"Officer! I—”

“I said OUT. Now,” I growled, reaching out, unlatching her door, and swinging it open.

I froze.

When we’d spotted Samantha’s car — well Maria’s car, I guess — parked out front of the house we were surveilling, the plan was—

Well, in truth, there was no plan, we’d just acted like a single mind when we’d seen her. I wasn’t sure what we’d been thinking we’d do, but I know I spoke on impulse when I’d stepped up to the car to see her peering through binoculars at the house. It was the same “gruff bad cop” voice I’d used before when we pulled her over.

Maybe I was expecting that wide-eyed blush again, or maybe a smile. Maybe I wanted to see if she remembered us, or if her eyes would light up again like when I’d had her bent over the front of her car.

What neither of us were expecting was that when we stepped up to that car, we’d see Samantha Caraway with her hand buried between her thighs and a low moan on her lips.

Yeah, not expecting that by a fucking mile.

And so, when I yanked her door open, we both froze, our bodies going rigid as we stared at her staring up at us, those big blue eyes like deer in headlights and that guilty blush across her face.

"Well, well, well…” I whistled lowly, my pulse jumping inside of my chest, my cock thickening to steel in my pants as Samantha quickly jerked her hand away from her panties. I dragged my fingers across my stubble, my eyes hungrily drinking it all in.

Shit.

I’d already crossed one line with her, when I’d done that ridiculously unnecessary pat down on the side of the road. And now? Seeing her like this?

Well fuck, now I knew I was going to be stepping over that line again, in a very big way.

"Having a nice time out here by yourself tonight?”

She blushed furiously at Blake’s words, her eyes darting down. Quickly, she smoothed her skirt down over her thighs, hand clasping together as her eyes darted to the binoculars sitting on the seat next to her.

And then, as if on cue, the soft lilting giggle of a woman’s voice came tinkling through the dusky twilight from the Santiago house, followed by some pathetic-sounding male grunts.

Blake and I glanced at each other; suddenly what was going on here sunk in. Blake’s brow twitched in that way it did when he was fighting back his demons — in the way that I knew meant my friend was wrestling with his own control.

Fuck, I was too, with Samantha sitting there in that tiny skirt, that white bikini top, and that very guilty blush on her face. I also felt bad for her, though. I mean, shit, a girl like Samantha did not deserve the shit Tim was putting her through, or would put her through when he went to trial.

Her eyes darted back to us, and this time, they lingered. This time, she bit her bottom lip in her teeth, and that same fiercely hungry look we’d seen before came flashing back to her face.

She was embarrassed, for sure, but there was something else there, something wild, and something begging for more. She swallowed thickly, her eyes dipping down over us, and I swear to God, they lingered on the probably-obviously bulges at the front of both our uniforms.

And she licked her fucking lips.

Fuck.

I felt my hands clench into fists, my pulse racing faster and faster. We’d pushed things too far when we’d pulled her over, and when I put my hands on her. But hell, we’d pushed things too far when they’d put us two on surveillance duty on her. Because for a month now, my friend and I had been slowly obsessing over this girl. For a month now, we’d been watching her, and seeing how fucking incredible she was, and learning how damn perfect she was.

For a month now, we’d been falling for the girl it was our job to watch.

We’d never said it out loud, even to each other. But I knew we’d both been feeling it, and what’s more, we both knew the other was feeling it. I remembered a few weeks before, when we’d gone out to hit the bars together — something Blake still did, even sober. It was sort of his whole “face your demons head on and tell them to get fucked” approach to sobriety. We’d just come off a thirty-six-hour shift of watching Sam, and it may have been the first day when two things clicked for both of us.

One, that she was becoming more than an obsession — more than just a hot girl we got to watch. In fact, she was becoming WAY more than that.

The second thing that clicked for us that night was that she was and never ever possibly could be ours. Not ever, and that stung.

We’d gone out cruising that night, our blood pumping hot from Samantha, our desires focused on one fucking thing. We’d chatted plenty of girls up that night — I mean, without being vain, two guys who looked like us didn’t exactly have a hard time chatting women up in bars. We were also pretty quick to make our, I guess you could say “team intentions” pretty clear to the girls we got talking to. Some looked scandalized, of course, but the ones whose interest got piqued?

Oh, they stayed.

Blake and I had shared plenty of women over the years — actually, it sort of became our thing, I guess. We’d even tried dating the same girls, usually to disastrous results — usually from the girl freaking out or not being able to handle it. That night though, we’d gone out hungry for something immediate and temporary.

Except we had a problem: none of the girls we’d chatted up, or grinned charming smiles at, or whose hands trailed up our arms, or whose knowing bedroom eyes batted at us were her.

None of them were Samantha.

We’d even found one that sort of looked like her — similar hair, and similar body, but it just wasn’t there. She’d flat out asked us to come out to her car with her, telling us she “couldn’t wait” to know what it felt like to have two guys filling her up “everywhere.”

We’d smiled, bought her one more drink, and walked away.

That’s what Samantha Caraway did to us.

And now here she was, looking at us with those fierce, hungry eyes, like I’d actually dreamed about.

We’d both dreamed about seeing that look in her eyes directed at us, and right then, I could feel both of our willpowers shattering.

“Wait here,” I growled at her, before snagging Blake’s arm and yanking him away with me.

“You’re slipping,” I hissed at him, our backs to Samantha. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Oh, fuck you, you’re slipping too,” he shot back, his biceps flexing as he swallowed down the heat from his face.

“You know what she was doing when we—”

“Yeah, I know, man.”

We glanced at each other.

“What’s the move here,” I growled.

“The move is to get the fuck out of here,” Blake groaned back. “The move is to leave this be and forget we ever talked to her today.”

“Fuck,” I swore, my mind reeling, as if being this close to her was having some sort of drugging effect on me. “Okay, let’s just—”

“Officers? Can I just expl—”

Blake and I both whirled at the sound of her voice from right behind us. But then, we hadn’t expected her to be right behind us.

Samantha gasped, tumbling backwards as the force of both of us turning right into her started to knock her back. Both of us exploded into action on impulse, lurching out to catch her and yank her close.

And time froze.

Because suddenly, we were standing in the southern California twilight, with Samantha fucking Caraway in our arms.

The skin of her bare back pulsed hot under my fingers, her small hand gripping my rippling forearm tightly. She was doing the same to Blake, and her eyes went wide as they darted between us.

We were all so close — so close we could feel the heat from her body, and hear the way her breath gasped as it caught in her throat.

And right there, I knew we’d been wrong.

Yeah, we weren’t going to “get the fuck out of here” or “forget we’d ever talked to her.”

We weren’t going anywhere, with that angel in our arms.

I glanced at Blake, and he glanced at me. Our eyes narrowed, our jaws tightened, and I watched as both of our willpowers concerning Samantha Caraway finally crumbled to dust.

We’d denied ourselves for too long.

And we were done holding back.