Protecting Her Enemy

Book 4 of the Granite Junction series

Zane Calabrese pinned Deputy Josephine Vincent against the wall in the stairwell leading to the apartment above The Rock, his mouth fused to hers like he could devour the doubt right out of her. And he was sure as fuck trying.
The place was empty—thank God—and for once, silence wasn’t a warning. It was permission. No bartender, no regulars, no excuse to stop. Because he wasn’t stopping. Not unless she said the word.
But judging by the way her hands tore at his shirt—buttons flying and pinging off the stairs—she didn’t plan to stop either.
He reached for her uniform shirt, fingers slipping beneath the hem. She slapped a palm over his.
“Don’t rip mine,” she warned, breathless.
He cocked a grin. “You ripped mine.”
“You were too slow.” Her teeth caught her lower lip, and that wicked gleam in her eyes just about ended him.
“Then take it off,” he growled.
She did. Slowly. Button by button, never breaking eye contact, like she knew exactly what it did to him. Dusky skin. Hunter green lace. Fuck, of course she wore green. Not black. Not red. Jo was never predictable. Never easy. And goddamn, he wanted her even more for it.
She shrugged out of her shirt. He brushed her hair back from her face—midnight black with just enough blue to catch the stairwell light—and leaned in to kiss her again. But she moved first, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop unceremoniously.
“Good thing no one’s around to see us,” she murmured.
Zane paused.
“Are you ashamed to be seen with me?” His tone was light, teasing—but he wasn’t just teasing. Not entirely.
He knew his reputation. The whispers. People thought he kept the apartment above the bar so he could fuck and forget without ever leaving the building.
But no one had been in that bed in over a year. And he sure as hell hadn’t planned on breaking his dry streak with Jo Vincent.
She glanced up at him, eyes sharp, mouth half-tilted into a smirk. “You and I both know it’s better to keep this between us. No one needs to know about… whatever this is.”
“And what is it, Deputy?” he asked, voice low.
She tilted her head. “Stress relief.”
It shouldn’t have stung. But it did.
Still, he didn’t argue.
Instead, he hauled her against him, loving the way her curves molded into his body like they’d been made to fit. He kicked open the door and carried her through, nodding absently to Cleo, his ever-disapproving Maine Coon cat.
She meowed like she was personally offended.
Jo wriggled in his arms. “What about your cat?”
He groaned and dropped his head. She was worried about the damned cat? “She’ll live.”
“Doesn’t she need to be fed?”
He blinked at her. “You seriously want to stop and feed the cat?”
Cleo howled from the hallway in answer.
With a groan, Jo slipped from his arms and stalked toward the sound. “She’s going to wake the neighbors.”
“She is the neighbors,” he muttered, as he followed, adjusting his jeans to be more comfortable around his painfully hard cock.
Jo knelt to pet her. Cleo swiped at her hand in offense.
“Ungrateful beast,” Jo muttered, retreating.
“She hates everyone but me.”
“She clearly has taste.”
Zane rolled his eyes and grabbed a can of food from the kitchen. Cleo purred smugly and slunk toward her dish like a feline queen deigning to accept tribute.
Once she was fed and locked behind the pocket door, Zane turned back to Jo.
She was still in the hall, leaning against the door, lips parted, eyes glazed with passion.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked, voice gentler now. The question tasted like sawdust on his tongue.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Relief and arousal slammed into him in the same breath and his erection pressed against his jeans with a renewed demand.
“I was thinking about your damn cat, not calling off the night,” she added.
She tried to push past him, but he caught her waist and pinned her back against the door, lifting her so she could feel how hard she made him. “I think this is where we left off.”
He kissed her, and she melted into him like she was made for it. Her legs wrapped around his waist. His hands found her hips. She gasped into his mouth as he carried her to the bedroom, never breaking contact.
Once there, he laid her down like she was breakable—then stripped her remaining clothes like he couldn’t wait another second.
Green lace. Dusky skin. That grin.
And for a heartbeat, he paused. Took her in. Etched the sight into memory. He’d never wanted anything more.
She reached for him. He kissed her like it was the only truth he had left.
Everything else burned away.
Zane kissed her like he was parched, as if she was a sip of the finest Macallan 1926 single malt scotch that his uncle had let him sip once and didn’t know when he’d get another chance. Jo kissed him back with matching urgency, her hands skimming over his chest, sliding over his shoulders, tugging him closer as if proximity could silence the noise in her head.
He stroked his way down her torso, his mouth following the curve of her ribs, down to her hips, trailing heat in his wake.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her mound then sat back and studied her—dusky skin, strong legs slightly parted, a challenge in her eyes that didn’t quite mask the flash of vulnerability underneath.
Zane swallowed hard. He felt like a man on the edge of something dangerous and beautiful, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to fall or fly.
“You’re staring,” Jo said softly, but her voice didn’t hold its usual edge.
“I’ve imagined this,” he admitted, fingers grazing her calf, sliding upward. “But the real thing’s going to ruin me.”
“Good,” she said, pulling him down with a hand behind his neck.
Their mouths met again, slower this time, deeper. Less frenzy, more need. Jo’s hands moved over him like she wanted to map every inch. When she arched into him, his breath hitched and he bit back a groan.
He grabbed the condom from the nightstand—thank God it wasn’t expired—and rolled it on with shaking hands. It had been a long time since he felt nervous with a woman. But this wasn’t about performance.
This was about her.
She curled into him the moment he returned, dragging him down into another kiss, her thighs cradling his hips, her body arching like she couldn’t wait any longer—but underneath it all, there was a trembling edge.
Zane kissed her slowly, everywhere—down her throat, over her collarbone, across the swells of her breasts, his fingers slipping between her thighs to tease until she gasped and writhed.
He looked up, meeting her eyes. “Tell me to stop.”
She shook her head.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You.”
It was barely a whisper, but it hit him like a punch to the chest.
He kissed down her stomach, pausing to taste, to tease, until her hands clutched at the sheets and her breath broke on a moan. She was slick and ready when he moved over her again, guiding himself into place.
He pushed in slowly, gritting his teeth as her heat wrapped around him like velvet and flame. She gasped, fingers tightening on his arms, eyes locked on his like she needed to see this through.
Every inch he sank deeper, the more the world narrowed to just her. The feel of her, the sound of her breathing, the way she clung like she couldn’t bear to let go—but also couldn’t quite hold on.
“Jo…” he whispered, forehead resting against hers. “You okay?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “Don’t stop.”
He moved inside her in slow, deliberate strokes, each one coaxing a new sound from her lips. She met him thrust for thrust, strong and sure, but her eyes—God, her eyes—held something that gutted him.
Not lust.
Loneliness. Maybe fear. Maybe hope.
He kissed her again, pouring everything into it—everything he didn’t know how to say. Everything he wasn’t sure he was allowed to feel.
Her nails dug into his back. Her hips arched into his.
They moved faster now, a rising tempo that left them both breathless. Her breath hitched, body tightening around him.
“Zane—” she gasped, shuddering beneath him.
He couldn’t hold back. With a final thrust, he followed her over the edge, groaning her name like a vow.
He collapsed beside her, both of them panting, slick with sweat, limbs tangled like they hadn’t been fighting just yesterday.
She was quiet. Still. Like the moment had burned something out of her.
Zane pulled her into his chest, brushed damp strands of hair from her forehead, and kissed her temple. She didn’t pull away. Not immediately.
Her breathing evened out, and he stroked lazy circles along her spine, memorizing the feel of her in his arms. He could’ve stayed like that forever. But forever wasn’t the deal.
Still, he dared to whisper, “Stay.”
Her eyes flickered open, gaze soft in the shadows. After for a moment—a heartbeat—she nodded.
It felt like victory.
It felt like the beginning of something.