Take Me Under Read Online Free PDF Page A

surprised. She was one of the classiest women he’d ever known.
    And now she was here for good . . . his for the taking. The sooner the better, if he had anything to say about it, before he caused himself some kind of permanent damage. It’d been weeks since he’d had sex, and he was aching in a bad fucking way.
    “Ben!”
    He jolted at the sound of his name, and found himself staring into Brit’s laughing face. A quiet curse crept past his lips. Damn, he’d spaced out right in the middle of her telling him about her latest dating disaster. And from the suspicious look in her hazel eyes, she had a good idea where his mind had wandered. Christ. Talk about awkward.
    He might be a rough-edged son of a bitch, but he wasn’t so much of an ass that he wanted Brit to feel ignored. She was a friend, damn it.
    “Sorry,” he offered, reaching for his beer.
    She made a little snorting sound, lips curled in a wry smile. “I’m not mad. I was just a bit worried you were in the middle of a heart attack. You looked like you were in pain.”
    He choked back a laugh, thinking about the pain in his balls. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind tonight, but I promise not to keel over dead on you before dessert.”
    “You want to tell me about her?” she asked, taking a bite of her Caesar salad.
    Oh, hell no. He wasn’t buying that deceptively casual tone. The hairs on the back of Ben’s neck stood up, signaling danger. He knew he was about to get grilled.
    Refusing to go down easily, Ben lifted his brows. “Her?”
    She took a sip of her white wine, studying him over the rim of the glass. “The woman who has you looking like you just swallowed a bellyful of frustration. What’s the story, Hudson?”
    Yeah, he knew that tone. Brit was a top-notch therapist who had helped scores of people with their issues. Ben respected the hell out of her intelligence and her sense of compassion—but that didn’t mean he wanted her doling out any advice on the way he lived his life. Not that it ever stopped her.
    “Don’t start,” he groaned. “I’ve had a shitty week. I’m not up to having my head examined tonight.”
    As dramatic as it sounded, it was true. On top of thinking about Reese every damn minute of the day, he’d dealt with a number of local crises in the county, from an illegal meth lab and dog-fighting ring to a couple of bone-chilling domestic violence cases. He really didn’t want to talk about it—any of it—but Brit wouldn’t let it go. She pressed until she got a brief overview of the events, if not any of the gritty details. But she’d worked with law enforcement officers and victims long enough to know how ugly things could get.
    “You know, I thought you moved to the Gulf to take it easy,” she grumbled with a fretful sigh. “But now you’re busier than ever.”
    What did she want him to say? He wasn’t an idle person. If there were things to be done, Ben wanted to be doing them. And the area, while beautiful and popular with tourists, had been in desperate need of a decent sheriff. Sure, he still had a lot to learn, but he was a damn sight better than the corrupt jackass he’d replaced. And he’d hired some great staff who worked their fingers to the bone, eager to make a difference.
    A glance across the table showed that Brit was still waiting for him to say something. Leaning back in his chair, he pushed his free hand through his hair and made a conscious effort not to snap at her. “You know I like to keep busy.”
    “The doctors—” she started to say, but he cut her off.
    “The doctors can kiss my ass.” More than once, Ben had regretted telling Brit what his surgeons back in Miami had said after the shooting—the one that had prompted his move to Moss Beach. He didn’t regret taking the bullets that had saved Ryan Houghton’s little girl—would do it again in a heartbeat—but the recovery had been a bitch. “That was two years ago. I’m fine now.”
    “Maybe, maybe not. You