Peyton only got about five minutes to compose herself before Scott hobbled into the kitchen and took a seat at the table.

She didn’t say anything. If he could get this far, he could make his own damned sandwich. And the fact that he was in the mood for a sandwich after she’d bent over in front of him with no panties on was more than a little annoying. But she’d signed up for taking care of him. Soaping him up in the shower sounded like all she really wanted to do, but of course she needed to help him with things like lunch. She supposed, on the first day anyway, that balancing on a crutch while putting ham and cheese on bread might be a challenge.

A few minutes later, he chuckled and she turned, ready to demand to know what was so funny about her making a sandwich.

“Did you see the skit Fallon did last night?” he asked.

Peyton frowned at what had to be one of the last things she’d expected him to say. “What?”

He held up his phone. It was open to a video clip from The Tonight Show.

She carried a sandwich, chips, sliced apple, and glass of milk to him and took the phone. “No. I didn’t watch last night and I haven’t been on Facebook today.”

“Watch it,” he said. He picked up the sandwich and bit into it.

Whatever. She pressed the arrow to start the clip. A minute later, she was grinning. She looked up. Scott was watching her, munching away on his chips.

“You like Fallon?” he asked.

Yeah, this felt like a regular couple thing. But yes, she liked Fallon. “I do.”

“You watch?”

“Sometimes.”

Scott nodded and popped an apple slice into his mouth. “I love him.”

It was definitely a point in Scott’s favor that he was a Fallon fan. Not that he needed anymore points in his favor, really. She was, admittedly, a pretty big fan of Scott’s too.

She put the phone back on the table as Scott reached for his napkin. He picked it up, his eyes on her, then dropped it. It fluttered to the floor.

“You wouldn’t mind bending over and picking that up for me, would you?” he asked.

Peyton’s heart kicked against her rib cage. That smile, that look in his eyes, that gruffness in his voice… She’d do anything he asked if he asked it like that.

And yeah, this plan to balance the normal-couple, regular-relationship, kind-of-fucking-scary stuff he wanted with the sexy, his-hands-all-over-her stuff she wanted, was not all bad.

She licked her lips. “I can do that.” She started to bend but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.

“I think you know where this is going. Turn around.”

Her heart thumped as electricity shot through her limbs. Followed by a dose of skepticism. If he was just messing with her, turning her on, getting her riled up… “Keep in mind that if your hands do not make it under this skirt, there are all kinds of things I can put in your next meal.”

“Turn around.”

Low, gravelly, firm. All the things she liked best. Peyton turned slowly, feeling his hand slide from her hip to her butt cheek. Big and hot. Like all of him.

The costume was hardly made of high-quality material, so it was thin, making every inch he touched tingle and heat.

“Like this?” she asked, jutting her butt more firmly into his hand.

He squeezed. “Yep. Now pick it up.”

She did, slowly, her heart hammering. His hand stayed on her and as she bent forward, it slid from her butt to the back of her thigh.

She’d gone with the no-panties thing to tease him and turn him on, yes. She’d made sure he caught a glimpse. And yeah, she had big hopes for what came after the glimpse. But being right here, his hand on her, his eyes on her, feeling like he was a lot more in control at the moment than she was, made everything in her body go hot and liquefy.

She wanted Scott more than she’d ever wanted another guy. Even him looking at her a certain way could set her on fire. But the one time she’d actually gotten into his pants, it had been fast and hard and hot—three of her favorites words—on the hood of his car.

This felt different. Very different. Deliberate. And she wasn’t so sure she was going to end up with one bit of her dignity left. Because if Scott Hansen wanted her to beg, she’d beg.

“Damn, that’s a gorgeous sight,” he said gruffly.

His hand hadn’t moved, but she could feel his eyes on her. Like, really on her. On all of her good parts. That were completely on display, right there, only inches from his hand. And mouth.

Butterflies swooped through her belly at that thought. Oh, yeah, she’d beg him alright. If that’s what it took to get his mouth on her—

Then she felt the stroke of his finger and her knees wobbled.

“So fucking pretty,” he said, his voice gravelly as his finger stroked over her folds.

She gasped and pressed back, needing more.

His other hand slid over her cheek, bare now that she was bent and the skirt had pulled up. That hand also served to hold her in place. He wasn’t letting her move back, or forward away from his touch either—not that she would think of moving away. He ran his finger over her again and again, but the pressure wasn’t hard, it wasn’t quite in the right place, it wasn’t enough.

“Scott,” she said. “Stop playing.”

“Oh, hell no. I’m definitely playing. And you’re not going to rush me this time.”

This time? She’d rushed him last time because they’d been outside, screwing around—literally—on the hood of his car, and she’d been afraid he was going to come to his senses and change his mind. She had to admit being worried about that a little here too.

“Sco—”

Then he turned his hand and his middle finger pressed against her clit.

His name turned into a moan and she shifted against his finger, needing more friction. He let her move for a moment, then pulled his hand away.

“Hey, I—”

She felt the hot press of his mouth against her butt cheek. He kissed, then licked, then bit gently. “There, I’ve kissed your ass,” he said. “Now turn around.”

She straightened, her head feeling a little dizzy as she did it, but she wasn’t sure it was from the movement. Guys said their blood all went from their brains to their cocks. Well, the same could be said of girls. Her pulse was pounding through her whole body, she was achy and hot and wet between her legs, her nipples tingled—but she didn’t think she had any blood circulating in her brain. Because she was ready to do anything Scott asked her to do. And she didn’t generally take orders very well.

She turned and was stunned by the heat in his gaze. She’d seen him worked up and turned on before, but this was next-level hot.

“I know you said you wanted to be pulled into my lap,” he said, his eyes tracking up her body, from the strip of bare skin below the top to the valley of her breasts, then up to her face. “But I’m not sure that’s gonna work at the moment.”

His leg. Right. Peyton wet her lips and prepared to respond…

But he said, “I think we can make do though.”

Well, hallelujah.

He moved her to straddle his left, uninjured thigh.

“Pull your skirt up and open your top.”

The firm, commanding tone was familiar. The words were not. And she really liked both. Peyton opened the top first, just because she couldn’t be completely compliant, undoing the three snaps that held it together, barely, over her breasts. For Halloween, she’d worn a red bra underneath that had shown through the white material faintly and had played peek-a-boo at the V in front. Today, she hadn’t. She parted the top, baring her breasts.

Scott sucked in a breath through his nose, his eyes darkening. But he said nothing.

Leaving the top on but open, she lifted the hem of the skirt. Not that she had to go far to show him everything. The skirt was ridiculously short and had definitely required a good wax job.

Shirt open, skirt lifted, stockings and heels on, she felt naughty and turned on, powerful and yet completely ready to submit to anything he asked. Her effect on him was heady. At the same time, she wasn’t sure she’d ever needed someone the way she needed Scott.

She was used to affecting men. She knew that it went back to the days when she hadn’t felt wanted, and needed to know that someone wanted her for something. She’d grown past using her body and sexuality to get her way—well, unless she was teasing and tormenting Scott, of course. But that was just because he did the same thing to her. Even if it was unintentional some of the time. She still liked to flirt and she loved sex, but if she was completely honest with herself—something she wasn’t all that good at, actually—she hadn’t really been into anyone since she’d realized how she felt about Scott.

She wet her lips, watching him look at her. He seemed to just be drinking in the sight. She wanted to tell him that he could see her like this every day. Hell, all day long if he wanted to. He could also see her completely naked. And spread out on his bed. Or his kitchen table. But for some reason, she wanted to let him talk here. Tell her what he wanted. What he needed.

Finally, he blew out a breath. “Damn, you really are trouble, you know that?”

She smiled. Trouble had always sounded like an endearment to her.

He lifted a hand and cupped her breast, running his thumb over the tip. She moaned and he smiled.

“Love that sound.”

When had a man’s voice turned her on so much? It was crazy the way his voice and that husky tone made heat swirl through her belly and shoot straight to her clit.

He played with her nipple, his eyes locked on hers, and Peyton was also struck by the fact that she wasn’t sure having a hand on her breast had ever felt this intimate. That sounded stupid—people touching each other’s naked body parts should always feel intimate. But with him watching her, as if wanting to read every response to every touch, it felt like more.

Of course it did. This was Scott.

He circled her nipple with just the tip of his thumb, the nail lightly scraping and tightening the tip further, making everything else in her tighten as well. She let her head fall back, arching closer, silently begging him to take her in his mouth.

But he didn’t. Not right away. He took her nipple between his thumb and finger and squeezed gently. Peyton gasped and tried to press her legs together as the ache in her core intensified, but she couldn’t with her knees on either side of his thigh.

“Scott,” she panted.

Then he tugged harder and she cried out.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He brought her forward and fastened his hot mouth on her nipple, sucking hard.

Her hand flew to the back of his head as pleasure pulsed through her.

His hand cupped her between her legs and she instinctively moved against it, seeking pressure on her clit. And deeper. He sucked harder on her nipple as she ground into his hand, and she felt her orgasm building quickly.

But then he lifted his head, staring up at her as he moved to slip one big, thick finger into her.

She couldn’t look away from him as she grabbed for his shoulder, her knees threatening to buckle. She gripped his shirt, loving the feel of his muscles lightly bunching as his finger moved in her.

“Ham sandwiches and finger fucking the hottest girl I’ve ever known?” he said as his thumb circled her clit. “Definitely something I could get used to.”

She felt her inner muscles tighten at the “finger fucking” thing. By-the-book, rule-following hot cop Scott Hansen, talking dirty, was one of the best things in her life.

“If this is what happens for sandwiches, I’m going to have to make you a meatloaf after all.”

He moved his finger deeper and faster and she gripped his shirt harder. “You make me meatloaf and I might just set you up on that counter and start with dessert.”

Her inner muscles reacted, happily, to that as well. “See? This arrangement is going to work out great.” A few “normal” things balanced with some holy-crap-hot things? Yeah, she could do normal for two weeks. Or she could sure as hell fake it.

“You riding my finger like you need it more than air? Yeah, definitely something I could get used to.”

She felt the release winding tighter and tighter. “Why don’t you open your pants and I’ll show you exactly how and what I like to ride.”

“Not this time.”

Had his finger been anywhere else, doing almost anything else, she would have protested that, but as it was, the rough pad of his thumb against her clit, with a startling knowledge, or instinct, or whatever, for the pressure and speed to apply, was about to send her into orbit. And she figured the take-your-pants-off conversation would come up again later.

His other hand gripped her ass, pressing her more firmly against the hand between her legs. He added a second finger, thrusting deep and hard and fast, and in less than a minute, she was flying.

She cried out his name as her orgasm crashed over her, and as soon as the ripples faded, he brought her down onto his leg, his hand in her hair, his mouth devouring hers.

When he finally let her up for air, she felt boneless and breathless and better than she had in… Since St. Patrick’s Day.

“There,” he said against her mouth. “Now we’re evened up.”

She pulled back to look at him. “Evened up?”

He rested his forehead against hers. “You didn’t come on St. Patrick’s Day, Peyton. I know it.”

She hadn’t. But she’d had a hell of a good time. It had been hard and fast and hot, and the source of much inspiration with her vibrator since.

“You didn’t have to—” she started.

“Yeah, I did.”

Right. Of course he did. Not giving her everything he thought she needed and wanted would have made him crazy. She shook her head. “So instead of thinking about how hot and awesome that was, instead of thinking about the handcuffs and the hood of your car and how naughty that all was, you’ve been thinking about how I didn’t come? And you just needed to even things up?” She pushed off his lap and pushed her skirt down and re-snapped her shirt.

He took a deep breath, then nodded. “It was hotter than hell, and I still can’t believe I did that.”

“Because you really thought you could out-stubborn me?” She propped a hand on her hip.

“Because it was on my squad car behind your house, and I was still in uniform.”

Yeah, he had been. That had added to all the heat. “You were off-duty,” she said with a little smile she couldn’t hide.

He narrowed his eyes. “Trouble. Capital T.”

“Who is making you meatloaf for dinner.”

Those narrowed eyes went dark again. “Is that right?”

“I’ll meet you on…” She looked around and pointed at the counter next to his fridge. “That counter, at six p.m. Bring your appetite.” Then she winked and headed into the living room.

“You’re not going to help me back to the couch?” he called after her.

“You made it in there just fine on your own,” she called back.

She looked around the living room. She didn’t know what exactly she was going to do now. Her body was still humming from the orgasm, but it seemed clear she was the only one who was going to be getting that special treatment at the moment. Until tonight. He wasn’t leaving that kitchen twice in one day without taking his pants off. She giggled at that. If “normal” couples got busy in the kitchen fifty percent of the time they went in there, she could maybe be more normal than she thought.

Scott followed her a moment later and she turned. But before she could say something smart-ass or flirtatious—like “thanks for the orgasm”—she got a good look at his face. He was in pain.

She frowned, moving across the room. “You need to rest.”

He shot her a grin. “Trust me, I feel like my time’s been well spent.”

That grin. Almost made her forget what they’d been talking about. But she couldn’t help replaying what had gone down in the kitchen. He hadn’t used his leg, so…this had to be just general healing pain. Right? But probably a good thing she hadn’t gotten his pants off.

She put his free arm around her shoulder, helping him to the couch. Or pretending to. No way could she actually help this big guy move around. But it made her feel better to try. “So that’s really why you wouldn’t go all the way with me,” she said. “Your leg.”

She knew that wasn’t it. Scott would absolutely want to “make up for” her not having an orgasm the first time they’d been together.

“Go all the way?” he repeated as he lowered himself, with Peyton’s pretend help, onto the couch. “Is this seventh grade?”

She smiled. “So that’s why you didn’t fuck me right then and there?”

He groaned. “You’re right. Let’s use ‘go all the way’. Or we could just not talk about it at all.”

She laughed. “Me saying ‘fuck’ bothers you?”

He shifted to get comfortable on the cushion. “Makes me want to do it, Peyton.”

She froze for a second. Him using her name like that always did it to her. “Is that right?” she said, resuming her sassy attitude rather than letting on that she wanted to hear him saying her name like that, over and over again, every day.

He gave her a lazy look. “It’s not the only thing that makes me want to do it, of course. But yeah, hearing you say ‘fuck me’? Instant hard-on.”

She felt her grin break free. This Scott, this teasing-about-sex Scott, definitely did it for her.

But then she again noted the look of fatigue around his eyes and the little grimace when he moved his leg. He was hurt. She was here to help.

She leaned over and helped him rotate so he was lying along the length of the sofa, his leg propped up on the opposite arm. She went to the bedroom for more pillows and got one behind his head and two under his leg. Then she grabbed the bag of supplies from the coffee table, shook out a pain pill and went to grab a glass of water. She handed both over and watched him swallow them without complaint.

“You can ask for the pain pills, you know,” she said. “I’ll watch the time, but I’m not giving them unless you ask. There’s no problem with becoming dependent if you’re using the recommended dose as needed, but if you think you can get by with just ibuprofen, that’s probably a better way to go.”

He looked up at her with surprise. “How do you know all of that?”

Crap. She could lie. Say she got it from her nursing classes. Or even from watching Grey’s Anatomy or ER, her two favorite shows in the universe. But she sighed and confessed, “I looked it up last night when I got home. I also watched a couple of YouTube videos about dressing changes. Just so you know.”

He coughed, but if he felt like smiling, he hid it. “YouTube videos?”

She crossed her arms, knowing she looked defensive. And feeling defensive. “I want to be sure I do it right.”

“You probably haven’t covered all of that in school yet, hu—” His question was cut off by a big yawn.

She nodded. “Nope, haven’t covered that yet.” True enough. Though if she’d stayed in school, she might have. Hopefully Scott knew nothing about nursing school curriculum.

“Proud of you,” he said, his eyes sliding shut.

She stared at him. “What?” she asked.

“Proud of you. And school.”

Ah, shit. Why’d he have to say that?

“I love that you want to take care of other people, even though people have kind of sucked about taking care of you. You haven’t let that make you hard.”

Her heart slammed against her chest and she couldn’t breathe for a second. The hell if she hadn’t. She had definitely let her lack of caregivers make her hard and cynical. The meds were making him a little goofy. Maybe. Or he was just super tired. Possibly. But that had sounded really sincere. And exactly like the kind of thing Scott would think.

“Yeah, well,” she managed, looking for a way to distract him. “Don’t know how well I’m doing here. I wasn’t as focused on her instructions yesterday as I should have been.”

“Oh?” His eyes hadn’t opened again.

That could work in her favor too. He couldn’t concentrate on the ins and outs of her nursing program if he was sleepy.

“Your wound is really close to a part of your body I’m very interested in,” she said. “My gaze might have wandered.”

His eyebrows pulled together even though his eyes stayed shut. “I need to rest. Talking about my cock, and your interest in it, isn’t very relaxing.”

She laughed and dropped her arms. He was distracted now. “Okay, we’ll talk about it after your nap. Do you need anything?”

“You.”

Her heart skipped.

“In normal clothes.”

Oh. She sighed.

“Can’t fall asleep if I know you’re sitting over there with your wet, bare pussy on my chair.”

Geez, even if he’d partially slurred some of those words, they worked to make her body pulse with desire.

“Fine. But if I can’t talk about your cock and say things like ‘fuck me’, you can’t say pussy,” she told him.

That stirred him a bit and he shifted again. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You can’t say ‘pussy’ either.”

She smiled. “You like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Noted.”

“Trouble,” he murmured.

But a moment later, he was asleep.

Peyton stood looking at him—or rather, staring at him like a needy little girl with a gigantic crush—for just long enough to feel creepy. But man, he was gorgeous. Big, strong, confident. And for some reason, he really liked her.

Of course, living with her for two weeks might cure him of some of that.

Five minutes later, she was dressed in a black tee, hot-pink leggings with black trucks on them, and she had her feet propped on Scott’s coffee table with her computer open on her lap.

She went through her emails, checked Facebook, even checked Tumblr. But in the end, she couldn’t keep herself from clicking onto the website she’d been avoiding for months.

The next round of nursing classes started in six weeks. Just enough time to get her prerequisites finished. If she started right now.