“Me too,” I admitted softly.
“I just hope you don’t regret it.”
My gaze flew to his. “What?”
“I . . . I keeping thinking about that woman and what the mayor had said,” he explained. “I don’t want it all to stress you out, because it had to be hard for you to come back here, and for this to happen? It’s messed up.”
I relaxed a little. “It won’t stress me out. I’m not going to regret coming back here, Jason.”
He smiled, but something about it didn’t feel right—didn’t seem real—and I knew right then, he didn’t believe me.
Getting ready for dinner with Cole felt like I was getting ready for a date. Half my clothes were strewn across my bed. I’d changed no less than three times, finally settling on a pair of questionably slimming dark denim jeans I wasn’t sure I could sit comfortably in and a sheer black sweater that required a camisole underneath. I paired the outfit with my knee-high gray boots, which were my absolute favorite.
I went for the whole natural, not-trying-too-hard look, which equated to thirty minutes of applying a face full of natural makeup and about forty minutes of waving my hair.
My heart raced the entire time I was getting ready, and I couldn’t recall feeling this way before the dates I had in the last couple of years. Sure, I’d been fairly excited about them, but this was different. I felt like my heart was trying to throw itself out of my chest.
Luckily Mom was busy with the couple that was checking in, and I was able to slip out without having to witness her happy dance. Mom didn’t necessarily trust me with backing the truck up and not taking out a family of four in the process.
Grinning at that thought, I unlocked the door and climbed in, dropping my purse on the seat next to me. I turned on the car and doubt seized me with blunt, heavy claws, digging in and locking up every muscle.
Was I doing the right thing?
“Crap,” I whispered and then reached over, rooting around in my bag until I found my phone. I called Miranda.
She answered on the second ring. “Yo.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice sounding strained to my own ears.
“Leaving the school, and I’m either going to go to the gym or Burger King,” she said, and I smiled. “And you should be on your way to Cole’s.”
“Well . . .”
“Sasha!” she shouted. “You better be on the way to his house or I’m seriously going to kick your ass.”
A laugh burst out of me, but I quickly sobered. “Am I doing the right thing?”
There was a pause. “Oh, honey, I think you are, but only you can answer that.”
I exhaled heavily as I stared out the windshield, watching the blue hues of the sky deepen. “I think I am.”
“Let me ask you three questions,” she said. “Are you excited?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to see him?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And do you think you’re going to regret it if you don’t see him tonight?” she asked.
I knew I would, and I also knew that there was a great chance that Cole wouldn’t be as forgiving this time. The fact that he was so forgiving over the way I left last time still blew me away. “I would regret it.”
“Then I think you know the answer, babe.”
I did. I was just being a big freak. “Okay. I’m going.”
“Good,” she replied. “This is good. Trust me. You don’t want to look back on this moment and regret you didn’t go to him.”
Something in the way she spoke said she had personal experience with that kind of regret. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I nibbled on my lip. “I don’t know. Anyway, you should go to the gym and then go to Burger King. Best of both worlds.”
Miranda laughed. “I love the way you think. Now go have fun.”
As soon as I hung up the phone, I got on the road so I didn’t give myself any more time to freak out. Cole hadn’t stayed long yesterday, but he’d given me his address before leaving.
Taking the interstate, it took about fifteen minutes to get to the other side of the county, and the directions for the exit took me about five minutes down the road and into a newish-looking subdivision that overlooked the Potomac River.
I clenched the steering wheel as I crept down the street, peering at the houses. He’d said it was the seventh from the entrance, on the left. There was a lot of green space between each home, at least an acre and maybe more. Squinting, I emitted a low squeak when I spotted what had to be his home.
Cole had a ranch-style house that sat a decent distance from the road. Focusing on each breath, I pulled into the driveway that led up to a two-car garage and killed the engine. I couldn’t sit out in the car for an eternity like I had when I first arrived back in town. I got my hopefully slimmed-down ass out of the front seat.
A motion detector kicked on, lighting up the grounds. The front of his house was nicely landscaped with trimmed bushes and a dark reedy plant I was unfamiliar with.
Reaching the front porch, I inhaled the earthy wet scent of the nearby river and stepped up. The porch light snapped on and the front door opened.
Cole was suddenly in the doorway, a red-and-white checkered dishtowel in one hand and a soft grin on his striking face. “Come on in.”
I smiled as he stepped aside and did as he requested. The door opened up into an entry with a vaulted ceiling.
“How was traffic on the way up?” he asked.
“Not too bad.” I glanced around, curious. Everything straight ahead was open concept. A large living room flowed into the kitchen. “Only took about twenty minutes.”
“Perfect.” Cole stepped ahead of me, and my gaze dropped. The worn jeans cradled his ass perfectly. “Would you like something to drink? I have wine, beer, and soda.”
“Wine would be fine.” The living room looked like only a guy lived there. An oversized sectional separating the kitchen appeared to have the ability to house an entire soccer team. A huge TV was mounted to the wall, above a stone fireplace. There were two coffee tables. A gray area rug broke up the hardwood floors. Very minimal. Very masculine. I assumed the hallway off the living room led to the bedrooms and the guest bathroom. “Your house is lovely.”
“Thanks. I got it two years ago.” He dropped the towel near the stove where a most savory scent was coming from. “It’s more space than I really need, but I got a hell of a deal on it.”
Checking out the kitchen, I tried to shed the nervousness building in my system. The kitchen was outstanding. White cabinets. Gray countertops. Stainless-steel appliances. Several barstools sat in front of a wide island. I placed my purse on the counter.
“I don’t normally have wine in the house, but I picked up pinot grigio at the store,” he said as he walked to the fridge. “Is that okay?”
“That’s good.” I sat on the barstool.
“Thank God. I had to ask my mother what kind of wine to pick up.” He pulled the bottle out.
I stared at him as he walked over to the cabinet and reached up, causing the hem of his shirt to ride up and expose a thin stretch of taut muscle along his lower back. “You called and asked your mom?”
Casting a sheepish grin over his shoulder, he shrugged. “Yeah. I’m a beer-and-whiskey man. Wine is not something I know shit about.”
For some reason, picturing this grown man calling his mom to ask about advice on what kind of wine eased the knots of tension cropping up over my body. It was sweet of him. “I’m not picky when it comes to wine.”
He popped the cork like a pro, facing me. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”
For the future.
I got a little giddy as I grinned. “So what did you cook?”
He poured the wine and walked over to the island, placing the glass in front of me. “I remembered that you’re a meat girl. Hopefully you haven’t turned vegan.”
I laughed. “Abso
lutely not.”
“I made pot roast, complete with potatoes and carrots.” He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and leaned against the island, drawing my gaze to his arms. “Should be ready in about twenty minutes.”
Realizing I was developing some weird kind of fixation for his arms, I took a sip of my wine, welcoming the bite. “Thank you for doing this—the cooking dinner and everything.”
One side of his lips kicked up. “I always welcome the chance to cook. Thank you for giving me one.”
“Do you still find it relaxing?”
He nodded. “Until I try to pan sear something and want to burn the whole fucking house down.”
I laughed. “Pan searing is a bit hard-core.”
“One of these days I’m going to master it.” Winking, he pushed away from the counter and walked to the fridge, grabbing a beer. “So, Sasha,” he said, popping the lid of the bottle. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
I watched him walk over to the island, and my heart skipped a little beat when he took the stool next to me, thighs spread. He angled his body toward mine, leaving very little space between us. Cole was like that before. Always close. He liked the physical closeness and contact.
I found that I still liked that.
“It’s not very exciting.” I sipped the wine. “Kind of boring.”
“Doubt that.” He took a drag of his beer. “Nothing about you is boring.”
I laughed softly. “You may change your mind.”
“How about we do tit for tat then?” He raised his brows. “You tell me one thing and I’ll tell you one thing.”
Our gazes met. “We’ve done that before.”
“On our first date,” he finished, leaning one arm against the counter.
“Yeah,” I whispered. Our first date had been after class, and we’d gone to a small café. We sat there for hours, and I ended up missing my afternoon class.
It had been one of my best days.
“We can do it again,” he said, pale eyes intense and focused as he lifted the mouth of the bottle to his lips. “Can’t we?”
“We can.” I watched his throat work on another swallow. “I went to Florida State and graduated with a degree in business.”
“I graduated from Shepherd with a BS in criminal justice.”
Running my finger over the wine glass, I smiled. “While living in Florida I realized that I could never stay there, because it’s so damn hot. There’s only like three months when you don’t feel like you’re on the cusp of hell. Even in Tallahassee, where you actually have all four seasons.”
“Haven’t been there,” he said, tipping his head back. “Let me see. I’ve lived here. Don’t really have any plans of living elsewhere.”
“I then moved to Atlanta, where I was an executive assistant,” I said, taking a drink. “I traveled a lot, all around the States, once to England and one time to Japan. I pretty much was in charge of his schedule, which was a lot.” I lowered the glass and looked over at him, flushing when I found that he’d been watching me. “I liked the job, but I don’t . . .” Lowering my gaze, I took a deep breath. “I don’t think I was really happy. I mean, it was good but it wasn’t what I wanted to do.”
“Running the inn was what you wanted to do,” he said quietly, and I nodded. He set the bottle on the counter. “I continued to work as a deputy while I was in college, spent another two years in the cruiser, and then I applied to the FBI. I started with them six months later and have been working in the Violent Crimes Unit since.”
“Wow. That’s impressive. I didn’t know there was a department like that around here.”
“There isn’t.” He paused as a buzzer went off and slid off the chair. “I work in Baltimore.”
“Can I help?” I popped off the stool.
“Sure.” He showed me where the plates and silverware were, and I got to pulling them out. “My schedule is all over the place. I’m rarely home when there’s a case, but I’m not out on the street.”
“Are we eating in there?” I asked, noticing a dining room beyond French doors. “Or at the bar?”
“I haven’t eaten at that table yet.” Grabbing oven mitts, he said, “Don’t plan on starting tonight.”
I laughed. “Works for me.” I placed the plates on the island. “So what do you mean about not working on the streets?”
“I’m not undercover and my department does more than just focus on gang activity.” He paused, sending a sly grin in my direction. “I’ll tell you more, but it’s your turn to tell me something.”
My stomach grumbled as he placed the steaming pan on the counter. “Okay. Well, this is where my life is pretty boring compared to yours. Um, I tried to pick up a hobby while living in Atlanta. So I took up a painting class. I was so bad I got kicked out.”
He paused, silver prongs in hand. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I sighed. “The instructor felt I wasn’t trying and I was taking up space. He hauled out all my poor paintings just to prove that I wasn’t improving.” I grinned as Cole transferred the meat and the sides to a platter. “I can remember staring at a painting that was supposed to be of a house—I didn’t remember it was supposed to be a house until the instructor reminded me.”
“What did it look like then?”
“It actually looked like . . . a shoebox with windows.”
Cole laughed deeply, and my stomach wiggled. His laugh . . . it was deep and sexy. “I would pay good money to see these paintings you were working on.”
“Ha.” We took our seats, and I picked up my knife. I cut off a piece of the roast beef and the moment it hit my tongue, my taste buds exploded. It was a perfect mix of spices and tenderness. “Wow. This is so good.”
“Did you doubt that it would be?” he teased, sending me a sidelong glance.
I shook my head. “You in for a career change? I could hire you as my personal chef.”
“Anytime you want me to cook for you, babe. I’m your servant.”
Flushing, I liked the sound of that way too much. I took another bite and then tried the potatoes. Perfect. “So what do you do in your department?”
“We focus on major theft and different types of violent crimes,” he explained. “Usually we’re called in by state or local authorities.”
Cutting into more of the roast beef, I put two and two together about his job. “When you say violent crimes, you mean things like what happened here.” I swallowed, focusing on my plate. “Those kind of crimes?”
“Sometimes but very rarely. There are more specialized units within the FBI that would be called in for cases where they believe there is a connection.”
“I remember those agents.” I continued cutting up my roast. “They came while I was in the hospital and afterward. They’d been here after, what? The third or fourth death? I never saw them in person though. Not until they came into the hospital. I remember thinking at first that it was stupid that they had so many questions.” I placed the knife and fork on the plate. “The Groom was dead. What did they need to know? I didn’t realize until later those agents were also collectors—collectors of information. I . . .” Trailing off, I let out a shaky laugh. “Wow. I really ruined that conversation. Anyway—”
Two fingers pressed under my chin, guiding my gaze to Cole’s. Air caught as his gaze latched onto mine. There was something in those blue eyes I couldn’t quite place. An emotion that was raw and unfettered. “You didn’t ruin anything, Sasha. Ever. If you want to talk about those agents, we can. If you want to talk about something else, we will. Just let’s talk. Okay?”
My gaze searched his and after a few moments, I nodded. “Tell me . . . tell me about your mom. Is she still working at dispatch?”
Cole didn’t answer the question immediately nor did he drop his hand. Maybe only a second passed before he dragged his thumb along the curve of my jaw, eliciting a shiver that effectively scattered my thoughts. He lowered his hand. “Mom retired five years ago. She and Dad are both enjoying t
heir golden years.”
“That’s nice.” I refocused on my plate, and even though my stomach had soured, I couldn’t let this delicious food go to waste. That would be a crime. “I want that for my mom. I don’t want her to be working up to the day she dies even though I think she wouldn’t have a problem with that.”
“Your mom has always been one hell of a worker,” he said.
As we finished dinner, the tit for tat faded off, and the knots
Till Death Page 9