Men of S.W.A.T.: Tactical Pleasure Read online

  TACTICAL PLEASURE

  An Ellora’s Cave Publication, February 2005

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

  1337 Commerce Drive, #13

  Stow, OH 44224

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0146-X

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  TACTICAL PLEASURE Copyright © 2005 J.C. WILDER

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Warning:

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Tactical Pleasure has been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  Men of SWAT:

  Tactical Pleasure

  J.C. Wilder

  Dedication

  For Lena

  Acknowledgments

  My heartfelt thanks go out to Officer Bryan Schwartz and Officer Doug Staysniak of the Westerville Division of Police. Both men came to my aid in the writing of this novella and any mistakes are entirely my own.

  Chapter One

  “Hey, Randa, when are you going to wise up and run away with me?”

  John Stevens looked up from his breakfast and his gaze automatically lit on the laughing woman standing behind the counter just a few feet away.

  Miranda White, the object of his most heated fantasies for the past six months, tilted back her dark head and laughed. Her cheeks were pink with pleasure and her brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “You just hush your mouth, Jay Barnes. Half the women in town would be crying into their pillows tonight if they heard you talk such nonsense.” She grabbed the coffeepot from the burners behind her, then filled Jay’s oversized white mug. “You’re in love with my lemon cookies, not me.”

  “That’s not true.” Jay picked up a fat, yellow cookie. “I like your chocolate chip ones as well as these.” He bit into it, stifling a groan as he did so.

  “Tease.” She shook her head and moved away to refill other cups.

  John forced his gaze back to his plate. All the guys who frequented Fitzy’s Diner flirted with Randa. She was a great listener and everyone’s pal, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  “Johnny, I need a favor.”

  He didn’t need to look up from his breakfast to see who spoke. Her voice was as familiar as the feel of his gun nestled in the fanny pack around his waist. Her perfume, a pleasing blend of citrus mixing with warm female skin teased his senses and set his body on alert.

  “What do you need, babe?”

  “Well, it’s kind of personal.”

  Her words brought up his head. Randa rarely ever discussed anything personal, or at least so personal she felt the need to use a disclaimer before she’d speak her mind.

  She stood on the other side of the counter, her expression uncertain. Her short cap of dark hair was mussed as if she’d recently run her fingers through it several times. Her bright pink polyester uniform stretched across her ample breasts and his mouth watered. He forced his gaze away from her tempting anatomy.

  “What can I do?” he asked.

  Randa cast an uneasy glance around the diner, causing John to do the same. At two-fifteen in the afternoon, the only other customers were a few of his fellow police officers and a group of city council members seated in the furthest booth. It was a typical Monday afternoon in the sleepy town of Haven.

  “I need your opinion on something.” Propping her elbows on the counter, she leaned close until they were almost nose-to-nose. “How well do you know Picasso?”

  John shot a glance at a man who sat at the other end of the counter. Micah Whitefeather, aka Picasso, was working his way through an impressive stack of blueberry pancakes. With his nose stuck in a book, he appeared to be oblivious to the other occupants in the diner though John knew better than to believe that. Micah was a seasoned officer, though new to Haven’s police department, and John had no doubt he was aware of everything around him. Known for being a loner and not one for idle conversation, Micah had earned his nickname with an off duty passion for sculpting and painting.

  “Don’t look at him,” Randa hissed and grabbed John’s chin to wrench his head back toward her. “He’ll know we’re talking about him.”

  He rolled his eyes. “As if he’ll care. We’re all so tired, we wouldn’t notice a bomb going off.”

  “Did the SWAT team have a call last night?”

  He nodded. “Some fool with a murder warrant in Marion County was armed to the teeth and barricaded himself in the house. He’d taken a few pot shots at the cruisers before they called in the Tri-County Tactical Unit. Lucky for us, by then he was too drunk to give us a hassle.”

  “So you didn’t get to break down doors and toss those noisy grenades? I’ll bet you and the boys were bummed,” Randa teased.

  John couldn’t help but grin. She’d been around cops long enough to understand their psyches and she was right. They’d been disappointed the apprehension hadn’t been more of a challenge.

  “We don’t use grenades. They’re called flash-bangs.” His grin widened at the memory of the suspect’s cheap front door shattering under the combined weight of the battering ram and the two-hundred-and-thirty-pound man who’d wielded it. “We made one hell of an entry though. The shack he was living in might have to be condemned.”

  She fluttered her lashes and held her hands over her heart. “My hero,” she said in a fake southern drawl. “Our city is now safe from that dastardly man—”

  “Hey, Randa, when you’re done serving that old man his prune juice, can you get me some more iced tea?” Kevin Nobs, one of the newest police recruits, called from a booth behind him.

  John turned to level a cool stare at the wet-behind-the-ears officer. He was only thirty-six but in comparison to Nobs, who was twenty-two and had a swagger to rival a seasoned officer, John might appear ancient to the new boot. And if the boy didn’t watch it, he’d get himself into trouble with his cocky attitude and pretty face.

  “Be careful, Kev.” Randa winked at John before she grabbed the iced tea pitcher and sauntered around the counter toward his booth. “Johnny may have socks older than you, boy, but he can still kick your ass without breaking a sweat.”

  John’s gaze followed her curvaceous figure. From the moment he’d met her, he’d been intrigued. She had an easy smile, a quick laugh, beautiful brown eyes that could melt any hardened heart and a body built for sin.

  Short an
d curvy, she was walking, talking sex on two spectacularly shaped legs. Her neat, colorful polyester uniforms sported buttons from neck to hem and those buttons had figured largely in his most indecent fantasies. He’d let his imagination run riot with images of releasing each one to expose the pink flesh of her bountiful breasts. He’d kiss his way down her body, taking time to find and arouse her most sensitive areas. Her nipples, her belly, the soft, wet flesh between her thighs…

  He cleared his throat and pushed away the arousing images of Randa naked. He had to be on duty in less than an hour and he didn’t want to issue tickets with a raging hard-on.

  Kevin leaned toward Randa and whispered something and she laughed in response. From her short cap of dark brown hair to the tips of her sturdy work shoes, she exuded a constant cheerfulness John found refreshing. She could coax a laugh from anyone, even a complete stranger, in mere minutes. Many of the single cops had asked her out at least once and she’d refused every one of them, including him.

  In many ways her sunny disposition, candor and apparent disinterest made her all the more appealing to the opposite sex. She flirted mildly, always careful to never go too far, and she seemed never to want for male attention, which, of course, brought them all circling.

  It also explained why he was nearly obsessed with her.

  John turned back to his plate and poked his omelet with his fork. She’d made it obvious she wasn’t interested in male companionship, not now at least. But that didn’t mean he’d stop trying to convince her otherwise. Sooner or later, he’d have Miranda White in his bed.

  “He’s such a smart-mouth.” Randa returned behind the counter.

  He snorted. “We all are. He’s just more brazen about it.”

  She bent to put the empty pitcher in the bus pan, inadvertently giving him a quick but mouthwatering glimpse down the neckline of her dress. She was wearing a plain white bra, his favorite. The only way that garment would look better was if it were on his bedroom floor.

  He cleared his throat and forced his attention back to their conversation. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Well…” Picking up a dishtowel, she began wiping the already spotless counter. “I need some insider information.” Her cheeks grew flushed.

  He shook his head. “Not again.” He pointed his fork at her. “One of your girlfriends asked you to do recon work about one of the guys, didn’t she? Who is it this time?”

  She avoided his gaze and picked up the stainless steel napkin holder and began cleaning it off. “No, that isn’t it.”

  John’s gaze narrowed. It wasn’t like her to beat around the bush. One of the many things he appreciated about her was her ability to tackle difficult situations head on. Early last year she and her sister had taken over the diner for their ailing Aunt Fitzy and they hadn’t hesitated even though it meant long hours on their feet and the sacrifice of any private life.

  Now, thanks to Ro’s magic touch with good home cooking and Randa’s saucy smile, the diner was usually packed during the daylight hours. Of course, it helped that it was located downtown next to the police department.

  “I was thinking of asking Picasso to the retirement dinner next week,” she blurted.

  Stunned, John sat back. She wanted to what? Her attention was fixed on the saltshaker she was now cleaning and her cheeks were even pinker than before.

  Miranda, the women he’d been chasing for months, wanted to date Picasso?

  He glanced down the length of the counter at the other man whose attention was glued to his book and who was shoveling pancakes into his mouth, oblivious to the stir he’d caused.

  Over John’s dead body would he allow her to date Picasso.

  He stabbed at his omelet with his fork. If she wanted a date for the dinner, then John was just the man to accommodate her. Of course, their date would be a prelude to getting her into bed but she didn’t need to know that up front. It could be so good between them, he just knew it. He wanted her and there was no way he’d let someone else take her anywhere.

  He feigned a nonchalant shrug. “Why bother when we’re all going anyway? You know we’ll end up sitting together and afterward we can hit the Roadhouse for some beers.”

  “But that’s what we always do,” she said. “This time I want to have a date, a real date. I want to walk into that dinner on someone’s arm rather than walking in with a crowd of you guys.”

  “But—”

  “Johnny, you’re not listening to me.” She slapped the dishtowel on the counter and brought his gaze up. Her mouth was set in a mutinous line and he’d never seen her more determined. “I’ve spent the last eighteen months of my life living, breathing and eating this diner. Ro and I have worked our butts off to pull this place together and save it from bankruptcy. We’ve worked twelve- and sixteen-hour days for almost all of that time and, now that we’ve hired competent staff, it’s time to get out and play.”

  “If you want a date, then you’ll go with me, not him.”

  She propped her hands on her hips and the bodice of her uniform pulled tight across her full breasts. His mouth went dry. Her nipples were hard as she leaned toward him and forced his gaze to meet hers.

  “I will not be the Stevens ‘flavor of the month’ for September,” she shot back.

  He dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter and scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”

  She tilted her chin. “It means you go through more women than Maude Parsley goes through support hose.”

  An image of the epic-proportioned Mrs. Parsley came to mind and John could hazard a guess that Randa’s analogy wasn’t meant as a compliment.

  “That wasn’t nice,” he said.

  “The truth hurts.”

  He picked up his fork and muttered, “I think you have a skewed perception of my dating track record.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Your reputation precedes you, Johnny.” She held a finger up. “Last month you were running with Heather from the beauty shop and she could barely keep her hands off you at the last softball game. What happened to her?”

  He shoved a large bite of hash browns into his mouth and mumbled, “We weren’t compatible.” He didn’t want to admit that her inch-long red claws had made him nervous. If he’d dared to take her to bed, there’d been a very real possibility of being scarred for life.

  She held up two fingers. “Before that it was Kathryn from the Parks and Rec department. You two were seen smooching at the Fourth of July picnic, then nothing, nada, zip. Why did you two break up?”

  He shook his head. “Technically, we weren’t ‘going out’. We only dated twice.” And went to bed three or four times but he wasn’t about to admit that to her. He pushed the remains of his omelet around on his plate. “She was on the rebound and we both knew it wouldn’t get serious between us.”

  She began adding more fingers. “Then there was Tiffany from the Fire Department. And before her was Monica, the kindergarten teacher from—”

  Irritated, he dropped his fork again. “Are you quite through?”

  She flashed him an innocent smile. “Heck no. I haven’t even reached last Christmas but I’d run out of fingers before then.” She propped her hip against the counter. “What I’m saying is that I don’t want to be another notch in your gun belt, my friend. With all the woman throwing themselves at your feet, you don’t need my corpse to add to the pile.” She patted him on the arm. “Don’t take it personally, Stud. You’ll give up your alley cat ways when the perfect woman comes along.”

  She already has but she’s too busy arguing with me to see how good it could be between us.

  He pushed that depressing thought away. “Trust me, Picasso’s not the guy for you.”

  “Why not?” She reached under the counter and pulled out a handful of napkins, which she shoved into the dispenser. “He’s new to the department and doesn’t look at me as ‘one of the guys’ and that’s a big plus. He isn’t averse to my company and he’s nice, well-mann
ered, good-looking and employed.” She shrugged. “What more could a woman ask for?”

  “Conversation,” John snorted. “You’re chatty and he’s not.”

  Randa flashed him brilliant smile. “See? We’re perfect for each other.” She pushed the napkin holder aside, then propped her elbows on the counter. “So tell me about him.”

  “He’s a good cop,” he grunted.

  She made a noise of disgust. “I know that. I saw the article about that methamphetamine bust you had last month. He’s had more commendations and felony arrests in the past year then any three officers combined. Pretty soon, he’ll have to pin his medals on the back of his dress uniform since he’ll be out of room on the front. But I already know that stuff.”

  Irritated, John shoved his plate away since she’d ruined his appetite. He was more than a little bothered that she wanted to go out with Picasso. He was the one who’d been lusting after her while Picasso hadn’t even given her a second glance.

  “What exactly do you want to know, Randa?” His tone came out a little sharper than he’d intended and she stood up, her expression confused.

  “Why are you getting crabby?”

  “Maybe it’s because I haven’t slept in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “Well, I’m sorry you had a call but that’s no reason to snap my head off,” she shot back.

  He rose from the stool and pulled out a few bills from his pack. “I need to get to work—”

  “Johnny.” Randa caught him, her slim fingers curled around his wrist and launched a jolt of heat up his arm. “Will you do some recon for me?” She gave him a little smile. “Please?”

  Under other circumstances, would he be able to say no to her? In the past year, she’d become a good friend to many of the guys in the department. She was a trustworthy sounding board and listened for hours when he needed to vent. She’d been there when his father had had a heart attack six months ago and she’d cheered on the department softball team while supplying them with burgers and hot dogs between innings. Through thick and thin, she’d been there no matter what else was going on in her life.