“What do you want from me, Steele?”
Urgently he drew Judith flush against his chest. “You know what I want—” He groaned at the feel of her lower body pressuring his. “You. In bed.”
She could barely breathe. “Me and the Great Protector, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t need a man to protect me, Steele.”
“Sully,” he corrected, the tantalizing flick of his tongue coming after the hoarsely spoken name, sending delicious feelings swirling through her. “You said you’d call me Sully if I was good.”
And he was good. Judith couldn’t stop herself from wreathing her arms around his neck. Nobody had ever kissed her like this. Each thrust of his tongue was creating waves of internal pleasure. For so long she’d hoped a man would sweep into her life and arouse her in a way she couldn’t deny. “Just kiss me.”
His voice was almost a growl. “What the hell do you think I’m doing?”
“Talking.”
“Not anymore.” And with that he carried her off to bed.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the third book in my BIG APPLE BACHELORS miniseries, set in New York City. While each book can stand alone, you’ll remeet characters I hope you’ve come to love in previous stories. Now you’re about to meet the oldest, sexiest Steele brother, a man who’s known as The Protector.
Like his younger brothers, Captain Sullivan Steele is one of New York’s finest and hails from a great city with a legendary heart. Sullivan is intense and passionate, and I hope his story will deliver everything I love about Harlequin Temptation novels—great sex, lots of emotion and a terrific happy ending that leaves you feeling good.
With all my best wishes,
Jule McBride
Meet all of New York’s finest in the BIG APPLE BACHELORS miniseries
Truman is The Hotshot
Rex is The Seducer
Sullivan is The Protector
The Protector
Jule McBride
MILLS & BOON
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To my favorite cop, David Shifren, for serving, protecting and writing great novels—not to mention being excellent company during so many fine dinners
Contents
1
A month ago…
“YOUR FATHER’S GUILTY.” Framed in the doorway to the squad room with uniformed officers milling behind her, Judith Hunt stood before him, her posture perfect. She was wearing a gray silk suit with a jacket most people would have removed due to the summer heat. Farther behind her, through a window, sunlight glanced off the jagged steel Manhattan skyline in hot metallic flashes. “You know it,” she continued, surveying him through suspicious blue eyes, “and I know it, Steele.”
Steele, Sully thought. She usually used his last name, probably because she knew it grated on his nerves; on the rare occasion she used his first, it was always “Sullivan,” never “Sully.”
Standing behind his desk, he glanced down at the files littering the surface, his attention settling on a festive mug the officers had given him last Christmas. To Captain Steele: the Great Protector, it said, invoking Sully’s nickname. The mug, when presented, had been brimming over with red-and-green condoms.
At least his men knew he was dedicated to ensuring safety. And unlike Judith, they had a sense of humor. Realizing with a start that she was scrutinizing his possessions, Sully shifted his eyes to hers again. He hated that he was reassessing everything now, wondering what conclusions Judith was drawing about him from the items, but he was glad the files made him look busy, which he was, and that she’d noticed the mug, since it showed his men cared.
The only thing Sully regretted was the ship in a bottle. Too personal, he decided. He’d built the ships when he was a kid, and he’d brought some into the office from a collection he’d otherwise divided between his parents’ home and his downtown apartment. Built inside a Scotch bottle, the English galleon had five raised sails. It was from the late sixteenth century, with a sleek hull and low superstructure that rose toward a slate-and-teal-painted quarterdeck.
She arched an eyebrow. “A pirate ship?”
He shrugged with a casualness he never really felt in her presence, though why, he didn’t know, since he was no stranger to beautiful women. Many times, his job had taken him into the homes of actresses and models. “Doesn’t that figure?” he inquired mildly. “After all, my father’s a crook, right?”
“I’m not sure a pirate ship’s an appropriate ornament for the desk of a precinct captain,” she agreed calmly.
“I find flying a Jolly Roger very appropriate, Ms. Hunt.”
“The Jolly Roger?”
“Jolie Rouge,” Sully clarified, the French words feeling sensual in his mouth as he nodded toward the ship. “A red flag. They were meant to communicate that no quarter would be given. That any battle would be to the death.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” A heartbeat passed. “And thanks for the history lesson.”
“No problem,” he returned amiably. “Where better than a precinct headquarters