Christos’ eyebrow ratcheted up another notch.

“Have you ever worn ballet slippers?” I demanded. “They’re ninja stealthy.”

Christos’ other eyebrow joined its twin.

“I swear! It wasn’t me! It flushed fine before I went to D.C.!”

Christos smiled broadly, finally letting me off the hook.

“Jerk!” I tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek. “Anyway, thank you for helping.”

“My pleasure.” Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he kissed me affectionately on the cheek. “While I’m at it, do you have any toilet bowl cleaner?”

“What for?” I asked.

“May as well give the bowl a quick once-over while I’m already in here.”

I grabbed a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner from under the sink. He squirted a blue ring under the rim and went to work.

 “Christos, why is it I get all turned on when I see you scrubbing things?”

“All women have an elbow-grease fetish.” He cocked his head and flashed his now-legendary dimpled grin. “It’s a proven fact.” Christos put the bowl brush away and washed his hands. After toweling them dry, he leaned toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Now that I’ve got you all worked up…” he said suggestively.

“Christos,” I rolled my eyes demurely, “Romeo and Kamiko are going to be here any minute. We don’t have time to fool around. I still haven’t picked out an outfit.” Earlier, Christos had told me he had a surprise New Year’s Eve destination in store for all of us. I couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

“You’ll be gorgeous no matter what you wear,” he said, suddenly dipping me like a ballroom dancer.

“Oh!” I gasped.

He grinned.

I gazed into his liquid blue eyes. They bathed me in the light of his love.

He leaned toward me, licking his lips. “Agápi mou,” he murmured.

Phew! His fluid Greek accent melted me every time. My mouth parted as our lips met like lost lovers. We hadn’t kissed in, oh, I don’t know, about thirty minutes. My soul was parched and needed another drink from his sensual fountain. Christos poured himself into our kiss, his tongue caressing the sensitive spot under my upper lip before sliding across my teeth, then deeper into my mouth. My head started to spin.

I didn’t realize my bathroom could be this sexy. The next thing I knew, Christos had pulled me back to standing from our ballroom dip. His palms slid down my back and cupped my ass, huge hands squeezing hypnotically. Jolts of pleasure fingered up into my pelvis. Oh god. How did this man do this to me? I hooked my leg around the back of his, pulling him into me.

“Mmmm,” he moaned. “Aggressive. I don’t remember this behavior. Do I know you?”

I dropped my leg. “Stop, Christos,” I giggled.

“No, don’t stop. I like it when you do that.”

“You do?” Feeling shy, I studied the barbed tattoo that wired around one of his forearms, tracing it lightly with my fingernail.

“Yeah. It’s okay to be confident. I don’t mind one bit.” He grinned and slid a thumb across my cheek lovingly. “Let go, agápi mou. You’re safe with me.”

I gazed up into his eyes.

“Let your hands roam freely, Samantha. Explore my body with your fingertips. Your touch is electric, and powers my heart.”

I grimaced, but laughed and bonked my forehead against his chest. “I’m not San Diego Gas & Electric, Christos.”

“You sure?” he smiled confidently. “You totally light up my life, Samantha.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” I giggled, swatting his rock-hard shoulder.

“And you love it.” He flipped on his thousand-watt dimpled grin.

He was right. I did love it. And I loved him. I lowered my lashes, suddenly shy again. I snuggled my cheek into the black long-sleeve V-neck sweater covering his muscular chest. He was so completely manly, every woman’s fantasy, and he had given himself to me. I’d won the biggest lottery on the planet and had my dream-man all to myself. What more could a girl want?

I inhaled his fresh-washed scent. I could never tell if he wore some sort of exotic cologne, or if that was his natural smell. If it wasn’t cologne, somebody needed to bottle it. They’d make millions. “I love you, Christos,” I whispered, hugging him.

He caressed my neck with one hand while hugging me into his warm embrace with the other. “I love you too, Samantha.”

SAMANTHA

Christos and I hadn’t had any sort of intense sexual activity since before winter break.

Sure, I’d thought about sneaking into the guest bedroom while he’d slept at my parents’ house on a nightly basis. But somehow, the idea of rattling the walls with my wails of ecstasy while Mom and Dad were one room away had spoiled my mood.

Imagine that.

Shudder.

Since arriving in San Diego yesterday, we’d had plenty of first- and second-base hits in the bedroom, but no home runs. I was still somewhat off my game, no pun intended, after dealing with the whole Taylor Lamberth scenario back in D.C. Going to her lawyer and giving my deposition wasn’t exactly sexy or arousing, but it was the right thing to do. Christos totally understood. He always did.

Besides, merely being in D.C. had brought my old demons creeping back.

Bitch. Slut. Whore…

Fortunately, with the loving presence of Christos in my life, my old emotional wounds had started to heal over. I imagined in time, the scars would fade permanently, but it would take more than a few weeks.

Emo. Goth. Witch. Sorceress. Suicide Watch…

I couldn’t wait to get rid of those demons.

Now, wrapped protectively in his arms after conquering my toilet monster, I felt completely at peace. I was totally in love with him. There was no doubt about it. I had been crazy to think Christos was anything like Damian.

So, why did my love for Christos worry me so much?

The only answer that came to mind was that I risked losing him. I supposed that was the price we all paid for love, tolerating the terrible possibility that it could be torn from us in the blink of an eye.

I couldn’t decide what would be worse: never having had Christos in my life at all, or losing him after what we’d been through together. The sudden sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach was evidence that losing him would be far, far worse. I was instantly nauseous, despite Christos’ protective embrace. He couldn’t protect me from unexpected things that happened to him.

I tried to ignore the pressing conviction that I might lose Christos forever. Ugh. I didn’t want to think about it. I took a deep, cleansing breath, intending to sweep away my mental gremlins.

“Is something bothering you, agápi mou?” Christos asked, concern in his voice.

I didn’t want to ruin our mood. It was New Year’s Eve, and Christos had some awesome surprise awaiting me. “Oh,” I said dismissively, “it’s nothing.” I smiled up at him. “I’m fine, as long as I have you.”

He gazed down at me. The look of love I saw shining in his eyes was overwhelming.

CHRISTOS

THREE MONTHS EARLIER…

Afternoon traffic was so bad, it was taking forever to get to the jailhouse downtown.

The cops in the front seat chatted away in low voices, their conversation blending with the squawking Motorola two-way radio bolted to the dash.

Their irritating camaraderie slowly prodded away my good mood. The rugged steel cage between me and them made it seem like I was on the wrong side of a horror movie screen. Officers Happy and Go Lucky got to laugh it up and have a good time while I was tortured by circumstance. Not that I was mad at them. I didn’t know them from nobody.

I tried to focus on thoughts of Samantha again, but the dude cop was so fucking grating, he shredded my happy place with his verbal meat grinder. He smiled constantly, but it was that snarl-smile you see on psychos. I felt bad for his partner sitting next to him, for his wife, his kids, his friends, his unborn grandchildren; whoever the fuck had to put up with him.

 I sighed heavily again.

“You gonna catch the Chargers’ game at the Q on Monday?” the female cop asked Snarl-Smile. Her hand rested casually on the steering wheel, like she was driving to the beach on a Sunday. Too bad we weren’t.

“Bet your ass,” Snarl-Smile replied enthusiastically through his mustache. “I’ve had season tix for five years. Haven’t missed a game. The Chargers are going to slaughter the Texans. I’ve got extra seats, if you want to come out.”

“You bleed blue and gold, Ruiz,” the female cop chuckled.

“Bleed, nothin’. I’ve got lightning bolts shooting through my veins. I’m like the God of Thunder and shit.”

They went on like this for some time, with Ruiz growing increasingly louder as he extolled the winning season the Chargers had waiting for them this year. Listening to his voice was like working in a hammer factory or sitting in the middle of a hand-grenade fight. His cackle-laugh went hyena when he recounted the final moments of the Raiders’ game at the end of last year’s season.

I pictured myself bending the bars between me and him like I was the Incredible Fucking Hulk. I’d choke him out until his eyes popped clear of his skull. Based on his partner’s forced smile, I think she might have thanked me. How did she put up with this guy day-to-day? Maybe earplugs were standard issue for duty officers with assbag partners.

The squad car exited onto the gridded downtown streets and we pulled into the garage at the San Diego Central Jail. Same as I remembered. It looked like a fancy office building on the outside. You might easily mistake it for a place where people in suits and slacks made money hand over fist. That was a lie. On the inside, from what I remembered, it was getting old. Too dark, too dreary, too dirty. I guess that was fitting. The peeling paint and cement decor went with the broken-down people inside.

When Ruiz opened my door, I gave him a friendly nod and a flat smirk, letting him know I wasn’t going to hassle him. He wasn’t worth the trouble. We both knew he held the leash. I stood up to my full height.

“You’re a big one, aren’t you,” Ruiz jabbed.

Okay, he was one of those alpha-dick hotheads. No reason to rile him up. I kept quiet. The female officer came around the car. “You gonna be able to handle him, Ruiz?” she cackled.

Ruiz scoffed. “Don’t start punkin’ me, Fowler. Sissy boy like this? I’ll keep him in line.”

This guy Ruiz was shorter than me, maybe six foot, but he had a small man’s complex all the same. Around me, anyway. They usually did. I arched a brow at Ruiz’s comment, but dropped it before he could see my casual contempt and pounce on it. Guys like him were always looking for an excuse.

“If he gets uppity, I’ll whip out some lightning bolts on his ass.” Ruiz gave me the mad-dog crazy eyes, toying with me.

“You mean you’ll pull your taser?” Fowler prodded, questioning Ruiz’s manhood.

“Hell no! I don’t need it. I can spit lightning, girl.” He grabbed the handcuff chain behind my back and gave it a good yank for effect. “You ain’t gonna make me stun you, are you, son?”

I ignored Ruiz and looked at Fowler. She was kind of cute, with her hair bunned up tight. Had that sexy cop thing going. She had penciled-on eyebrows and wore makeup. A woman who cared about her looks. Her uniform looked tailored to fit her flowing curves and her chest pushed out her kevlar vest substantially. I gave her a mischievous smirk, flashing some dimple. I was all about the more honey approach. If I sweetened up Fowler, maybe she’d run defense between me and Hothead. I could tell Ruiz always brought shit to the party, just so he could swarm all over it.

“Leave him alone, Ruiz,” Fowler laughed, flashing me a smile, which I reciprocated.

It worked every time.

They led me up to the bulletproof doors and we were buzzed in. The relative quiet outside was shattered by howling, screaming humanity inside. A huge fat guy with no shirt and no shoes flailed on the painted cement floor. Probably tripping on meth. Four officers dog-piled him, broiling with professionally restrained rage. Eventually, they cuffed him and zip-tied his ankles, trussing him up. They picked up the perp and carried him through a steel door.

“We gonna have to do you like that, junior?” Ruiz asked me.

“Not me, sir.” I smiled at Fowler when I said it. She liked it. Her duty face went soft, like a teenybopper on a dream date with her favorite heartthrob. I took a moment to silently thank both my parents for good genes.