by Rose, Emery
It was a turning point in my life, a defining moment, but it didn’t make much of a story. “And now here I am, a reformed reprobate.”
“Reformed, huh?”
“Mostly.” I grinned. “I’ve never claimed to be a Boy Scout.”
“Thank God. How dull.”
I laughed.
“So, you’re using your talents for good, not evil? Unless…” She tapped her index finger against her lips, accusation in her narrowed eyes. I knew what she was thinking. With the way she was raised, I couldn’t blame her.
“I’m not a dirty cop.” Money didn’t motivate me, and I had hard lines that I’d never cross. That was one of them.
“You’ve never been tempted to take a kickback?” She rubbed the sole of her foot over my erection, her face the picture of innocence.
“You play dirty.” I pushed her feet out of my lap and immediately missed the physical contact.
She laughed and tucked her legs underneath her.
“I’ve never been tempted to take a kickback.”
“Why not?”
“As soon as you accept money, the person thinks they own you. My soul isn’t for sale.”
“So, are you a bad boy with a streak of good or a good boy with a streak of bad?”
I grinned. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re trouble.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“And yet, here you are. Again.”
“I can’t seem to stay away from you.” My tone was light and teasing, but it was the most honest thing I’d ever said to her. She gave me a small smile, like she had seen right through me and knew that I’d meant it.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Currently single and available.” I held out my arms like I was hers for the taking.
“Are you sleeping with anyone?”
“I’m saving myself for you.”
“What makes you think I’m interested?”
Because you asked. “You didn’t slam the door in my face.”
She laughed and slouched down on the sofa, her bare feet propped on the coffee table like she was settling in for a long chat. “Tell me about Deacon Ramsey.”
I glanced at her. “What do you want to know?”
“How did you end up in foster care?”
“Asking the hard-hitting questions right out of the gate.”
“I’ve been saving them up for six months. There’s more where that came from.”
“You have been thinking about me.” I gave her a smug smile.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
It was a question I didn’t like to answer.
“My biological mother worked in a strip club. When I was five, she died of an overdose.” That was the story, in a nutshell, and I’d recited the facts quickly, without a lot of emotion. I’d left out the important details though. Only a handful of people knew them. If I wasn’t working undercover, I might tell her more, but maybe not. I’d be giving too much away.
“Do you remember her?” she asked, turning her head to look at me.
“I have hazy memories of her. I remember her blonde hair and that she was pretty.” I remembered her talking on the phone in Russian and crying afterward. I remembered the morning I found her dead on the sofa. Her ghostly skin. Her eyes were still open, but she wasn’t breathing. I shook her. Screamed at her. Poured a glass of water on her face. Her death hadn’t been an accident. She’d left a note for me, a love letter wrapped in an apology. I didn’t know what else to do so I’d eaten dry cereal from the box and watched TV with my dead mother—SpongeBob Square Pants. The theme song used to play in my head on a loop on nights when I couldn’t sleep as a kid. My earliest memories were of being hungry. I was always fucking hungry. But those memories were my own, so I kept them to myself and searched for something else I could share with her. “She told me that she’d always wanted to be a dancer.”
She didn’t tell me. She wrote it in the letter, pouring out all the hopes and dreams she had for her new life in America, home of the free and the brave. The reality hadn’t quite lived up to the dream. As a kid, I used to get angry that she hadn’t fought hard enough, hadn’t loved me enough to save herself. But as I got older, I realized that some people are too fragile for this world.
“That is…that’s so sad,” Keira said softly.
It was sad as fuck. But I didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on the past or wishing things had been different. I’d long since put those ghosts to rest and made my peace with it.
“After she died, you went into foster care?”
“Yeah. I got moved around to different foster homes for a few years.”
“Were they horrible? Your foster families?”
I shrugged. My memories of those years were vague. I couldn’t remember if they were horrible. It had felt like they never really gave a shit about me, that they were just in it for the money. “I never really formed an attachment to those families, so that made it easier. When the Ramsey’s took me in, I figured it would end up like all the other families. I was always waiting for them to tell me to pack my bags.”
Shit. Where the hell had that come from?
“But they didn’t,” she said with a soft smile.
“It all worked out. I got lucky. I ended up with a great family.”
“What are your parents like?”
I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked me so many personal questions, firing them off as if she really had been storing them up for tonight. Or the last time I’d answered so honestly. “My mom is an eternal optimist and always tries to see the best in people. My dad is more of a cynic and a realist. So, they balance each other out.”
“Their partnership is equal?” she asked, her voice skeptical as if she doubted that a relationship like that could ever exist.
“They’re very much equals. They play to each other’s strengths and they’re respectful of each other.”
She thought about that for a moment then came back with another question. “And what about you? Have you ever been in a committed relationship?”
“Six years and still going strong. Me and my partner Max Cooper are committed to fighting crime in Gotham City. Coops is at home in the Batcave right now.”
She laughed. “Are you Batman or Robin?”
I snorted. “I’m offended you’d even need to ask. You’ve seen my Batmobile.”
“Your Escalade is not as cool as the Batmobile.”
“It’s armored and weaponized. And it has me behind the wheel. How much cooler could it get?” I scoffed.
“I’m surprised your gigantic ego fit through my front door.”
“It’s not only my ego that’s gigantic.”
Her eyes drifted to my crotch, her cheeks blushing a pretty pink. It was fucking adorable. I adjusted myself in my jeans which were uncomfortably tight especially when she stared at me like that, licking her bottom lip. Jesus, woman. Don’t lick your lips like that. Now I was imagining that tongue licking my dick like it was a lollipop. A very hard, hot, and yeah…big-ass…lollipop.
“My turn to ask a question,” I said.
She nodded and let out a breath, gearing up for a tough question. “Okay.”
I pretended to give it a lot of thought, my brow furrowed in concentration while she snuck worried looks in my direction. “You ready?”
She nodded.
“I need an honest answer.”
“Just ask the damn question already,” she huffed.
“What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”
It took her a couple seconds to process my question. She laughed and smacked my arm, relieved that I hadn’t asked her something that would be hard to answer. “Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. You?”
“Chunky Monkey.”
She pulled a face. “Ew, banana.”
I held up my hand. “No need to get judgy. Favorite color?”
“Midnight blue. Or maybe it’s called deep blue. Like the color
of the sky in that weird, lonely time just before dawn,” she said, and I wondered if she got lonely a lot. I thought she probably did. Loneliness was different than being alone. “What’s yours?”
“Forest green, like a pine tree. What color is your bridesmaid’s dress?” I didn’t know why I asked that.
“Blush pink. A gorgeous concoction of thin frothy layers with an open back.”
“Blush pink might become my new favorite color.”
“Too bad you won’t see it, Kosta.”
“Is that a challenge?”
She tried to suppress a smile. “Maybe. Are you planning to rise to it?”
I smiled. “Maybe.”
“Pizza or tacos?” she asked.
“Pizza.”
“Tacos are life.”
“You haven’t lived until you’ve tried Vinnie’s Pizzeria.” She shrugged, not convinced. “First kiss?”
“Sasha. He was also my last kiss before you.” Her eyes widened and she looked like she wanted to kick herself for supplying that information.
I was only the second person she’d kissed in her life. How was that possible? Not for lack of takers, that was for damn sure. Her lips were so kissable they practically begged to be kissed. Devoured. By me. I didn’t want anyone else to kiss those lips except me.
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m choosy. Or difficult. Or complicated. Or messed-up. Maybe for all those reasons. Or maybe for none of them.”
“I didn’t realize this was a multiple-choice question. I’ll choose D. None of the above. Do you always overthink a kiss?”
“I’m not really talking about kissing anymore.” She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “I’ve moved on.”
“To sex?”
“Maybe. Or relationships in general.”
“Are you for them or against them?”
“I’m sure they’re fine for some people but not for me.”
“Because you’re choosy and difficult and complicated and messed-up?”
“Because I don’t want to get caught in a trap. I don’t want anyone to ever think they own me and can control me.” She jutted out her chin as if daring me to contradict her.
“And you think that’s what happens in a relationship?”
“Not all relationships. Just the bad ones.”
“And you don’t think you could have a good one?”
“This is starting to feel like a shrink session.”
She was right. I checked the non-existent watch on my wrist. “Our hour’s up. Did you feel our time has been valuable today, Miss Shaughnessy?”
She laughed and nudged my shoulder. “You’re funny, Batman.”
“Time to get back to fighting crime in Gotham City.” I stood up and took her hands in mine, pulling her off the sofa so she was standing in front of me. I used both hands to tuck her hair behind her ears so I could see her face. The sharpness of her high cheekbones softened by the pretty bee-stung lips that I wanted to brand as my own.
“How about you give me a goodbye kiss? Then we can tell everyone we’re going steady.”
She stared at my mouth, then her eyes snapped to mine. “Don’t get any ideas, Detective. I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Neither am I, so you’re safe.” Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew we weren’t safe.
She smiled. “Okay, you can kiss me.”
“No.” Her face dropped. “You kiss me.”
She swallowed, not expecting that. I waited for her to make the next move. It was like we were in a Mexican standoff. The girl could drive like a Formula One racecar driver, fearless and reckless, yet she was chewing on her bottom lip as if her life depended on this kiss.
“Don’t overthink it,” I said quietly. “Just do it. Or not.”
I knew she wanted to do it. She took a tentative step closer and wrapped her arms around my neck. Then she took a deep breath as if she was gearing up to do something monumental, something so much more than just a kiss. Without breaking eye contact, she pressed her soft lips against mine and for a few long moments, we stayed like that, our lips touching, her arms around my neck, our eyes open. I moved my hands to her waist and rested them there, not pressing for more. I wondered if she knew that this felt more intimate than a kiss. I felt her smile against my lips and then she pulled back to look at my face.
I squeezed her hip and released her. “Goodnight, Gracie.”
“Goodnight, Kosta.”
I strode out the door, blue balls intact. As I jogged down the stairs, I chuckled soundlessly. The joke was on me.
Two nights later, we slept together. I was fully clothed except for my boots. I arrived late, just as she was getting ready for bed and there were no frozen grapes on offer. Just a bed with pristine white sheets and approximately twenty-three downy pillows, eighteen of which I tossed onto the floor to make room for both of us and her Kindle.
I stretched out on the bed next to her, my head propped up on two pillows that smelled like fabric softener and not like her.
“Read to me,” I said as her eyes scanned the words on her Kindle.
“It’s an MC romance,” she said as if that was meant to deter me. “It’s dark and delicious.”
“Let’s hear it. Skip to the juicy parts,” I closed my eyes. From her lofty position atop three pillows, she read to me. She could have been reading the phone book for all I cared.
I didn’t really listen to the words, just the sound of her voice, soft and sweet and low. Her voice made me forget about Dmitri and Leon and the meth I sold the night before to two gangbangers in a diner parking lot. A warm breeze skated through the open windows, carrying her scent of apricots and sweet almonds and I felt at peace. Something I’d never expected to feel with Keira Shaughnessy.
I felt her shift on the bed next to me and opened my eyes to find her lying on her side, studying my face.
“What are you looking at?”
“You.”
“Are you thinking you want to kiss me?”
Instead of answering the question, she set her Kindle on the nightstand and switched off the lamp. I tossed another pillow on the floor and she tossed two more. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her closer, her back against my chest, her body fitting into the curve of mine.
“Is this the kind of thing you do with all the girls you go steady with?” she asked.
Never. Only you. “I thought about picking your locks and slipping into bed with you in the middle of the night, but this was easier.”
She pressed her ass against my hard-on and the concept of easy flew right out the open window.
I groaned as she rubbed her ass against me. Deliberately. I slid my hand under her tank top and flattened my palm against her toned stomach. I heard her sharp intake of breath. Her skin was soft and silky and warm, and I could have moved my hand higher, cupped her breast and squeezed her nipple. Or lower, fingering her clit and fucking her with my fingers. But I kept my hand where it was.
“Get some sleep.”
She snuggled against me and let out a soft, sleepy sigh. “Goodnight Deacon.”
Deacon, not Kosta. I appreciated the distinction. “Goodnight Keira.”
I didn’t sleep. I stayed awake until that weird, lonely hour just before dawn, stealing intimate moments with her while she slept soundly. And somewhere during that night, I decided that I never wanted to let her go. Whatever we were doing, it was fucked up and dangerous and highly addictive and I knew without a doubt that I’d keep going back for more.
7
Keira
“I can’t believe you’re kicking me out,” Killian said for the hundredth time as he stood in the doorway, a suit carrier in one hand and his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his arm wrapped around Eden.
“Believe it, baby,” Eden said, giving him another kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you more. I’d never kick you out of our bed.”
“Get a grip,” Ava calle
d from the kitchen where she was rooting around in the cupboards, searching for junk food she’d never find in Eden and Killian’s loft. I’d lived here for two months and had to keep my stash of Pop-Tarts hidden in my room so Killian wouldn’t lecture me about the importance of eating a balanced, nutritious breakfast. “You’ve got the rest of your lives to be together. One night won’t kill you.”
“It might,” Killian grumbled as Eden shooed him out the door and closed it behind him.
“Lock up,” he called from the other side of the door. Eden rolled her eyes, but she slipped the locks into place to appease him.
“He’s a pain in the ass,” Ava said.
“Yep,” Eden said, a big smile on her face. All through tonight’s rehearsal dinner with her wedding party and family, at the little French restaurant Killian and Eden had gone to on their first date, she’d been glowing.
“Do we need popcorn?” Ava called from the kitchen, holding up a bag of microwave popcorn then answered her own question before we got the chance. “We’re about to watch a movie, what kind of question is that?”
“The kind of question a person asks after they’ve eaten a three-course dinner and two desserts,” Eden said, flopping down onto the sectional next to me.
“That’s the beauty of being with Connor and Killian. We get to eat their dessert.” My brothers were both health nuts. Lean protein, grains, plenty of vegetables, and no refined sugar. Killian had been that way for years, ever since he’d started training to become an MMA fighter when he was still in his teens. For Connor, healthy eating had become a way of life after he’d gotten clean and sober. Ava, Eden, and I had yet to embrace their healthy eating lifestyle.
As the kernels popped in the microwave, Eden sighed loudly and elbowed me in the ribs. “You’ll have to shoehorn me into my dress tomorrow.”