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  Make Me Yours

  A LINE OF DUTY NOVEL

  Makenna Jameison

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017, 2020 by Makenna Jameison.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Table of Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Be Mine Tonight

  Books by Makenna Jameison

  About the Author

  About This Book

  A dirty-talking cop. A socialite from the Upper East Side. One night of temptation is all they have...

  Lily Franklin and Brock Rollins are the textbook definition of opposites attract. She’s a wealthy socialite. He’s a dirty-talking detective from Brooklyn. Lily always dates the right men, follows her parents’ wishes, and stays out of trouble. But when the sparks fly between Lily and the rough-and-tumble Brock, she can’t resist a too-hot-to-handle night with him. Even if she is playing with fire.

  Brock’s not the type of man to commit to one woman, but he is determined to make Lily his for a night. Convincing her to go home with him should’ve been the hard part—not leaving before he breaks her heart.

  When Brock responds to a robbery in Manhattan late one night, he never expects to rush to Lily’s side. But is he too late to save her—and to make her his?

  MAKE ME YOURS, a standalone novel, is book 1 in the Line of Duty series.

  Chapter 1

  NYPD DETECTIVE BROCK Rollins slammed the case file down on his desk, muttering under his breath. Coffee sloshed out of his Mets mug, splashing onto the manila folder, and he bit out a curse. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, against the rough stubble of his five o’clock shadow, then grabbed a pile of napkins left over from yesterday’s lunch and sopped up the mess.

  With the amount of time he was spending here in his office, he might as well abandon his apartment in Brooklyn for the cramped quarters in the precinct. It wasn’t like he’d been getting any sleep lately anyway.

  Stale vending machine snacks and bad coffee were hardly enough to sustain him though.

  Hell.

  Another weekend, another string of break-ins at a luxury apartment building on the Upper East Side. This latest case only added to the ever-growing pile of folders in his office. The robberies that had been escalating over the summer in secure buildings with doormen on duty and high tech surveillance systems where no one saw a damn thing just didn’t add up.

  Had to be an inside job.

  He crumpled up the notes he’d jotted down earlier and tossed the paper across the room into the trashcan. The balled-up paper landed neatly on top of the others he’d already chucked in there earlier.

  The hell with it.

  Hauling ass down to the precinct on a Saturday afternoon hadn’t done squat. Not when he was still in the exact same place in the investigation he’d been yesterday. And the day before that. He hadn’t gleaned a single new piece of information from the latest incidents. The crime scene techs had already swept through—there was no forcible entry, no fingerprints that didn’t belong there. No other shred of evidence that would prove useful to building a case.

  Jesus Christ.

  It was the perp’s standard MO—quietly break in, steal a few high-end items from the residents, and slip out without anyone noticing until the owners returned home.

  Fucking fantastic.

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, watching all of Manhattan go by through the tilted blinds on the window. Cabs honked in stalled traffic, New Yorkers bustled along the crowded sidewalk, and tourists walked around snapping selfies on their smart phones. He’d be out in the mass of humanity soon, too, slipping into his unmarked vehicle to go meet a buddy of his for drinks at a bar.

  Hell if he couldn’t use a few beers after the headache this damn investigation was giving him. Maybe something stronger than that. Like a whole damn bottle of whiskey.

  Except he never drank liquor. Not after his own asshole, alcoholic of a father walked out on his family when he was just a kid. He’d seen what that shit could do—leaving his mother struggling alone with three young kids. There was never enough money for the bills, never enough food on the table. Never enough of anything.

  But he and his brother had shielded their kid sister and made do. He’d joined the NYPD after high school. And Brent had joined the military—become a Navy SEAL. And his sister...shit.

  His sister’s life had been taken far too soon. She was the reason Brock worked as hard as he did, chasing down criminals, solving cases, dedicating his life to the NYPD. He didn’t let it eat him up inside like Brent, but it was there. Always in the back of his mind. He liked to think he protected others in her memory.

  Brock ground his jaw as he again eyed the casefile.

  His captain poked his head in the office, raising his eyebrows. “You’re here, too, Rollins?”

  “Murphy called me,” Brock grunted. “Told me about the latest incident. I was hoping I could pick up some new info before Monday, but it looks like another dead end. Busted my ass to get in here for no new leads. Gotta love traffic in Manhattan on a Saturday.”

  The captain chuckled. “Been commuting in my entire career.”

  Brock smirked. “The rich get richer—”

  “And we keep working. We’ll catch a break soon. They’re bound to make a mistake—get sloppy. And you’re a good detective, Rollins. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  “Just don’t want to see anyone hurt,” Brock muttered.

  “Hasn’t been the MO so far, but I agree. Cases like these can quickly escalate—the robbers get a little braver every time.”

  “Damn straight. All we need is the perp walking in on a family with young kids. A woman alone.” His fist clenched, anger coursing through him. His sister had been killed years ago by a vengeful ex-boyfriend. While he’d been here in New York. Although this string of robberies over the summer pointed to some petty crime that eventually led to grand larceny, no one had been injured yet. Or killed. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t be if this continued.

  “There are still uniforms on the scene now. Good cops. Hopefully we’ll know more soon.”

  “Yep,” Brock muttered.

  “I stopped in to pick up some files but am headed out. Gotta get home to the wife and kids. You’ve been working too much on this case anyway. It’s goddamn Saturday night. Go out, meet a pretty girl, get your mind off work for a change.”

  Brock smirked.

  “Yeah, yeah. No need to take advice from me. The old guy.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  “Smartass.”

  Footsteps echoed down the hall as the captain walked away. The man was about as close as Brock ever had to a father figure. When his own dad had walked out on his family, he’d let them fend for themselves without so much as a backward glance. And Brock sure as shit wasn’t planning on any of that. Not the wife, not the kids—not the whole damn thing.

  Besides, being a detective with the NYPD required him to work well outside the normal nine to five hours most New Yorkers were accustomed to. The other guys on the force were constantly missing dinners, little league games, not to mention evenings at home with their wives. If he was ever looking to settle down, which he wasn
’t, he sure as shit would want to be there every night.

  But hell. Playing the field was pretty fucking fantastic. Manhattan and the outer boroughs were filled with beautiful, single women. No sense in settling for one when he could choose the flavor of the week. Hell, the flavor of the night if he wanted. He could spend the rest of his life with a new woman every evening. Preferred it that way.

  No harm, no foul.

  He clipped his badge back onto his belt, hidden beneath the blazer he’d thrown on over his jeans. His weapon was snug in its holster. It would’ve been better if he could’ve left work at home before a night out, but that was the hazard of the job. Most women seemed to be turned on by the authority of it anyway.

  He straightened to his full six-feet two-inches, glancing out the window again at the bustling city. Jake was probably already on his way in from Brooklyn thanks to a night off from the K-9 unit. And Colt already nabbed a date for the night, so he was probably a few drinks on his way to scoring right now.

  Brock smirked.

  Babes, booze—no better way to spend a Saturday night. He’d kick back and enjoy a few beers then persuade some pretty little thing to come home with him. Spend the next several hours getting to know her.

  Intimately.

  Women were always prowling around the bars of Manhattan wearing sexy little dresses and tight as fuck jeans. He barely even had to imagine what they’d look like undressed—some women figured the more skin they showed, the better. They’d flaunt their bodies, and hell if he didn’t appreciate that.

  A new woman in his bed every weekend was hardly a chore. Not when landing some sweet pussy was the end result. Not when he could strip a woman down, pleasure her for hours, and then sink straight into heaven.

  His groin tightened just thinking about the woman he’d been with a few nights ago—a brunette with big tits and a thing for cops. Hell, he’d even let her role play a little with him, doing the whole, “Officer, what can I do to get out of this ticket?” spiel. He wasn’t usually into that sort of thing, preferring instead just to get down and dirty, but if it got her going, he’d been more than happy to acquiesce.

  Come to think of it, her number was still in his phone. She’d punched it in herself as she’d smiled seductively at him while draped across his bed wearing nothing but skimpy little panties, her tits on full display.

  Fucking shame, really, that he didn’t spend more than one night with a woman.

  He quickly thumbed through the contact list on his phone and deleted her number.

  Women like her were a dime a dozen anyway. More than willing to enjoy a few drinks and a quick fuck. Maybe even an entire night together. The sex might have been off the charts, but where was the challenge in bedding a woman like that? She’d thrown herself at him at a bar in Brooklyn, and he’d been all too happy to take the bait.

  Hell. It had almost been too easy.

  Brock shut down the computer in his office and flipped off the light switch, grinning for the first time today. He was up for a challenge tonight. Someone a little different. Women throwing themselves at cops weren’t exactly a new thing. And somehow he and his buddies looked the part whether they were in uniform or not.

  But the thrill of the chase was fun, too. And sometimes the women that were hardest to get were the best reward of all.

  Chapter 2

  LILY FRANKLIN STRODE into the over-crowded bar in midtown Manhattan, graceful even in her stiletto heels, and scanned the crowd for her best friend. A mass of bodies, pounding music, and loud, alcohol-fueled conversations made it seem like all of New York City had descended on the popular Saturday night spot.

  Women in dark, skinny jeans and trendy little tops darted between Wall Street types, drinks and clutches in hand. Men stood in clusters, glancing at their smart phones and flirting with pretty women. Groups of twenty- and thirty-somethings filled all the available space, and the dance floor tucked away in back was packed with couples moving to the music.

  So much for a low-key evening.

  She sighed, blowing a wisp of blonde bangs aside. After spending the afternoon at her sister’s ritzy baby shower, politely declining as all her mother’s friends had offered to set her up with their wealthy stockbroker sons, she wanted nothing more than to decompress for the evening. Her best friend Morgan had texted her earlier, and the two women had arranged to meet here. They could grab a few drinks, catch up, and maybe harmlessly flirt with a few men.

  Then she’d return to her immaculate apartment and high society life, with every aspect of it, down to the very last minute of each and every day, already planned for her. Gym at five in the morning, breakfast at seven, committee meeting after committee meeting, not to mention luncheons, afternoon teas, hair appointments and manicures, fancy dinner parties thrown by her parents’ wealthy friends....

  Her heart beat faster in a panic as she thought of the endless parade of charity events she’d need to attend this week, where she’d nod thoughtfully and make polite small talk with wealthy women who thought the world revolved around them.

  Just like her own mother.

  Was it possible to suffocate in a room full of people? Because she just might if she had to endure any more of her mother’s charitable endeavors. Not when it was more about the women showing off the latest designer fashions or expensive jewels and discussing the multiple European vacations their families took each year. Not when the entire charade was about anything other than actually helping other people.

  Most of those events were all a façade, just like her own life. Pretty and shiny on the outside, but somewhat meaningless when you dug deeper.

  Lily drew a deep breath and smoothed the pink satin dress she had on, wishing she’d taken a cab back to her place to change first. Or planned accordingly if she was going to duck out of her sister’s celebration early.

  Although the beautiful dress was perfectly suited for the elegant shower thrown in her sister’s honor earlier in the afternoon, it wasn’t exactly what anyone would consider appropriate for drinks in a midtown bar on a Saturday night. Not when all the other women had on little black dresses and trendy jeans.

  She’d been desperate to get away from the stuffy crowd at the shower though, and her sister had understood as Lily had slipped out the front door, unnoticed, as the festivities began to wind down. She’d barely felt like she fit in with her own family today, but who was she kidding? She hardly blended in with this crowd either, sticking out like a sore thumb in her pink cotton candy confection.

  Morgan would probably tease her for showing up dressed like she’d come from high tea with the queen or something, but who was she kidding? That’s what best friends were for. The two of them had hit it off as roommates their freshman year at NYU and had been virtually inseparable ever since. Lily had majored in pre-law, and while she had hoped to attend law school, her parents had convinced her that serving on committees for their various charities around Manhattan would be more appropriate.

  Appropriate for landing a husband, perhaps, Lily thought dryly.

  Anyway, it’s not like she needed the salary a career as a Manhattan lawyer would provide—not with her ample trust fund. Wanting and needing her dream job, however, were two very different things. There were only so many charity committees she could serve on, fundraisers she could attend, and wealthy women she could politely smile at before she lost her ever-loving mind.

  Her best friend Morgan was her opposite in every way: laid back where Lily was uptight, free-spirited and carefree where Lily was always cautious and conscious of appearances. Morgan had put herself through school, struggling every bit of the way, and was now doing what she’d always dreamed of, teaching underprivileged children.

  How ironic was it that Lily wanted to swap lives with Morgan in a New York minute just to be able to do what she loved, too?

  She walked toward the bar, putting those thoughts aside for the moment. Her calves were starting to kill her in her stiletto heels, but she’d be damned if she was
seen wearing flats with a fancy dress. She needed to always look the part, and besides, why bother with flats when she had a car service to drive her around?

  The sophisticated updo she was still sporting felt ridiculous as she edged through the crowd, but she was desperate for a drink. Anything to put the memories of the afternoon behind her as quickly as possible.

  The young bartender barely blinked at her out-of-place attire, hastily pouring shots for a group of women as he nodded in Lily’s direction. “What can I get started for you?

  “Gin and tonic.”

  “Coming right up.”

  She reached up to pull the pins out of her updo, and long blonde strands cascaded down past her shoulders, making her feel slightly less uptight and out of place in the bar’s trendy interior. Maybe if she was sitting down she’d at least blend in a little in the pink dress she was wearing—not that there was an empty barstool to be found.

  Where was Morgan anyway?

  “I love your dress,” the woman to her right commented. “The cut is fantastic.”

  Lily’s gaze flicked toward the woman, who was dressed in trendy dark jeans, a skimpy halter top, and an expensive black leather jacket. “I just came from my sister’s baby shower,” Lily commented dryly.

  “I hear ya. I’d need a strong drink after that, too.”

  Lily smiled as the woman walked away, her laughter trailing behind her. A strong drink or five should do the trick.

  She glanced around again, wondering if she’d somehow missed her best friend, taking in the clusters of Manhattanites. As her gaze swept back, suddenly she felt a set of male eyes on her. Eyes belonging to someone tall, dark, and mysterious, she noted, as he watched her from across the crowded bar. He wasn’t exactly her usual type, with a day’s worth of dark stubble across his chiseled face and shortly cropped dark hair. His broad shoulders were encased by a dark blazer, but he had jeans on, giving his whole ensemble kind of a rough-and-tumble look. Her heartbeat quickened as she met his eyes, and heat coiled through her, snaking its way from her belly down to her core.