Matt reached down and grabbed the bag, taking her hand in the other. With a squeak of surprise, Lucy tripped behind him as he jogged to the nearest bench and pulled her down behind it. After yesterday, the last thing she’d expected to see was a playful side. Yet another facet of him, as if there weren’t enough already. He set the bag between them, reached in and handed her a water balloon. “Let’s see what you got, Mason.”

A smile stretched across her face. “One point for every hipster you hit. Two for tourists.”

His mouth twitched. “Done.”

She peeked over the bench and hurled a pink balloon at a girl in horn-rimmed glasses. The unexpected impact of Lucy’s balloon knocked them askew on her face.

“Nice one.”

“One point for me.” She tossed him a yellow balloon. “Your turn.”

“Give me another one.” With a shrug, she did as he asked. He pushed his sunglasses back on his head and Lucy suddenly wished she could drag her fingers through his thick black hair. In one fluid movement, he went up on his knees, throwing both balloons at once. Two running tourists were treated to an exploding water balloon attack.

“Impressive.” Unable to wipe the grin off her face, she rooted through the bag. “It’s like you’re a professional sniper or something.”

Matt’s hand flexed, as if talking about his profession put the feel of a rifle in his hand. “Are you implying I have an unfair advantage?”

“I’m not implying. I’m accusing.” She pulled out three balloons and threw him a wink. “Which means I have to step up my game.”

His hot gaze raked over her. “You think you can compete with me?”

It was a wonder the balloons didn’t turn to steam in her palms. “I never back down from a challenge, especially when the competition is meaningless and there are no prizes for winning. Watch and learn, Donovan.”

He gestured arrogantly toward the quad area where the fight raged on. “I’m waiting.”

Lucy peeked through the wooden slats in the bench, spotting a group of tourists wearing I Love NY T-shirts. They were a good distance away and had managed to remain dry thus far. It was a risk, but she’d talked a big game. No guts no glory. She pushed to her feet and threw all three balloons in quick succession, nailing each one of the tourists one after the other. Before they could spot her, she ducked back down behind the bench to find Matt staring at her with raised eyebrows.

“You are so turned on by me right now,” she said, sounding a little breathless.

“Fucking right I am.”

She had to kiss him. Had zero choice in the matter. His mouth, his pleasure-giving mouth, was gorgeous and so close. His body drew hers closer as if she’d become magnetized. She wanted his big, demanding hands on her ass. She wanted to feel his rough-edged muscles under her fingertips, flexing for her.

His teeth grazed his lower lip. “Come here then, baby.”

Before she could reach him, a water balloon pegged him in the arm. He looked so disgusted over it, she had to laugh again. She planted her hands on his shoulders and tried her best to appear serious. “Oh God, Matt, you’ve been hit. Do not go toward the light. Stay with m—”

His mouth stamped over hers. As if he had complete and utter control over her body, she moaned, head tipping back to absorb every stroke of his tongue. She gloried in his uneven groans; they told her how much her submitting affected him. Told her there was a balance. That she shouldn’t be afraid of her willingness to hand him the reins. It was a choice.

Matt felt it, too. Her total relinquishment of control. She could tell from his expression when he pulled back, scrutinizing her face. “You don’t know what it means, Lucy.”

“Tell me. Show me.”

Lucy held her breath. She didn’t know why his response was so important, only that it might make or break this thing between them. Once again, it became so obvious to her that there was so much about him she had yet to learn. She wanted to know everything. Anything less would seem like she was being cheated.

Expression regretful, he pushed her hair back, watching as her curls fell around her face. “Look at you. You live in the sun. I can’t do it.”

“Yes you can. You’re here in the sun with me right now.” The words came out in a rush. She barely knew what she was saying, only that she was losing him. The Matt who’d thrown water balloons was receding, to be replaced with the stoic, closed-off man he showed everyone else. “You just have to stay here with me.”

“I wish it were that simple.” He drew his hand back and Lucy bit back a denial. When the radio crackled on his shoulder, she slumped back. “I have to go.”

Maybe adrenaline was still pumping through her veins from the water balloon flight or maybe their kiss had been a tease to her senses. It was even possible she didn’t want him walking away without taking the best goddamn memory she could give him. Whatever the reason, she found herself lunging for Matt and kissing him for everything she was worth. Her fingers sank into his hair to keep him steady as she swept her tongue into his mouth. His growl of shock vibrated against her lips; his stubble scraped her chin.

He made a noise of capitulation and tried to deepen the kiss, but Lucy pulled away.

She looked him square in the eye. “Think about it. Think about me.”

A humorless laugh escaped him. “You say that like it’s optional.”

Some inner voice urged her to her feet. She didn’t want to watch him walk away, she couldn’t, not after what he’d said. So she would leave first, even if it hurt to put distance in between them. “See you later, Matt.”

She skirted past what was left of the balloon fight and descended into the nearest subway entrance, knowing instinctively he watched her the entire way.

Chapter Twelve

Matt sat at a red light in his ESU truck, performing the usual East Side patrol he’d been assigned to for the last six months. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel; a dull throb worked its way up the back of his neck. Every sound, every flash of sunlight off his windshield was an irritant. Even his jaw ached, he suspected from grinding his teeth together nonstop last night and this morning. Twenty-four hours without Lucy and he felt like a junkie who’d gone too long without a fix. How he’d already formed an addiction to the girl was beyond him. But he had. An all-consuming one that had stitched her beautiful image permanently on the inside of his eyelids. Caused him to catch her scent in the oddest places.

He couldn’t focus on his job. Every thought led back to her, the way she’d looked yesterday. Full of life. Excitement. The way she’d made him feel it, too, during the brief, shining moment he’d allowed himself to feel. It had seemed too good to be true. He’d been forced to remind himself that he wasn’t that man. The kind of man who made a girl like Lucy smile. He might be able to pull it off for one afternoon, but it couldn’t last.

Tell me. Show me. She couldn’t have known what those words meant when it came to him. They’d barely scratched the surface, even if the memory of his hand connecting with her flesh alone could bring him to his knees. When he allowed himself to fantasize about Lucy, he imagined her bound to his bed, under his command. He imagined her on her knees, wearing nothing but a chaste pair of white panties, waiting for his instructions.

The image caused an uncomfortable swelling between his legs and Matt couldn’t resist granting his cock a tight stroke through his uniform pants. It only made matters worse, his thoughts escalating from Lucy on her knees to Lucy asking for permission to suck him off. His flesh disappearing for the first time past her pink lips.

Like this, Matt?

Teeth gritted in agony, he shook his head. Being an adventurous girl, she might be excited by the promise of a new experience, but was most likely just experimenting. Curious about the unknown. But for how long? What if his nature dimmed her free spirit before she’d had enough? He’d never forgive himself. At this point, he’d stopped warning himself off with the reminder of her family name. She was a Mason. Brent’s little sister.

If his best friend had an inkling of the thoughts plaguing him day and night, he’d have him in a pair of cement boots, sinking to the bottom of the Hudson. He’d deserve it, too.