Oliver let out a long breath, as if someone had pushed all the air out of his lungs. “I want to feel the same,” he whispered. “Fuck, I want to. But, my version of love has been twisted into a bitter and spiteful thing. You deserve better than that.”
Lucas drew their faces level. “Oliver, stop telling me what I do and don’t deserve. Do you think I’m some kind of saint?”
Oliver chuckled, rubbing his face across Lucas’ sternum. “I knew you weren’t a saint when you told the staff at Bella Italia I had a wasting condition, just to get a table. Where’s your honesty and integrity now,Sergeant?”
Lucas’ mouth hung open for a moment. “Reed, I would never have said that if I’d known.”
“I know,” he replied, grinning as he slapped the alpha’s arm. “If anything, it was a stunning display of foresight. Or was it hindsight? Either way, you should know that I’m perfectly healthy now.”Except for the lingering daily dose of self-hatred he shared with his cereal each morning.“And don’t be offended if I get some swabs done when this is over.”
Lucas nodded. “I understand.”
As if on cue, Oliver’s stomach rumbled. “I’ll do you a deal. I’ll stop bossing you around if you make us something to eat out of all this food.”
“But what if I like your bossiness?”
Oliver smirked and wriggled out of Lucas’ grip. Sauntering towards the door, he looked over his shoulder. “Then I’ll just have to make up for it later.”
When the next heatwave came,things were been different. The previous urgency and hunger had melted away into something… sensual. The sex became more than a frenzied pounding of flesh on flesh—there was touching, alotof kissing, and an endless string of intimate words whispered against one another’s skin. They barely moved, instead letting their bodies melt together in a way that made it hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
“Did the family chef teach you to cook?” Oliver asked, running his hands through Lucas’ hair as they lay tired and satiated in one another’s arms.
The alpha chuckled. “My pai, actually. You should try his feijoada. It’s like something from the Heavens.”
“Is that the dish with offal? Because don’t forget I’m English born and bred. My palate doesn’t extend much beyond beige.”
Lucas nipped his neck. “Oh, I don’t know, Reed. You handled that tasting menu pretty well.”
“Yeah, right up until a hormonal tsunami almost ended me. I still blame you for that, by the way.”
“And I will gladly take the blame.”
Tutting, Oliver kicked Lucas on the arse cheek with his heel. “I’m meant to be coordinating the victim interviews, but the only thing I’ve coordinated this week is my fucking hormones. And badly, I might add.”
Lucas let out a low hum, as though acknowledging their shocking lack of police work. “We could catch up on some interviews. I have the disks in my briefcase.”
“Don’t people usually watch shitty rom-coms during estrus? Not interviews with sex-offenders and abused children.”
“Are you saying I’m a bad date, Reed?”
“I mean… we could totally do that, in-between all the sex.”
“How about in-between sex and feijoada?”
Oliver sippedfrom a glass of apple juice, the laptop buzzing to life as he snapped Helena Cartwright’s second interview into the disk reader. Why the hell West Newton Constabulary hadn’t upgraded to a digital system was anyone’s guess. The screen flashed black, then white, then back to black, before the familiar sight of the interview suite flickered into view.
“Right, Helena. Take a seat,” Nancy said from somewhere off screen.
“Thanks,” Helena replied, sinking into one of the over-comfortable tan sofas. Oliver was relieved to see that she donned her usual ripped jeans and oversized t-shirt combo. That, at least, had returned to normal.
“Would you like a drink, H?” Nancy asked, running through all the usual rapport building questions.
“No thanks,” Helena replied, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
“Patrick?” The beta turned to someone still off-screen.
“Sure, thanks, Nance,” a man with a Northern Irish accent replied.
Oliver gasped as he slammed the laptop shut, his heart practically leaping out of his chest.Shit. Holy fucking shit.He’d known it was coming, but hearing him again caught Oliver completely off guard. His leg twitched, fingers digging into the table as he stared at the closed laptop. “Fuck,” he whispered, rubbing his temples.
