips, he pulls back.

  What the hell?

  Self-doubt sneaks its way through my subconscious. Self-preservation and maybe shame forces me to take a step back. Hetch doesn’t let me get far. His hands move to either side of my face, forcing me back into his space.

  “Been thinking about owning these lips since the second I saw them.” His gaze locks onto my mouth, and his fingers tighten in my hair. “Just didn’t want to rush it.” He’s close, close enough I can breathe in his need and let it sink into my bones. The whole scene is almost too intense. The way he studies my lips, as if he’s committing every small line, every dip to memory. The hardness of his body pressed against mine, imprinting me with his presence, commanding me with his strength. His fingers, tightly wrapped in my hair, hold me hostage while still caressing my need.

  “So fucking perfect.” He drags his hungry gaze from my lips and gives me his eyes. “Almost too perfect.” Before I can ask what he means, his mouth brushes over mine. Once, twice, three times before his tongue dives between my lips and meets mine in hungry need.

  I groan at the contact. Hetch hums at the sound, the vibration sparking an intense fire burning through my veins. Eyes open, gazes locked, he continues to own my mouth, my body, like it's never been owned before.

  “Fuck me.” He pulls back slightly, his eyes flash with confusion, before flicking back to hunger. Then his lips lock back to mine, diving his tongue back in my mouth and branding me like he owns me.

  It’s like being thirsty on a hot day, and downing a bottle of water in twenty seconds. You swallow every last drop, suck every bit of air until you’re out of breath. Only then are you satisfied, fulfilled.

  Relieved.

  That’s what kissing Hetch is like. />
  Pressed together, mouth-to-mouth, tongue-to-tongue, I can’t quench my need fast enough. I drink, he drinks, our tongues dance, dueling together, thrusting us forward to drink some more.

  Finally, after the need no longer feels desperate, and the want hurts a little less, the kiss slows, and the perfect way his lips found mine in the beginning, becomes the end.

  “Jesus, Lib.” The whisper of his tongue tracing my top lip and the way he shortens my name in a hungry need only turns me on more. I don’t know what makes my knees weaker. The kiss or the way my name rolls off his tongue. If I'm honest, it has to be the kiss. I’ve never had a kiss hit me so hard before.

  “Yeah.” I open my eyes, not realizing I closed them. Hetch keeps me pressed to his front, but detangles his hands from my hair. His thumb moves to my lips, and in the gentlest way a man’s ever touched me, fixes what I’m assuming is the mess of my red lips.

  “Get your shit, tell your girls you’re going home and meet me at the door.” He breaks the connection first, and bosses in a way that doesn’t bring my bitch out. Unable to utter a word, I nod faster than my normal, respectable self would have liked to and let my feet follow through with his order. All previous promises of my sex ban have flown out the window as I make my way back to the table.

  “I’m heading home, guys. You all okay to get home?” I manage to wake my tongue from its kiss-induced haze and force it into conversation.

  “Yeah, girl. Your mom and dad have Arabella tonight. I’m going to stay.” Payton eyes me up and down before searching for Hetch.

  Please, God, I hope he’s still in the hallway.

  “You sure?” I flick my gaze back around the table. I’m sure I look like a hot mess, but no one calls me on it.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Hart was telling me about his daughter.” It’s a hint to say she is fine and to let it go. “Now, go, or your vagina might combust if you wait any longer.” She laughs, forcing my blush into a new shade of red.

  Yeah, she knows what’s happening.

  Not needing to have any more attention on me, I take her for her word and lean in for a quick hug. “Love you. Message me when you get home.”