Cuff Me

by Lauren Layne

  And incredibly… she wanted to.

  Jill pushed her glass aside, folded her hands, and placed them gently on the table in front of her. “I’m not marrying Tom.”

  Maria merely nodded. Go on.

  “We called it off before the California trip. It was mutual—I mean truly mutual, not just one-of-us-is-trying-to-save-face mutual.”

  Jill’s thumb rubbed against the underside of the ring. Tight. So uncomfortably tight. But not for much longer.

  She told Maria about how things had been weird with her and Vincent, but not in a way she could describe. She told her about the half conversations, and the bickering that felt more personal than usual.

  She told her about that moment in the hall when Vincent had touched her cheek.

  Maria watched Jill carefully, but Jill watched Maria just as carefully.

  If anyone knew what was going on—really going on—with Vincent, it would be his mother.

  But the Moretti matriarch had a wicked good poker face.

  And then Jill got to the part about the park bench the other day.

  “I asked him straight out if he wanted me,” Jill said, looking at her thumbs. “I was tired of all the weird dancing around each other. I just wanted it out there.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “But now I wish it wasn’t out there.”

  “Nonsense.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at Maria. “Nonsense?”

  “It was good of you to put an end to the games,” she said, reaching across the table. “You two have been playing them for far, far too long.”

  “Only a few weeks,” Jill grumbled.

  Maria laughed softly. “My dear. Don’t start lying to yourself now.”

  Jill’s lips rolled inward in denial of what Maria was getting at. This thing with her and Vin—it was new.

  Wasn’t it?

  Deep down, Jill suspected she knew better. Knew that whatever was between her and Vin had always been, well… more.

  But that didn’t mean she knew how to define it.

  And she certainly didn’t know what to do about it.

  “I worry about all my children,” Maria said, somewhat absently. “Luc and his secret ghosts. Anthony and his pressure to be everything to everyone. Elena—I worry that she’s spent so much time toughening her outer layers that her inner layers are unreachable. Marc, I worry that he’s too good—too trusting of people—and that he’ll get burned. But Vincent… I worry about Vincent most of all.”

  Jill looked up in surprise. “Why? He’s so—”

  She broke off, unsure of the word that she was looking for. Self-sufficient? Independent?

  “He knows how to take care of himself,” Jill finished. “He doesn’t need anyone.”

  Maria’s smile was a little sad. “I believe that’s what he wants everyone to think. Perhaps even believes it himself.”

  Jill was skeptical. “With all due respect… I’ve been chipping away at Vincent’s crusty layers for years, trying to figure out if there was some traumatic incident that made him so—”

  “Guarded?” Maria replied.

  “Ah, sure, we’ll go with that,” Jill said. “But as far as I can find, there are no deaths in his past, no schoolyard bullying, no dramatic heartbreak, no secret lack of confidence born of feeling inadequate in a family of champions. Nothing that would explain why he’s so closed off.”

  Maria traced a finger up and down her water glass, but she said nothing.

  Don’t pry. Do not pry, Jill. He’ll never forgive you if you ask his mother—

  “Is there something?” Jill heard herself ask Maria. “Something that happened to make him… guarded?”

  Jill went with Maria’s word choice, since her default of antisocial jerk wasn’t quite how every mother hoped to hear her son described.

  “I don’t know,” Maria said finally. “I don’t think so. I suppose it’s always possible that he’d be keeping some hidden hurt from all of us, but I think maybe it’s subtler than that. No one event that we can put a Band-Aid on.”

  “So there’s nothing,” Jill said, shoulders slumping. “No way to fix it? Not that he needs fixing, it’s just—”

  Maria sighed and stood, picking up her water glass and taking it to the counter. She turned around and crossed her arms, looking strangely hesitant, as though she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure she should.

  “Maria,” Jill said quietly. “Please—I care about him.”

  The older woman’s face softened considerably. “I know you do, sweetie. It’s why I’m here. To ask if you were sure—really sure—about this Tom fellow. But I see you got that sorted out on your own, so the last thing I’ll say…”

  She took a deep breath. “Vincent was shy as a child. Not horribly so. Not enough to be picked on, but his quietness could be off-putting, I think. He’s always been an observer. The boy that watched before joining in. But you know how children are…”

  “They move fast,” Jill said with a smile.

  “They certainly do. They misconstrued his hesitancy for lack of interest and stopped trying to include him. He was left out of things more than my others. It became more noticeable in high school. Eventually I suspect it became a vicious cycle. He would be quiet because he was excluded—he was excluded because he was quiet.”

  Jill’s throat hurt at the picture Maria was painting. Vincent had always been an outsider, but Jill’d always figured it was because he wanted to be. The thought that she could have been wrong—that he was guarded because he’d never learned to be different…

  “I guess what I’m saying,” Maria said, sounding tired, “is that I don’t know that Vincent knows how to accept love—or even affection. But what really breaks my heart—I don’t know that it’s ever been offered. I don’t know that anyone’s ever tried to love him.”

  Jill ignored the tear in her heart at that last sentence. “But… he’s had girlfriends…”

  Maria waved this away. “I know my son. If he felt strongly about any of them, he’d have brought her home to meet me. Meet the family.”

  “Wait, you’ve never met a single one of his women?”

  Maria’s smile was gentle. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  Jill shook her head, confused.

  “You, Jill. You’re the only one he’s ever brought home.”

  Jill’s first instinct was denial. “Yeah, but not as a girlfriend. As a partner.”

  Maria’s eyebrow went up. “All of my sons have had partners at some point in their career. How many of them do you see as part of the family like you?”

  Jill warmed a little at the mention of being part of the family, even as panic settled a little as what Maria was saying was starting to set in.

  She was still trying to process it as Maria washed and dried her water glass and then put it away as though she owned the place.

  Vincent’s mother then gave a self-satisfied nod as if to say, “my work here is done,” and then headed toward the front door.

  Jill scampered after her. “Wait—Maria. If what you’re saying… if he does think of me as more than a partner. Why did he say otherwise when I asked him?”

  Maria took a step closer, placed her warm wrinkled hands on Jill’s cheeks. “Sweetie, if you’d spent your entire life silently wanting—desperately wanting—someone to love you, and never having that gift even offered—would you know how to give it?”

  Jill closed her eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”

  Maria patted her cheek softly. “I think, if you want him… I think you’ll have to be the brave one.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  As it turned out, Jill’s chance to be brave came around that very evening.

  After Maria left, Jill had sat on the couch for a good forty minutes replaying the entire conversation in her head, trying to figure out what Maria Moretti expected her to do.

  Trying to figure out if she even wanted to do it.

  In the end, she’d binge-watched old
episodes of CSI before taking a long-overdue, scalding-hot shower.

  She’d barely wrapped herself in her warm fuzzy robe when a knock sounded at the door.

  Jill ignored it.

  It wasn’t like her to be antisocial, but one unexpected guest was about all she could handle for the day.

  Honestly, didn’t people call anymore? What if she was at the grocery store? Or a movie. Or having sex. As far as everyone in her life knew she was engaged, for God’s sake.

  The knocks grew louder as she towel-dried her hair.

  She was about to flick on the hair dryer when she heard his voice.

  “I swear to God, Henley, if you don’t open this damn door I’m armed and I will—”

  Vincent.

  Of anyone standing on her front porch he was perhaps the one she was the least ready to see.

  And also the only one she’d open the door for.

  It was a decision she regretted the second she saw his face.

  She’d seen Vincent angry, oh, about a million times. The man had a short fuse, and it burned hot and fast and often.

  But she wasn’t quite sure she’d ever seen him like this.

  “Hey,” she said as he brushed past her into the house. “What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on?” he mimicked.

  He spun around in her direction just as she started to follow him into the kitchen. The abrupt change brought them face-to-face before he thrust out his right hand in front of her.

  His knuckles were bleeding.

  Instinctively she reached for his hand, about to insist that they put something on it, but he jerked back and put several feet behind him.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He continued to stare at her. “You’re a fucking cop. You’re supposed to deduce. What do you think happened?”

  Okay so he was mad and cranky.

  “You got in a fight,” she said patiently.

  “I did.”

  “With Anth?” she guessed. The two of them were constantly going at it, although rarely with fists.

  “Nope.”

  “Luc?”

  “Let me tell you about my night,” he said, his voice deceptively calm now. “See, I went over to Anth and Maggie’s for dinner. Had a nice time, got to look at the latest sonogram, all of that—”

  He turned and stalked into the kitchen, continuing his story as he did so. “Got a craving for whiskey. All that talk about nurseries and baby names will do that to a single man. So on the way home, I stopped by a bar. One of the fancy hotel bars off Broadway where you can be anonymous, you know?” he asked, pulling an open wine bottle off her counter and tugging off the cork.

  “Okay…” she said, urging him on.

  He poured himself a liberal glass. Didn’t offer her one.

  “Except I wasn’t anonymous, Henley. Saw someone I knew. Any guesses?”

  Jill went through her mental catalog of people Vin might have run into that would result in a fight. The list was… long. Past suspects, past witnesses, other cops. Whatever his tragic reasons, the man wasn’t exactly in the business of making friends.

  She shook her head. “Tell me.”

  “Tom,” he said, a wide, horrible smile on his face.

  Jill’s stomach dropped.

  “Yup, that’s right,” he said, lifting his glass to her. “But wait, that’s not all. I saw Tom… and another woman. A blonde that was not you. And he was far, far more friendly than an engaged man has any right to be with another woman.”

  Jill closed her eyes and tensed as he moved closer.

  “But then Tom’s not engaged now, is he, Jill?” His voice was soft. Dangerous.

  She shook her head mutely.

  “Sure would have been nice to know that before I punched the guy for cheating on you.”

  Jill let out a little whimper of dismay that was entirely self-directed.

  How could she have been so selfish?

  So stupid?

  “Jill.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Goddamn it, Jill, look at me.”

  She did, only to suck in a breath when she saw how close he was. Too close.

  “When?” he growled.

  “When what?”

  His fingers wrapped around her shoulders, digging in just slightly. “Don’t play dumb. When did you and Tom end your engagement?”

  Jill swallowed.

  He kept their gazes fused, and had there only been anger there, she might have stepped away. Might have suggested they have this conversation when he’d calmed down.

  But there was something beyond the anger. Something far more dangerous to both of them. Hope.

  “When?” His voice was hoarser now.

  “A week before LA. The day after the dinner party at my house.”

  Something unreadable flashed across his face—something that looked almost like guilt, but that didn’t make sense.

  Then his head tipped back as he sucked in a long breath, and she couldn’t tell if it was the answer he’d wanted, or the answer he’d feared.

  “Why?” he asked. “Why’d you guys break it off?”

  “You know why,” she said quietly, silently begging him not to make her say this. Not after he’d told her he didn’t want her just a few short days ago.

  He shook her a little. “Tell me why, Goddamn it. Why aren’t you marrying him?”

  His eyes were frantic now. Desperate. And maybe a little scared.

  Maria’s words from earlier came rushing over Jill. I don’t know that anyone’s ever tried to love him.

  And then she remembered Vincent’s mother’s parting words.

  If you want him… you’ll have to be the brave one.

  And Jill knew in that instant, that she did want him. She wanted Vincent Moretti desperately, consequences be damned.

  And so Jill did the bravest thing she could think of.

  She went on her toes.

  And kissed him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Jill’s lips touched his, and Vincent went still with shock.

  They’d kissed before. Meaningless pecks, quick kisses of triumph over a break in a case. That one time he’d pretended to be her boyfriend to ward off a creepy ex.

  But those had been casual kisses. Friendly kisses.

  But this?

  The way her lips trembled under his, the way her fingers gripped the lapel of his jacket, holding him close…

  It didn’t feel casual.

  And it sure as hell felt a lot more than friendly.

  The question was…

  What did Vin do about it?

  Did he hold on to his anger? Because Vincent was angry. Almost unbearably so.

  Or did he…

  In the end, there was no question.

  Not really.

  It was Jill.

  Slowly, his hands lifted until they found her waist. He didn’t return the kiss. Not just yet. His palms molded to her sides, learning the shape of her before sliding back until his fingers met at the middle of her back, allowing his fingertips to trace her spine.

  And then Jill bit his lip.

  A fierce, sweet little nip of her teeth against his bottom lip that shattered the last of Vincent’s self-control.

  Vin’s hands flattened against her, one arm sliding around her hips to jerk her forward. No more space separating them.

  His other hand slid up. His fingers tangled in her blond hair.

  Vincent pulled back just slightly as he tilted her face up, relishing her gasp of shock, her look of pleasure…

  And then he closed his mouth over hers and took.

  Jill’s kiss had been gentle. Tentative. Vincent’s was not. His mouth slammed down on hers with all the want—the unidentified longing of the past six years. His tongue swiped against her bottom lip. She opened, and when their tongues met—tangled—they both moaned.

  Jill squirmed, but he tightened his grip, keeping her hips anchored against his.

  Truth be told
, he’d never really understood the appeal of kissing before now. It was nice, certainly, but merely the precursor to bigger and better things.

  But kissing Jill—kissing Jill felt like the main event. Not that he wanted it to be the main event—he wanted other things, definitely.

  Wanted to peel off her robe, wanted to hear what kind of sounds she made when he touched her. Wanted to know if she liked it gentle or rough, playful or intense.

  But for right now—right now, it was enough to feel her tongue against his, taste her lips, to feel the way their breath mingled together as they fought for the same air.

  Jill’s fingers released their grip on his jacket, only to wiggle underneath as she tried to pull it off. She let out a little sound of frustration when it got caught on his shoulders, and he smiled at the realization that her urgency matched his.

  He released her, pulling back just enough to yank the jacket off, their mouths never losing contact as he tossed it blindly aside.

  Vin felt Jill’s fingers go for the sash of her robe, but his fingers manacled her wrists, winding them around behind her as he walked her backward into the wall.

  “Not yet,” he whispered against her mouth.

  He wanted to see her. All of her. But he’d waited a fucking long time for this. No way was she going to rush him through it.

  She tugged at her wrists, but he held firm as he deepened the kiss until they were both breathless and writhing.

  Jill’s wrists were small enough for him to hold with one hand as the other slid up her side, his palm just barely skimming the outer curve of her breast before very lightly wrapping around the base of her neck as he pulled his mouth back from hers.

  “Tell me you want this,” he said roughly.

  She let out a little laugh, her eyes cloudy. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  His fingertips pressed against her lightly and he saw her eyes flare with passion. Interesting.

  “Don’t play games with me, Henley.”

  In response she went on her toes and licked his bottom lip. Vincent growled, stamping a hard kiss over her mouth before pulling back once more.

  “Tell me. Tell me you’re done with him. Tell me you’re not marrying someone else.”

  It came out as a gruff command, and he was grateful for the raspy quality of his voice. Kept him from what he really felt like doing…