Dirty Deeds

New York Times Bestselling Author

Liliana Hart

Copyright © 2015 Liliana Hart

Kobo Edition

All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

I might not be the best expert on the subject, but in my opinion, marriage is pretty awesome.

Jack and I had spent the last three days soaking up the sun on a Caribbean Island the size of a table napkin. The population was small enough that we weren’t tripping over people on the beach, and our cabana was isolated from the main roads and all the other cabanas. Which was probably a good thing since we’d spent ninety percent of our time naked. It turns out married sex isn’t boring. Married sex is very, very good.

“We can put another tally mark on the wall,” I croaked out.

My heart pounded like a drum in my chest and a sheen of perspiration and salt water from the spray of the ocean coated my skin. I was sticky, hot, and probably getting a sunburn in places that were going to be really uncomfortable later on. I didn’t care one bit.

“No,” Jack said. His hand lay limp across my stomach, his tanned skin a blatant contrast to my own. “I don’t have the energy. Your tally mark idea is going to put me into an early grave. I need some rest and some food, woman. We’re on sex hiatus for at least an hour.”

“Pussy,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t know marriage was going to make you so whiny.”

His fingers danced along my ribs and I laughed. “I beg your pardon? What did you call me?”

The problem with being married to my childhood friend was that he knew all my weaknesses, including the fact that I was ticklish on just about every space on my body.

“Nothing,” I snorted. “You must have misunderstood.”

We rolled from the large beach towels beneath us and sand went into a bunch of places sand had no business being. Palms swayed lazily overhead and the sky was cerulean and cloudless. Waves crashed to shore a few feet away, the sound hypnotic and soothing. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect day.

“Don’t think you’ll get another round out of me by wrestling and getting me all worked up. I’m on to you, Doctor Graves.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I bit his shoulder, laughing as I felt life return to certain parts of Jack’s body. “I’m just trying to use you as a sun shield. There are parts of my body that should never see the sun.”

“Baby, I hate to break this to you, but I’m not sure that any part of your body has ever seen the sun. I shouldn’t be able to lose you on a white sand beach.”

I laughed and hitched my leg around his hip. “Very funny. Besides, I’ve gotten a little color since we’ve been here.”

“Yes, now you’re white instead of clear.”

“Are you trying to piss me off as a way to get out of sex?”

“Never,” he said, grinning.

Jack was one of those people who was a pleasure to look at. He stood a little over six feet and had the kind of body that showed discipline and training. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Anywhere. He also had the kind of face that made women stop and stare, dimples that he always used to his advantage, and eyes that turned the color of dark chocolate when he was angry or aroused. He was one of the two at the moment, because they were almost black. Based on the fact that something hard was poking my hip, I was betting on the latter of the two.

His hair was dark and he always kept it buzzed close to the scalp. Mostly because when he let it grown long it had a tendency to curl. There were times when I had trouble focusing if Jack was in the room because I pretty much wanted to jump his bones every time he crossed in my general path. Fortunately, he was always very accommodating.

His body had scars—plenty of them—telling story after story of the life he’d led as a cop. And Jack wasn’t the type of man to sit comfortably behind a desk. He wanted to be in the action—leading the pack and taking the chances. Even now, as Sheriff of King George County, Virginia he made sure he knew what was going on in every department of the sheriff’s office. He wasn’t just a figurehead.

“I mean it,” he whispered, slipping inside of me. “This is the last time.”

“Agreed. I’m already sick of you. Lets get a divorce.” And then my eyes rolled back in my head and I stopped thinking all together.

A half an hour later, Jack was spraying sunscreen across my shoulders and back while I dumped sand out of my bikini top. I managed to put on my bathing suit despite the fact that my legs weren’t quite working, and I tied a bright blue sarong around my waist. My body was satiated and relaxed, and all I wanted was to crawl into one of the hammocks outside of our cabana and sleep. I’d had precious little rest and relaxation over the past several years.

My time as county coroner, as well as the owner of Graves Funeral Home, didn’t always allow me to get a solid eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Why was it that death always happened in the middle of the night? Fortunately, I was conditioned to function on little sleep and gallons of coffee from my time as an ER doctor. Of course, my ER days were back before my parents had driven their car over a cliff and changed my life forever.

I swayed and steadied myself on Jack’s arm. “I think there was something in the wedding vows that said you have to carry me if I’m unable to walk due to sexual bliss.” Our cabana was barely a speck in the distance, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it without falling on my face.

“I’m not sure whose wedding you attended, but I don’t think it was ours.” Jack smacked me on the behind and took my hand as we strolled toward our cabana.

My legs felt like lead, the sun was starting to get to me, and I needed a fruity drink with an umbrella in it in a bad way. I’ve never really been on vacation before, but I’ve discovered I’m pretty good at it. I kept my head down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, so I didn’t see the man standing on our front porch until we were almost right on top of him.

Chapter Two

Jack always noticed everything—part of the job description—so he nudged me as we got closer. “I told you we’d get caught doing it in that restroom at the restaurant last night,” he hissed. “That woman must’ve really had to go to the bathroom. She tattled on us.”

I looked up and noticed Joe Kingston at our door, his hand up in mid-knock. He was dressed in loose shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with big yellow flowers all over. It bagged over his hip holster, but the outline of his weapon was still visible. He wore a straw hat that was frayed around the edges and flip-flops.

Joe was the island cop, and in the tradition of things, cops had a sixth sense about other cops. So we weren’t on the island a full day before Joe had sought out Jack and made an introduction. And by saying Joe was the island cop, I meant he was the only island cop. I’d never been anywhere with a police force of one before.

Most of his time was spent dealing with petty thefts, domestic violence issues, and drunken tourists. He’d told us the first day there was never any serious crime because the locals knew how important the tourist industry was to the economy.

“I’m not taking the rap for that by myself,” I hissed back. “You could’ve said no.”

“Are you kidding me? You did my favorite thing. I’d have to be an idiot to say no.”

“Your favorite thing? I thought that thing we did this morning was your favorite thing.”

“It’s all starting to blur together. Listen, let me handle this. If Joe’s like any other cop he’ll give me a high-five and then we’ll have a beer.”