ADDISON

Ink.

Everywhere.

There are intricate, colorful tattoos covering almost every inch of his arms and neck, disappearing beneath the collar and sleeves of his uniform.

Whatever I expect Chief Kerr to look like, it isn’t that.

What happened to the typical middle-aged cop with the protruding abdomen and the dangerous love for doughnuts? Instead, the New York Police Department’s Chief of Police looks like the latest inked model to grace Inked Magazine’s cover, and he can’t possibly be a day over twenty-five. Leaned back in his chair, with his boot-clad feet on the desk, he seems to be sizing me up just as I am him. The faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Ms. Kent?”

Goddamn it, even his voice is sexy as hell.

But as he addresses me, I realize all too late that I’m standing in the doorway of his office, my hand still suspended in mid air from knocking on the door…and I’m staring.

Like I damn fool. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s mother-effing gorgeous.

And I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

“C-Chief Kerr. I’m Addison. Addison Kent.” He knows that, you idiot. He just said your name! “I’m, uh, sorry. I guess I’m a little earlier than scheduled.” I take my gaze away from him only long enough to glance at the half-eaten breakfast sandwich and extra-large coffee with steam still billowing from the opened lid.

He waves his hand dismissively, leaning forward and letting his feet drop to the floor. “Nah, early is good. We can hit the road. It’s good to meet you, though, Ms. Kent. Can’t say as I’ve ever had a journalist do a ride-along with me, but there’s always a first for everything.”

“I’m not a journalist,” I snap. “I’m a photographer. This is just a freelance gig I picked up for SKB Productions. They’re doing the documentary on your department.”

Photojournalism is not my interest, but this two-day gig pays well, and that’s what I need now. That doesn’t mean I need anyone believing I’m anything other than what I truly am—a self-taught creative photographer.

Chief Kerr holds up his hands in mock surrender. “My mistake, Ms. Kent.”

The smirk he wears is fully evident now, and even though he looks positively edible, my desire to slap it off his face is just as strong as my desire to devour him and his entire beautiful body.

“I’m ready when you are,” I say through clenched teeth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him open his mouth, second-guess whatever he’s about to say, and then close it again.

I think I like him better when he’s quiet.

* * *

I follow him outside to his squad car. From behind, I can see the tattoos peeking out from the back of his collar, too, touching just below his closely clipped hair. I take advantage of the fact that he’s not looking at me and I shake my head, hoping to clear the thoughts running through my mind. I’m wondering what it’d be like to run my tongue along those beautiful designs, when I should be holding my camera up to my eyes and getting to work.

I take a few shots of the cruiser, then reach for the door handle on the passenger side. The sirens begin to blare, causing my heart to leap into my throat as a strangled yelp escapes me.

On the other side of the car, Chief Kerr stares back at me over the hood, holding up his key ring. He presses a button, and the sirens stop their incessant wail. All that’s left in the deafening silence that follows is the pounding of my own heartbeat…and the amused chuckle of the chief as he pulls open the driver’s side door and gets in.

The bastard had done it on purpose. I pull open the passenger door. “Asshole,” I mutter just a little too loudly.

Inside, I watch as he pulls the radio from the dash. “This is Chief Kerr, reporting a 10-6. Dispatch, you read?”

A moment’s static answers him, then, “10-4, Chief Kerr. Copy that.”

“Well, Ms. Kent, my coffee’s cold as fucking January. First stop, the Starbucks Drive-Thru. Then, we’ll get you those pictures you need.” He shifts the car into gear and leaves the precinct without another word.

He’s crude, vulgar, and undeniably gorgeous. It’s going to be a long two days.