Back at work after lunch, Krista’s mind raced.

A fucking serial rapist was on the loose.

And he was a cop.

A serial rapist cop.

Something had to be done. Myles couldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone else.

Tears welled up in Krista’s eyes as she stared at the contact list of her phone. She needed to talk to Brock. Not only because she wanted to fill him in on what she and the other women had talked about, but also because she just needed to hear his voice.

She got up from her desk and wandered to Mallory’s empty office. Mallory was away for the afternoon, and Krista wanted more privacy than her cubicle allowed.

“Hey,” Brock answered. “I was just about to call you.”

Krista hiccupped as more tears filled her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Brock asked, his tone laden with fear. “Is it the baby? Is it Slade? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and swallowed hard. “No. The baby’s fine. I’m fine … I just needed to talk to you.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment. “You want me to come to you?” he finally asked.

“No. I’m okay. I just had lunch with the girls, and Allie gave us some pretty terrible news.” She proceeded to fill Brock in on what Allie had told them.

By the time she was finished, her eyes burned and her cheeks were wet.

“That motherfucker.” Brock growled. “Doesn’t deserve to live.”

“We’re going to get him,” Krista said though sniffles. “We can’t let him get away with this.”

“We will, baby, we will,” he said. “You’re okay, though?”

Her heart ached just a little less at how concerned he was for her. He really was trying. He really did care.

He was quiet for a moment again, but she took the opportunity to dab at her eyes with a tissue and collect herself. She had to walk past half a dozen desks to her own, and red-rimmed eyes would certainly draw attention. “The timing kind of sucks,” he finally said, “but I was actually just going to call you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, what are your plans tonight?”

“No plans. Why?”

“I was wondering if you might want to go out on a date … with me?”

“You, uh … you want to go out on a date?”

She could practically see his shoulders shrug over the phone, black leather moving just a fraction of an inch as one lone eyebrow quirked up. “Yeah. I mean we told our families that we’re dating, but we’ve never been on a date.”

“Oh!” Where was this sudden bit of romance coming from? Had his mother intervened? It seemed like something Joy would berate him about.

“So, dinner and a movie?”

Krista caught herself smiling in the window reflection. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Before she could make some corny joke about the fact that they lived together and would be getting ready to go out together, he said a quick goodbye and hung up.

Well, that was strangely wonderful.

For the rest of the day, despite her heartbreaking lunch with the girls, Krista was happy. She was going on a date with Brock Hart. Brock Lionel Hart had asked to her go out with him. And then the gooey, mushy girl in her really kicked in, and she envisioned the two of them sitting in the movie theater, his arm casually draped around hers as she snuggled under his big leather jacket, because theaters are notoriously cold. She would have stupidly left her coat in his truck. And then they’d share a goodnight kiss on the front porch and talk about wanting to see each other again, only to then both go into the house, take off their coats and shoes, brush their teeth and hump like bunnies. Of course.

She thought for sure he’d be home when she got home just after six o’clock, but he wasn’t. Figuring that dinner and a movie was a casual date, and that ninety percent of her dress clothes no longer fit, she went with dark wash skinny jeans, only she didn’t do up the button and wore one of those belly band things instead and a black cashmere long-sleeve sweater.

She was just adding a touch of lip gloss in the hallway mirror when the doorbell chimed. And there he stood. With a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates and a nervous smile. Looking drop-dead freaking gorgeous in dark jeans, a gray sweater with a white collared shirt poking out the top, and of course, his customary leather jacket.

“Hey.”

Krista mentally told the butterflies in her belly to calm down and then took a deep breath. “Hi.”

He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. “You look beautiful tonight.”

She opened the door so he could come inside. “You look really great, too.” And that smell, oh lord, she was ready to skip the date and just get to the naughty parts of the night.

“These are for you.”

She accepted the gifts, then started to climb the stairs. Was she supposed to invite him up? It was his house. This was weird. But he followed her and took a seat in his chair.

“Can I … can I offer you a beer?” After all, it was his beer.

He shook his head. “No, thanks, I’m driving. Reservations are for seven thirty. Are you about ready to go?”

He made reservations? She was busy bumbling around in the kitchen looking for a vase. Could she ask him where he kept the vases in this little role play of theirs? Or was that against the rules? Were they even role playing?

He found her in the kitchen looking mighty frazzled. “What are you looking for?”

“A vase,” she murmured, opening cupboards and drawers, even though she knew damn well a vase couldn’t fit in a drawer. The man and his romanticisms were throwing her completely off guard.

“Oh. I don’t have any.”

She shot him a look. Then where were the flowers going to go?

He must have read her mind and the slight bit of frustration radiating off her; abandoning his role as suitor, he knelt down on the floor next to her feet and opened the cupboard beneath the sink.

His head still buried in the deep recesses of the cabinet, an arm came snaking out. “Here, will this work?” He thrust a beautiful old glass pitcher into her hands. It was rather heavy and had floral etchings on the sides. Something that would go perfectly with an afternoon brunch, carrying cool, crisp pink lemonade. So why on earth did he have it?

“Why do you have such a lovely pitcher?” She began to fill it with water. He went to the job of extracting his monstrous frame from the cupboard, joints snapping as he stood up.

He shook his head dismissively. “I think my mother may have given it to me or something.”

She hastily put the flowers in water, looked longingly at the chocolates, promising them she wouldn’t be long, that’d they’d be together soon, grabbed her coat, slid into her ankle boots, and they were out the door.

“So, a date, eh?” She couldn’t stop herself. It was like a giant elephant between them.

Why had he all of a sudden asked her out? He held her door open, and she leaped up into the cab.

He slammed his own door a few seconds later and turned on the truck. “It’s about time, don’t you think?”

She smiled, a sweet warmth settling into her belly and across her cheeks. They were on a date. “Yes.” She nodded. “It’s about time.”

As far as first dates went, this one was one of the better if not one of the best she’d ever had. Dinner was delicious. Gourmet handmade pasta in a decadent saffron and cream sauce with seafood, peppers and fennel. And then dessert—if she wasn’t already falling in love with the man, the dessert would have sealed the deal. A chocolate ganache tower with raspberry coulis and fresh raspberries, topped with Irish Cream whipped cream and gold leaf.

They chatted about life: baby-proofing, their upcoming prenatal classes and the next midwife appointment. Besides the first appointment, where he hadn’t even known he was a father yet, Brock had been at every one without fail.

The entire night was weird and wonderful, and she felt herself falling deeper and harder for the man the longer they sat there.

He was trying.

He said he was going to try to open up, and he was. She could tell it wasn’t easy for him to let his walls down, to answer her questions without deflecting them, but he tried, and the more he tried, the easier it became.

After dinner, they still had some time to kill before the movie, so they wandered into a grocery store to buy candy and popcorn to smuggle them in Krista’s purse and under her coat. She was already pregnant, so with the giant bag of M&M’s, she just looked like she was ready to pop.

They were snuggled up in the back of the theater, and Krista decided that what she wanted to do more than anything was rest her head on his shoulder. But she was nervous. And then she mentally chastised herself for being nervous.

You let the man do far dirtier things to you, but yet you’re nervous about putting your head on his shoulder? Well, that’s ass-backward.

She shifted closer to him, their arms sharing the armrest, and then slowly, almost timidly, she let her head fall to the side of his arm. He was warm, and the smell of him—leather and … Brock—it was perfect.

He glanced down at her, and at first, she thought he was going to shrug her off because he pulled his hand from the armrest where their wrists were touching. She had to lift her head, and a sudden flood of disappointment raged through her, but he lifted his arm up and wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling her close.

Ah.

Krista snuggled in and closed her eyes, letting her other hand rest on his chest.

The movie sucked. It was boring and corny and in places where they were trying to be funny, it was just plain awkward and uncomfortable. About halfway through, Krista found herself restless and frisky. The night was going so well and she was falling so hard that all she wanted to do was get home and get the man next to her naked. But then the wild child in her started to whisper things in her ear.

“This might be your last night out for a while. Make the most of it. The theater is practically empty. You’re all the way up at the back in the corner. You know what people do in the back corner. You’ll regret not taking a chance.”

She tried to tell the voice to shut up. That she was a cop, a respectable woman and a mother-to-be. But that bitch was loud. And the more she told her to be quiet, the louder she yelled. And before Krista knew it, her hand drifted down Brock’s belly and made its way into the front of his pants.

His free hand landed on hers. “What’s the plan?”

Sassily, she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “No plan, just bored.”

A huff of a laugh escaped his nose. “This is dangerous.” But then his hand lifted from hers, allowing her to continue her quest.

He was already starting to rise to the occasion.

“What’s life without a little excitement?” she asked with a feline purr, beginning to stroke him, reveling in the soft skin and the way he grew harder and harder in her palm. She got a serious high knowing she could rev his engine so easily.

“So, uh … should we just get out of here?” His tenor was a little shaky. Krista grinned. Men were so easy.

“Of course not. Let’s finish the movie. Just watch.”

His hand fell back on top of hers. “Krista … ”

But she was too into the moment, too into him, into the date, into the romance of the night, and instead of answering him, she lifted her chin and went in for a kiss. It started out sweet and innocent at first, the soft brushings of lips against lips, but soon it turned heated and frantic, driven by more than just the passion of the night. They were both geared up and ready for more. His mouth was firm and his tongue seeking. Brock Hart definitely knew how to kiss. She took him in, returning the kiss and wishing she could press her body against his, into his warmth and strength. Feel his power. When she was with Brock, everything feminine inside her rushed to the surface—soft and powerful all at once, sending a craving though her that almost hurt.

She rolled her neck to the side, and his teeth scraped up the tendon. He breathed her in, sucking on that sweet spot just behind her ear, the spot that drove her wild and brought out her inner beast.

She thought for sure he was going to scoop her up and whisk her away, tossing her into the back of his truck and ravishing her just to feed the craving until they got home. But instead, he wedged his hands into her pants and began to rub wet and rough circles around her clit.

She continued to pump him. He was rock hard now, and the way he thrust into her hand, she knew he wasn’t far off. But where would it go? Could she drop to her knees? Her inner wild child wanted to straddle him in his chair and ride him like a pony.

His fingers picked up vigor, and before long, Krista was bucking into his hand, eager for the orgasm that hid just beyond the bend.

“You’re going to destroy me,” he whispered, his teeth catching on her ear, his breath ragged and strained.

She nipped his chin. “That’s the plan.”

His hand fell back down to hers to halt her efforts. “You can stop … I can wait.”

They locked eyes, his own digits tirelessly tormenting her inside her jeans. “B-but.”

“Come for me, Krista. And then we’ll go home and I’m going to fuck you properly.”

She swallowed. What a promise.

“Come for me.”