by M. S. Parker
I allowed myself a sigh of relief when I got inside the apartment, but nothing more than that. I tossed my bag on the floor and headed into the kitchen. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I needed to get something.
Before I could find anything, my phone rang. I headed over to my bag and dug in it. As I glanced at the screen, I saw I had a couple missed calls, all from Rylan.
“Hey,” I answered the phone.
“Jenna, love,” he breathed. “I didn't hear from you and I was worried...”
“I went to the gym,” I interrupted. “I needed to blow off some steam. I'm sorry I didn't tell you.”
“Oh, love, I didn't mean that,” he said quickly. “I'm not that kind of guy. I don't think you need to tell me where you're going and what you're doing. I was just worried.”
Despite the day I'd had, I smiled. “I know. And that's why I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry.”
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
The concern and tenderness in his tone made my eyes well up. I didn't know if Agent Matthews had called him, too, but he deserved to know. I couldn't keep this to myself. I tried that for years and I didn't want to do it anymore.
“Did Agent Matthews speak with you earlier?”
“What happened?” The concern hardened.
“Christophe took the deal,” I began. “And I'm okay with that.”
He made a soft sound that made me think he didn't believe me.
“I'm not all rainbows and kittens,” I admitted. The humor let me have back some composure and I was able to continue with dry eyes. “I still think it was the right thing to do. But Agent Matthews called to tell me that part of the deal was bail.”
“Shit,” Rylan swore under his breath.
“The restraining orders are in place,” I continued. “So if he comes near us, he'll be in trouble, but...”
“But he's out.” Rylan's voice was grim.
“I knew it was possible for that to be part of the deal,” I said. “But I thought I'd have time. That he'd be in jail until they finished cementing things. Maybe even a bit after.”
“Come over,” Rylan said suddenly.
“What?” The change of conversation startled me.
“I looked for you after work to ask if you wanted come over and have dinner with me. Come. Stay the night.”
“Rylan, I don't know.” I wanted to go. I could almost feel his arms around me and my body responded. “People will talk if we come in together again.”
“I don't care.” His voice softened. “Unless you do.”
Did I? That was the question. I cared what the people thought about him. But he said he didn't mind. And a part of me almost wanted people to know.
“Are you sure?” The question was quiet, and I knew he'd understand why I asked it. I needed to know that he wasn't asking only for me, but also because he wanted me there.
“Come,” he answered simply. “Please.”
I looked around the apartment. This place didn't feel much like home anymore. I slept here, ate here, but I knew I wasn't safe here. That illusion had been shattered the moment I'd found Christophe in my living room. Tonight, more than ever, I needed to feel safe.
“Okay.”
“A car's on the way.”
Chapter 26
I changed out of my work clothes into a comfortable pair of jeans and a fitted sweater that showed off my curves. I looked nice, but definitely not fancy. I wasn't much in the mood to dress up. By the time I packed my overnight back and made it downstairs, Denny was waiting. He gave me a polite smile as he opened the back door and then off we went. The drive was starting to become familiar enough that I could recognize when we were getting close.
As soon as we pulled into the driveway, Rylan came out. He opened the door for me and held out a hand. I took it and let him help me out. He pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me and tucking my head against his chest. I closed my eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I'd always considered myself a strong woman and I knew I was capable of handling this on my own. I just didn't want to.
I heard a discreet throat clearing and then Denny spoke, “Would you like me to take the bag inside?”
“No, thank you.” Rylan shifted so that he had one arm free and the other still firmly around my waist. “I'll take it.” He took the bag from his driver. “Have a good night, Denny.”
“Yes, Sir.”
We walked into the house and left our shoes at the entrance. Our stocking feet made little noise on the hardwood floor. He deposited my bag at the foot of the stairs before leading me into the kitchen. I inhaled deeply and my stomach growled. Something smelled amazing.
“Let me take your coat.” He brushed the back of his hand against my jaw and then unzipped my coat. I turned, letting him pull it from my shoulders. He disappeared for a moment and I picked up one of the glasses of wine he'd already poured. I sipped it and let the warmth from the alcohol fill me.
“How does roasted chicken, vegetables and fresh-baked rolls sound?” he asked as he came back into the kitchen.
“Perfect,” I said, taking a minute to admire him as he walked towards me.
He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that drew attention to his build. He moved with a grace that reminded me of how I'd seen some animals move, rolling steps, muscles tightening and bunching beneath the skin. He wasn't the lithe, lean build that most people associated with cat-like grace, but it was there nonetheless.
“And for dessert, chocolate cheesecake from one of the finest bakeries in the city.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “You did all this in just a couple hours?”
He grinned and ducked his head, a few locks of hair falling across his forehead. He gave me that sheepish little boy look that was always a combination of pride and insecurity. “I'd actually been putting things together for a couple days, but I'd originally planned it for tomorrow. The only strings I had to pull were to change it to today.”
“Which you did after we talked,” I said. “How in the world did you get everything here so fast?”
“You'd be surprised what people will do for a nice bonus.” He reached for the other wine glass.
“You didn't have to do that,” I protested. “It would've been just as good tomorrow.”
“It would have,” he agreed. “But when I talked to you, I thought you could use it today. Seems like you'd had a rough day.”
I braced myself, waiting for him to ask about Christophe. I figured we'd need to have this conversation, but it didn't mean I had to like it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Not really,” I answered honestly.
“All right, then.” He held out his hand. “Let's enjoy our wine next to the fire while we wait for the food to finish up.”
I laced my fingers between his, grateful for the reprieve. I hadn't really seen the point of talking about things. There wasn't anything either of us could do to change what had happened or what would happen. I didn't want to dwell on it.
The Christmas decorations were gone and the room looked the same as it had when I'd first seen it about two months ago. Tastefully decorated but not ostentatious. I'd noticed before, and it still held true, that Rylan liked quality furnishing, but nothing that screamed money. In fact, in the whole house, the only concession to wealth that I'd spotted was the art. Even then, it was clear he'd chosen pieces that he liked, regardless of worth.
“I know I asked you this at Christmas, but I'd like to ask you again,” he said as we stopped in front of the fireplace. “What do you think of the place?” His fingers twitched around mine and I knew the question wasn't as casual as he tried to make it sound.
“I love it,” I said, squeezing his hand. “I explored a bit on Christmas,” I admitted.
“And?” He sipped at his drink.
“It's clear you had a hand in decorating it,” I said. “Most single men who hire an interior designer
only care about their electronics. They don't really take an interest in making sure the furniture and artwork match their personality.”
One corner of his mouth curved up in a half-smile. “You think this matches my personality?”
I nodded. “Either you helped pick it out or your interior designer knows you really well.” I felt an unfounded flare of jealousy at the thought that someone else would know him well enough to see any of this.
He let go of my hand and reached up to tuck a wayward chunk of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering near my cheek. “I love that you know me well enough to see that.”
A warmth that had nothing to do with the fire went through me. I turned my head and pressed my lips against the palm of his hand. He took a step towards me, closing the distance between us, and bent his head. The kiss was soft and left the taste of wine on my lips.
“I'm glad you agreed to come,” he said.
“Me too.” As scared as I was of getting too involved too fast, I couldn't deny that I wanted to be here, with him, as often as possible. I sometimes needed time alone, but I'd felt that desire less and less since I'd been with Rylan. I thought it would probably go away the longer we were together, this need to be with him, be around him, but so far it hadn't.
We stood there in silence, listening to the crackle of the fire, feeling the heat on our faces, neither of us moving until Rylan's phone buzzed. He glanced down at it.
“Dinner's ready,” he said. He grinned at me as he put his phone back in his pocket. “I figured I'd need to set an alarm so I didn't get distracted and let everything burn. I'd rather not have the fire department make a visit tonight.”
I laughed as I walked with him back towards the kitchen. Instead of taking me there, however, he led me into the dining room. I made a soft sound of surprise as we entered the room. The table in here was large, meant for hosting dinner parties and that sort of thing, but the two places that had been set were at the same end, one at the head of the table, the other to its left. The lights had been dimmed so the candles that ran down the center of the table glowed brightly. In the very center of the table was a vase of roses, half a deep, rich red, the other half the purest white.
“This is beautiful,” I said. I pushed myself up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“Take a seat and I'll get the food.”
“I can help.”
He shook his head. “I want you to sit down and let me bring in the food.” He kissed my forehead. “Me taking care of you, remember?”
I glared at him, but there was no malice behind it and he knew it. He gestured towards the table.
“Go. Sit.”
I sighed. I recognized that stubborn set to his jaw. He wasn't going anywhere until I did as he said. I walked over to the table and sat down in the chair to the left of the head of the table. The china was beautiful, with an intricate pattern of leaves and vines around the edge. The silverware was real silver and, from the looks of it, quite old. I suddenly felt very underdressed.
“Here we go.” Rylan came in pushing a little silver cart that I immediately realized matched the silverware.
“Well, if I would've known you had one of those, I wouldn't have even offered to help,” I teased.
“The story goes,” he said. “One of my ancestors on my mother's side came to America when they were still colonies. She was engaged to someone high up in the British army. An arranged marriage. When she got here, she found that he was a despicable man, always spending time in the brothels and such.” He smiled as he put a tray of roasted chicken breast on the table. A bowl of steamed vegetables followed. “Two days before the wedding, she ran off with a colonist she'd fallen in love with, but she wasn't able to take the silver with her. It stayed with the British soldier until several years later when her colonist husband, now a member of the Union army, ransacked the place and took it back. It's been handed down to the firstborn ever since.” He set a basket of rolls down and then took a seat.
“That's some story,” I said.
He topped off our wine and then reached for the knife to carve the chicken. “It is. I've always wanted to research it, see how much is truth and how much is legend. Coming from my mother's side, it's hard to tell if they were just making it up so they sounded like they came from British high society, forced to give up privilege for love.”
I spooned some vegetables onto my plate. “So your mom's family's from England?”
I'd always been fascinated by the subject of genealogy. I supposed a lot of kids like me were. Kids who either didn't know their parents at all or whose parents weren't worth knowing. I had one of each. Once, a couple years back, I'd tried using my mother's name to see if I could locate any family on her side. I hadn't found anything under the name she'd used when I'd been a kid, but when I'd tried to use the name on my birth certificate, I'd gotten the same results, which made me suspect that even that had been fake.
“More or less,” he said. “I had to do a whole project on it for one of my classes. Mom's family pretty much came from the UK. English, a little Welsh and Irish mixed in. I think there was a German ancestor in there somewhere, and one from some part of Scandinavia. Holland, I believe.”
“And your dad?” I asked, reaching for a roll.
“Mostly from Northern Italy on his mother's side. English and Scottish on his dad's. His paternal grandmother came directly from Russia though.” Rylan thoughtfully chewed on a piece of chicken. “Rumor had it her family had something to do with the government so they had to come here, change their last name and everything.”
“It must be nice,” I said softly. “Having that much family history.”
He reached over and squeezed my hand. “I could help you look for yours if you want.”
I shook my head. “Won't do any good. I don't think my mom used her real name, and I don't know who my dad is. I'd needed to get into the city's files to see if her name showed up as an alias, but it didn't seem worth the risk. And I wasn't about to talk to the cops in Florida again. Other than Lily, they'd treated me like shit.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again, as if he wasn't sure his input would be welcome.
“What is it?”
“Have you thought about asking someone to run your DNA through the system? You might get a hit from either or both of your parents. I have friends in the Fort Collins police department who owe me a favor.”
My smile was sad. “Thank you, Rylan, but I don't think that's a good idea. I'd rather not know if my father's in jail for drugs or something like that. I gave up having a family a long time ago.”
His fingers tightened around mine. “You have me.” His voice was firm. “And I'm not going anywhere.”
I raised our hands and kissed his knuckles. The moment had become thick with emotion and I worked to bring it back to something lighter. “The food's delicious.”
He smiled and I could see that he knew what I was doing. He didn't call me on it though. “I'll be sure to let the chefs know.” He released my hand and went back to his meal.
We ate in silence for a while, but it wasn't awkward. I appreciated the food and being able to relax in the safety of this place. Rylan looked as if he was lost in his own thoughts. I was curious as to what they were, but didn't pry. He respected my privacy and I respected his.
When we both finished, he took our plates back to the kitchen, again telling me to stay in the dining room, and then returned with two slices of chocolate cheesecake.
“I've been thinking,” he said after having made it halfway through his cheesecake. “I know we haven't been together long, but this thing between us, this connection, it's so strong.” He paused, his eyes moving to my face. “At least, I feel like that.”
“I do too.” I gripped my fork tighter, wondering where he was going with this.
“And I worry about you,” he said, leaning forward. He took my hands in his, dessert forgotten. “I hate the thought of you in that apartment, alone. And with Christophe getting out on ba
il, it's going to be worse.”
“Rylan, I'm fine,” I started to say.
“But I'm not.” His expression was earnest. “Every night since...every night you've gone back to your apartment, I haven't been able to sleep. You're the strongest person I know, but the thought of something happening to you...” His voice trailed off and some strong emotion passed over his face. “I want you to move in with me.”
I stared at him, sure I must have heard him wrong. We'd met four months ago but hadn't officially become a couple until just before Thanksgiving. It was mid-January now. The only family of his I'd even met was Suzette and I knew she didn't like me. Moving in with him wouldn’t do anything to endear me to her or anyone else.
“If it's too soon, I understand,” he said hurriedly. “I don't want to rush you and I won't be offended if you don't feel the same way.”
“Rylan.” I stopped him before he could go any further. “Being worried about me isn't a good reason for us to move in together.” I struggled to keep my face blank. I couldn't let him see how much I wanted to do this. Not because I was scared of being alone or because I thought I needed him to protect me. I wanted to be here. With him.
He shook his head. “If all I wanted was to make sure you were safe, I'd ask you to stay in the guest room until you found a better, safer place.” He slid from his chair down onto his knees so that he was right in front of me. “Jenna, I want to wake up next to you. I want to come home each night with you at my side and know that we're going to fall asleep together.” He kissed my hands. “I know this is fast and I don't want to scare you, but what I feel for you...” He paused, searching for the right words. “It's the strongest thing I've ever felt in my life.”
I swallowed hard, a lump in my throat. My eyes burned with tears. How could I say no when he put it like that? It was everything I'd been feeling but hadn't wanted to say for fear that he'd think I was moving too fast.
“Say something,” he said. “Please, you're killing me here. Just tell me no and we'll forget all about it, but please just say something.”