My gaze follows his, and with the butterflies in my stomach and my skin buzzing with both alcohol and desire, I stop retreating.
I stare at the bed, swallowing a lump in my throat. It’s large, covered with an olive green comforter that looks thick and irresistibly soft. The pillows look fluffy and I bet they would be cool against my heated cheeks.
My frazzled nerves jump all together, and in different directions. I try to breathe calmly, but my breaths come in short, sharp pants.
What am I doing?
What are we doing?
I’ve only ever been with one person—Peck—and those memories are far from stellar. Before him, I’d only had one other semi-serious boyfriend. I was in grade ten and we messed around a bit, but it was all relatively innocent.
But whatever it is that’s happening between us right now is nothing like what I felt with Peck. Jason rouses something inside of me. Something electric and thrilling, that stirs warmth in my lower belly.
I hesitate before slowly pulling my eyes away from the bed, and back to him. He’s grinning, dimples on full display. The sudden urge to lick those dimples strikes me.
Wait, what?
Lick his dimples?
Ugh! Stupid hormones.
What the heck has gotten into me?
It’s not that I’m against sex, especially not sex with Jason. Actually, I like the idea of it, but I don’t think I have the right emotional equipment right now to handle the consequences.
Slowly, I shake my head. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
He laughs under his breath, taking another step toward me. “Yes, you are.”
“I’m serious, Jason,” I say, inching back further into the room. “We just met a few days ago. Buzzed or not, I’m not that kind of girl.”
He chuckles, cocking a brow. “What about last night?”
My eyes round. I think I should be offended. The insinuation isn’t only in his words, but also burning in his heated, liquid brown eyes.
But his voice. Oh God, his voice.
It’s low, intimate, sending a brush of heat across my skin, making me feel delirious.
I like it.
I like it a lot.
But I dislike the tingle of insecurity that follows even more.
“Last night was a mistake,” I scoff.
“A mistake,” he repeats, his eyes still on mine as he takes one more step, planting himself into my little bubble of personal space.
“Okay, maybe that was the wrong word,” I mumble and my gaze involuntarily slides back to the bed. “It was an accident.”
Jason takes my hand, tugging on it, and I topple into him, breasts to chest, as his other hand winds tight around my waist. “Relax, darlin’,” he says softly, his nose brushing against my ear. “We already covered this. I like having you in my arms and I want you in my arms while I’m sleeping.”
Right, sleep. He intends to sleep. I don’t know if I believe that.
I flush and decide to stay quiet, sucking on my bottom lip. Clearly speaking isn’t doing me any favors here. My heart is thumping and my blood pumping.
I don’t like the effect he has on me.
No. Wait. That’s not true. I love it; I just don’t know what to do with it.
It scares me, but it also feels good. Great, in fact. The way he can turn me into a trembling babbling mess with just a smile or a light touch. And his dimples. Good God, those dimples have the power to make my body boneless in less than a second.
“So you’re gonna sleep here,” he continues, “with me, in my bed.”
I’m stunned by his words, by the confidence in his tone. He leans back slightly, keeping his arm firmly around my waist just above my hips, and as he watches me, his eyes slowly change. It’s not a concerned look or a sexy look. It’s deep, seeing all of me, seeing through me. It touches something deep inside and I feel my discomfort edge away.
He sees it. At the moment, I don’t know if I love his perceptiveness or loathe it. He grins, leaning forward and brushing a barely there kiss on my lips, before he lets me go and crosses the room to the closet. He pulls open the door and grabs a dark tee from a shelf, tossing it to me. I catch it—barely—and hold it up, raising a brow in question.
“You can sleep in that.”
“Okay,” I whisper, but he doesn’t wait for my answer. He’s already pulling off his shirt, and shucking off his pants, and then he’s standing in front of me, wearing nothing but a pair of gray boxer briefs.
I’m stunned as I look him over; my grip on the T-shirt he tossed me tightens as I get my first real look at him.
My God.
He’s gorgeous.
He’s lean and long. Slim hips, narrow waist, broad shoulders. He’s muscular, defined in a way that doesn’t come from going to the gym for hours on end, but from hard manual labor. A light smattering of hair dusts his chest. And that sexy V that dips into his boxer briefs … I lick my lips as something hot and wild shifts through me, settling into my core.
Jason’s eyes drop to my mouth and then back up. One eyebrow cocks and a glimmer of amusement returns to his gaze. “Darlin’,” he says, his voice impossibly deep, “you keep licking your lips like that while staring at me the way you are, and you’ll find that tongue of yours playing with mine.”
Oh my God.
I want that.
I really, really want that.
Heat spreads over my skin as though flames are licking me all over. I’m speechless. There’s no teasing in his stare. My legs wobble and it’s all I can do to keep my tongue from swiping across my lips once more.
I say nothing. Good God, I’m so worked up I can barely think as I cross the room to the master bathroom and quickly close myself in.
I go straight to the sink, turn on the taps, and splash cool water on my face, before resting my hands on the counter.
What the heck was that?
No.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t agonize or analyze.
Just get ready for bed.
I take my time stripping out of my clothes and pulling on the T-shirt. It’s large, falling just above my knees and I fiddle with the hem for a moment, before heading back out into the room, my steps slow. I’m in no rush to face him again, not knowing exactly what I’m getting myself into here.
The lights are already turned off; only a small table lamp on the nightstand offers light to the large room. He’s in bed looking fully at ease. He’s not at all bothered by having me take over his house, his bedroom or his bed, it seems.
Does anything get to him?
Somehow, him being so calm and cool makes me even more nervous than I was before.
He glances my way as I approach the bed and he smiles, a warm easy smile, as he flips the covers back for me.
The bed dips as I climb up. It’s soft, so, so soft, like a marshmallow, and I sink in, pulling the covers up around me.
Jason turns out the light, and the bed shifts as he settles in. I don’t realize that my body is so tense until his hand seeks me out, snaking an arm around my belly and tugging me across the bed, until my back is flush against his front.
“Relax, darlin’,” he murmurs, shifting my body, and pulling me closer. “We’re just gonna sleep.”
“Okay,” I say quietly, not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved by his statement.
Once I’m settled into him, he sweeps my hair aside and kisses my neck. There’s something about the gentleness of his lips against my skin that eases my coiled muscles. I feel safe here, with him. Safe, and oddly enough, cherished. His hand slips under my shirt, sliding along my midriff, and my skin tingles from the warmth of his touch.
“Night, darlin’,” he murmurs against my skin.
I sigh, content, and press closer to his heat. “Night, Jase.”
It only takes about five minutes before I’m dead to the world.
Chapter Fifteen
Jason
I wake up in darkness to the sharp chime
of the doorbell.
Elena’s warm body is pressed against my side and her hot breath fanning over my chest. Her leg is cocked up, knee draped over my thighs, and my palm is full of a firm, round ass cheek.
I thought it had been the limited space on the couch, but it wasn’t. Elena is a full contact sleeper.
I’ve never enjoyed having a woman wrapped up around me while I sleep. Never really liked them spending the night in my space, either. But this … waking up to the feel of her soft body wrapped around mine … I fuckin’ love it.
The doorbell chimes again, one, two, three times, in quick succession.
Groaning, not wanting to move just yet, I rub my eyes, and turn my head, blinking at the alarm clock.
Four in the morning.
It’s probably Wes. He’s the only person I can think of that would ring a goddamn doorbell at four in the morning. He probably lost his keys again. I have half a mind to leave him out there.
Elena makes a disgruntled noise from the back of her throat and blinks her eyes open. My eyes meet hers and the sudden fear in her gaze that greets me makes my stomach coil and my chest ache.
“Who would ring a doorbell so early?” she whispers, her voice trembling over the words.
She has a right to be concerned.
She’s been running for so long that I bet the emotion is most likely second nature to her.
Still, I don’t like seeing it.
“It’s probably Wes,” I explain calmly, rubbing a gentle circle onto her back. “He has a habit of losing his keys.”
She glances at the bedroom door briefly before her eyes dart back to me, surprised and dubious.
She doesn’t believe me.
The doorbell sounds again, this time, long and drawn out. The bastard is holding the button down. It lasts for a few long seconds before the house grows quiet again.
I’m gonna kill him.
I linger there for a moment, enjoying the feel of Elena pressed against me before I gently move her aside, and climb out of bed.
Sitting up fully, she tilts her head slightly to the side. “Why would he be back so soon?”
I cross the room, picking up my jeans from where I dropped them haphazardly on the floor last night. I have no idea why he’d be back here so early. He only just left a few hours ago.
“Jason?” she prompts, when I don’t respond right away. Her voice is worried, strained, causing my skin to prickle. I try to unwind the coiling in my gut and pull back my own unease before she has a chance to feed off of it.
I inch toward her slowly, keeping my expression light and unworried, as I watch her face pale and her expression turn tense. She’s starting to panic.
“Go back to sleep, darlin’,” I say. “It’s just the doorbell.”
Elena isn’t listening. I don’t think she even hears my voice. Her eyes are wide and she frantically tosses the covers back, scrambling to get out of bed. “I … I can’t. I have to … Oh God.”
Before she can fully get out of bed, I reach out and grab her shoulder, stopping her. “Settle down, Elena,” I say. “Everything’s fine. If Peck left New York, we would know it long before he showed up here. Liam’s watching him, remember?”
“No.” She shakes her head anxiously. “No, I—”
“Darlin’,” I call, shifting her body to face me.
“What?”
I place a light kiss on her lips before stepping back. “Please be quiet and go back to sleep.”
Elena just stares at me.
And she stares.
And stares.
Her eyes glitter brightly with anger. I feel as though her stare is burning right through me. It is, by far, the longest stare I’ve ever endured.
She doesn’t want to listen to me.
I don’t blame her for it, but the fact remains, she doesn’t have any other options right now.
And she wants to trust me. She wants to believe that I can keep her safe. I can see it in her gaze. I think that’s the part that’s freaking her out the most.
She feels comfortable here—with me.
“Fine,” she snaps, finally dropping her eyes from mine. She flops back onto the bed, yanking the covers up to her chin. “Fine.”
I dress quickly, pulling on my jeans and a tee in the dark, and leave the bedroom without looking back at her. I don’t want to see the fury or the fear in her expression.
I’m going to kill Wes. Fucking strangle him for freaking her out like this.
Elena
My stomach is in knots as Jason leaves the bedroom and closes the door with a final click. I hate it. Absolutely loathe it. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to let go of the unease that’s choked me for the last year.
The alcohol has left my system, leaving me feeling sweaty and gross and a touch sick. Every part of my body thirsts for water just as much as my brain urges me to get up and hide.
Do I really think it’s Peck at the door?
No. No, I don’t.
Jason’s right. We’d know Peck left New York long before he found me and turned up here. But I also don’t believe it’s Wes.
The bed feels entirely too big without Jason here. And cold. Cold and empty. I’m tangled up in the blankets, the sheets wrapped around my feet all scrunched at the bottom of the bed. I know he’s only been gone a few minutes, but it feels as though I’ve been lying here waiting for hours, maybe even days.
I strain my ears, but the house is silent. I hear nothing. No whispered voices, no footsteps. It doesn’t sound as though anyone is in the house other than me, and when he doesn’t return quickly, my anxiety grows, making me restless.
I’m agonizing over what to do, wondering if I should go down there and see for myself who it is. I know I won’t be able to sleep again until I figure it out. The fear will eat at me. It already is; twisting up my stomach and making me feel sick.
Good God, this constant fear inside me is crazy.
“Yeah, it is,” I mumble to myself, burying deeper into the covers. But it’s better to be on edge and careful, I think, then to let him find me again.
Despite the relentless urge to know who’s here, I stay put because Jason’s right; it’s just a doorbell.
Jason
I head downstairs, quickly making my way through the house. When I reach the door, I flip on the front light, unlock it, and pull it open right away.
“What the—” I start, and then stop, momentarily stunned.
It’s not Wes.
Detective Cruz stands on the other side of the door. His shoulders square as I glare at him, but it’s not in confrontation, rather it’s as though he’s making an effort not to show his exhaustion.
“Cruz,” I say and step out onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind me. “It’s four in the morning.”
He blinks at me, his blue eyes are bloodshot and ringed with dark circles, and his mouth flattens into a line. “Yes, Jason, it is.”
His tone is harsh, and his gaze, critical. He stands there, silent, watching the door as though he’s waiting for it to open.
He looks borderline furious.
I don’t like it.
Not one bit.
And I don’t know what to make of it.
“What do you want?” I ask needlessly, already knowing why he’s here. The manila file clutched in his hand gives it away. He did the search, found what I need on Elena’s brother.
His tired eyes meet mine, surveying me, studying me, as he holds up the file folder. “I brought the stuff you asked for.”
I regard him curiously, shoving my hands in my pockets as I lean back against the wall beside the door. “At four in the morning?”
“Yeah, well, I just finished up at the station,” he says and shrugs. “Figured I’d stop on my way home.”
That, I can believe.
Cruz is the hardest working detective I know.
I respect him for it.
And at the moment, I’m grateful for it.
“Thanks.” I reac
h out a hand to accept the file, but he doesn’t pass it over. Instead, he flips it open, thumbing through the pages.
“Andrew Reed,” he mumbles. “A long line of misdemeanors and a felony charge for trafficking two years ago. Seems he made a deal on that one, all charges were dropped.” He pauses mid-way through, tapping the page. “Says here that his sister’s been missing for a year.”
I quash a flinch as his eyes survey me in a way that I suspect he does while questioning a suspect. “Huh.”
His eyes narrow angrily at my minimal response as though I’ve offended him.
Maybe I have.
It’s not the first time.
I’m sure it won’t be the last.
“She’s engaged to an officer,” he continues stonily. “Lawrence Peck. A good man. He’s top of the chain in his division, active in the community, even coaches a special needs basketball team. Upstanding citizen, it seems. Things went downhill for a bit after his girl disappeared, but that’s to be expected.”
I gaze back at him, keeping my expression carefully blank, and nod my head to acknowledge his words. “Okay.”
He closes the file and glances back up, his eyes cutting to the door and holding there for a moment, before settling back on me. “He’s the same officer that uses this Andrew Reed as an informant.”
He knows.
I can see it in his eyes.
I don’t know how, but he knows she’s here.
I stand there, not moving, watching him as he watches me. His lips twitch ever so slightly with a ghost of a smile. He sees my realization. He thinks I’m going to enlighten him without him having to ask the questions.
At another time, I might.
Perhaps if he hadn’t just given Peck a glowing recommendation, I would.
But his words make me think that he wouldn’t be too keen on the idea that Peck might not be the good guy here.
I hold his stare for a moment longer, before casually asking, “Are you done?”
“No,” he says. “No, I’m not done.”
“You know,” I say. “This is really none of your business.”
He looks at me incredulously before the smile returns and he chuckles. “Do I look like a ditchable prom date to you?”