“I love the smell of Tribeca in the morning,” he said. Out on the sidewalk, he took in a long, exaggerated breath. Jameson Rook had saved her life, and now his own survival was nothing less than a miracle. Over her NYPD career as a uniform and a homicide detective, Nikki Heat had seen many bodies and watched many men die before her, and as the color left him that winter night and she felt his warm blood flow out of his chest across her arms, the vision resonated with all the fragile breaks and hopeless endings she had witnessed. Heat never saw it coming, but Rook-damn Rook-who wasn’t supposed to be there, leaped out and tackled her, taking the slug himself. In the blink of an instant after she beat down and disarmed one bad cop in the garbage transfer warehouse, his crooked partner took an ambush shot at her. The ER doc assured her afterward that she indeed almost had. They kidded about it, but that night two months before at the sanitation pier on the Hudson, she thought she had lost him. He paused and then did his first rep, grunting, “One.” And I didn’t even take a bullet to save his life.” “You know, Gitmo Joe may be the spawn of an unholy union between the Marquis de Sade and Darth Vader, but at least he cuts me some slack. “I have another set?” He maintained the innocent pose as long as he could pull it off, and then snatched the weights from her. “Sounds great.” She held out the dumbbells to him. I don’t know about you,” said Rook, toweling his face, “but I’m ready for a shower and some breakfast.” Don’s trainer-with-benefits days had come and gone, but Rook didn’t know about him and she couldn’t see the point in forcing an awkward encounter.
Namely Don, her ex-Navy SEAL combat training partner with whom she had a history of grappling in bed, not just on the wrestling mat. When Rook’s visiting physical therapist-whom he’d dubbed Gitmo Joe-called in sick for his morning session and Nikki volunteered to spot him in his rehab routine, she had considered using her club instead. Moments like that were precisely why Heat preferred her own gym, a throwback joint downtown with painted cinder-block walls, clanging steam pipes, and a clientele there to work instead of preen. Apparently surprised that her knees didn’t turn to jelly, he racked his weights and moved on to the tanning beds. Besides, who do you think taught me the word?”Ĭhesticle man caught her eye in the mirror and favored her with a wink. Heat couldn’t tell what the guy admired more, the row of plugs from his new hair transplants or the snap of his pecs under his designer wife beater. From the tinny music spilling from his earbuds, the only thing the other man heard was the Black Eyed Peas telling him it’s gonna be a good night while he stared in the mirror.
#Frozen castle free#
Do you want me to help you do your physical therapy, or be your enabler?”Ī member of Rook’s exclusive gym slid in behind her for some free weights, and Nikki turned to gauge how much of her and Rook’s childish exchange he’d picked up. “Because I turned away once and you thought I wasn’t looking.” He let the dumbbells hit the black rubber floor beside the exercise bench and said, “Not stopping.” He pulled in a chestful of air and coughed. Nikki frowned and brought herself upright. Then his muscles went slack and he dropped his head backward. How does it feel?” Jameson Rook stared at her intently just before he pinched his eyes into a squint and moaned. Yes.” She hovered over him, lowering her face just inches from his so she could whisper. Just like that.” A trickle of sweat rolled down his neck to his heaving chest. “Oh, yeah, that’s it, Rook,” said Nikki Heat.
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