When No One Is Watching

by Natalie Charles - When No One Is Watching

  “He didn’t confess to Lena’s murder,” Langley said. “That one, he denied.”

  D’Augostino looked startled, but then he shook his head. “You know, if we’ve got him on the others, he’s never going to see the light of day again. It’s just as good.”

  “No,” Mia said. “It’s not just as good.”

  Because when Austin had said he hadn’t killed Lena, she believed he was telling the truth. And now she was back to square one.

  Chapter 13

  Mia woke at four in the morning, blinking against the darkness of her room. The buzzer to her apartment was ringing. She rubbed her eyes and hobbled over to the intercom in a zombielike state of fatigue. “Yes?” She yawned.

  “It’s me,” said the voice. Then, as if he needed introduction, “Gray.”

  She buzzed him in and then looked down at herself. She was dressed in a T-shirt and old pink sweatpants that she’d cut into shorts. She hurried to get her blue terry-cloth bathrobe. The robe was old and had seen better days, but it was a very slight improvement over the shorts and T-shirt. She’d taken a hot shower before collapsing on her bed earlier that morning, and she’d barely had time to smooth her messy hair before she heard the knock. She unbolted the door, her heart in her throat.

  He looked as if he’d been through the wringer. His cheeks were unshaven, his eyes red lined with exhaustion and his clothes wrinkled from the excitement of the past twenty-four hours. He must have come directly from the station, straight to her apartment. She hadn’t asked him to do so.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay before heading home,” he said.

  “Fine. Just sleeping.” Not anymore. She opened the door wider. “Come in.”

  He entered her apartment, peeling off the light leather jacket he’d been wearing and folding it into thirds. He draped it over the back of her love seat. “You must be exhausted,” Mia said. “Can I get you something?”

  “No. Thanks.” He rubbed his eyes. “I was fine until I finished questioning Quinlan.” He sat down on her sofa. “Mind if I sit?” He looked as if his eyes had difficulty focusing.

  “I can’t believe they let you leave the station like this,” Mia said, sitting beside him. “You can’t drive home this way. You’re too tired.”

  “No one tells me when I can leave the station. And I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Stay here and sleep for a while.”

  “Here? With you?” He seemed confused, which only underscored her need to convince him to stay.

  “On the couch. Lie down, and I’ll get you a blanket.”

  “Just for a few minutes.” He rose unsteadily to his feet and felt his way along to stretch out on the couch. Mia went to the closet and selected a handmade flannel quilt her aunt had made for her years ago.

  When she returned, Gray was nearly passed out, his feet extended beyond the end of the sofa. Mia removed his shoes, careful not to wake him, and set them beside him on the floor. Then she unfolded the quilt and wrapped it across his large frame, tucking it behind him for warmth. When she was finished, she stood back and smiled at the image of the rugged man in a floral quilt. He opened his eyes and mumbled something.

  Mia stepped closer. “What was that?”

  Gray reached out to touch her hand, which he then brought to his lips. Without another word, he fell asleep. Mia left him there, breathing steadily. She turned off the lights, returned to her room and closed the door behind her.

  She woke at nine, feeling only slightly better than she had the night before when Langley had driven her home. Slightly better would have to do.

  Remembering her houseguest, Mia donned her bathrobe again, this time cursing herself for not having invested in something a little sexier at some point. Gray Bartlett was stretched out on her sofa, and her mind hummed with activity despite the lingering fatigue. What would she offer him for breakfast? What if he thought her apartment was messy? How long would he stay? What did any of this mean?

  She opened the door slowly, half expecting to see him gone, but Gray was still on her couch, still sleeping. She sat on the love seat and tucked her legs beneath her, uncertain of how to act.

  Mia watched Gray’s chest rise and fall as he breathed. She was familiar with the darkest depths of humanity, near comfortable with the existence of depravity. Her job was to be clinically detached from horrific death. But as she sat watching the subtle movement that gave evidence of Gray’s life, she felt aware of the frailty of life for the first time. Such a delicate thing, to be alive. A life could be broken so easily.

  He was remarkable. Three days ago they’d barely known each other, and yet he’d stood by, protected and defended her. He wasn’t just a cop with a gun. In that interrogation room, Gray had demonstrated a sensitive awareness of the human psyche. He innately understood people, whether or not he realized or intended it. Hadn’t he somehow comforted and reassured her when no one else could?

  Yet he looked so vulnerable right now as he slept on the couch. A strong man, worked to the point of exhaustion in defense of others. She remembered what he’d told her about his sister and how devastated he must have been by her death, and then she thought back to the first time she’d met him and how she’d pegged him for another arrogant cop. How wrong she’d been. He exuded confidence to mask the compassion beneath, the part of him that made him bleed for others.

  The world was cruel, and his job was brutal. He must bleed a lot. Deep inside of her bubbled a protectiveness that made her want to shield him with her arms and whisper, “I am not like that. I would never hurt you.”

  He stirred, opening one eye before closing it again and grumbling, “Where am I?”

  She smiled. “My apartment. And if you’re wondering whether I took photos of you passed out on my couch and wrapped in rose-patterned fabric, the answer is yes.”

  He pushed himself up slowly, allowing the quilt to fall away. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he lifted the edge of the quilt and gave a sleepy grin. “You weren’t kidding about the roses.”

  “My aunt made it.”

  “You’ll have to thank her for me. It was warm.”

  He stood, gathered the fabric and started to fold it. Mia leaped to take the quilt from him. “You don’t need to do that. You’re my guest.”

  “I’d be an ungrateful one if I didn’t pick up after myself.” He shot her a smile that sent her heart pounding. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

  “You were checking up on me last night,” she said. “It was the least I could do.”

  “I came to find you after the interrogation wrapped up, but D’Augostino told me Langley gave you a ride home.”

  “We left around midnight.”

  He’d finished folding the quilt into a puffy square, but he stood in place, holding it in his hands. “What did you see?”

  His mouth was suddenly tight, his gaze directed at the floor. Mia swallowed and pulled her robe tighter around herself. “I saw you ask about Lena.”

  “So you already know Austin didn’t kill her.” She nodded, and then Gray said, “Good,” in a tone that didn’t sound as if he thought it was good at all.

  She paused, concerned by the defeated look on his face. “You can’t be upset by that. You got a confession from Valentine, Gray. That’s amazing. If he didn’t have information about Lena...it’s not your fault.”

  * * *

  Despite her words, it sure felt like personal failure to Gray. Especially when Mia was standing in her bathrobe telling him that he couldn’t be blamed. He’d promised her more than that. He’d told her that he would find out what happened to Lena, that Valentine was the key to giving Mia closure. Maybe he couldn’t help whether or not Valentine was responsible for Lena’s death, but he should have been smarter about the promises he’d made.

  The realization settled across Mia’s soft features. “That’s why you came here this morning, isn’t it? To tell me about Lena?”

  “I wanted to check on you,” he said. When he learned that Mia h
ad returned to her apartment, he’d fought his own anxiety. What if there was another message for her? Worse, what if someone had been waiting for her to return? Gray told himself that Mia was an adult who was free to make her own decisions. He couldn’t explain why he felt the nearly overwhelming need to protect her.

  Mia studied him before walking into the kitchen and saying, “I’m putting on some tea. Would you like some? Or can I make you a coffee?”

  He looked down at his rumpled clothes and his socks, and suddenly he thought of Captain Mitchell’s warning to keep his distance from Mia. Gray had toed a thin line and possibly crossed it while hunting Valentine. Even though it had paid off and Mia had helped him to catch Austin Quinlan, he’d have to do some maneuvering to justify her involvement. Allowing her to watch an interrogation was one thing. Sleeping on her couch was another. He needed to get back to work, and quickly.

  “No coffee,” he said, a bit gruffly. “I have a change of clothes in the car, and I need to head into work. Mind if I shower here?”

  He felt a pang as she first looked startled by his tone, then nodded slowly. “Sure. I mean, no, not at all. Go ahead and shower.”

  He put on his shoes and headed out to his car to grab his gym bag, rolling a pile of discarded newsletters to prop open the door to the building so he wouldn’t have to ring the buzzer. He’d learned a long time ago to keep spare clothing around at all times. Police hours weren’t exactly routine, and sometimes you needed to fake a good night’s sleep and take a shower away from home.

  When he came back to the apartment, Mia was pouring herself some tea. “I put some towels in the bathroom for you.” A pause. “My soap smells like apples.”

  “I have my own soap.”

  She turned away then, keeping her back to him as she reached for something in the cabinet above her. He was being a jerk. She’d opened her home to him last night, and he was running out. Gray’s fingers tensed around the handles of the gym bag. There wasn’t anything he could do about that. Valentine had been caught, and there was no longer a reason for him to be social with Mia. There was no longer an excuse.

  He stepped into the small bathroom and began unpacking his things, setting his clothes on the top of a covered laundry hamper. He showered quickly in hot water, feeling the stress of the past few days dissolve. He’d caught Valentine. It was something to celebrate, and yet he didn’t feel as if he were finished. Not when he’d promised to help Mia find closure for herself and her sister. He still wanted to help her, but he didn’t know where to start.

  He turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. He grabbed a hand towel from a rack and wiped the condensation from the mirror. Then he lathered shaving cream across his cheeks and throat and started to shave. His beard was thick from two days’ growth, and he should have replaced his razor a long time ago. He was almost finished when he felt the familiar sting and saw a burst of red on his chin. “Dammit.”

  He reached for a tissue and blotted at his face, but the nick kept bleeding. He needed a bandage or something, but he didn’t want to go through Mia’s cabinets. He opened the door. “Hey, Mia? You got a first-aid kit?”

  Her eyes widened, and he looked down and realized he was still wearing only his towel. He pulled it tighter. “Sorry.”

  She blinked and shook her head. “No. It’s fine. Yes, I have a kit. You cut yourself?” She hurried past him, but her robe brushed his bare skin.

  “It’s what I get for packing a cheap razor.”

  Good thing he hadn’t checked the medicine cabinet, because she was rummaging through the drawers of a stand-alone cabinet. He’d thought that was for towels. “Here it is,” she said, turning to him with a dark blue plastic kit in her hands. She examined the cut on his chin. “You need a styptic pencil. That should help with the bleeding.”

  “Thanks.”

  She found what she was looking for and held it up. “It’s on your jaw. Do you want me to get it?”

  Her robe had come open, revealing her long, bare legs, shorts and a tight T-shirt. She came closer to him with the pen and he stood dumbly, watching her approach. Without waiting for his response, Mia reached toward his cheek and tilted his head with a light press of her fingers. Her body was warm, her touch light, and the fabric of her robe tickled his bare skin, sending his nerves into overdrive. As she touched the pen lightly to his face, she was close enough that he felt her breath on his cheek.

  She stroked his face lightly, her touch oddly erotic. His body stiffened at the contact and at the feel of her breath against his ear as she blew on the wound. “There,” she said. “All better.”

  She locked eyes with him, trailing her gaze from one eye to the other, then to his mouth. Then, as if realizing she was openly staring, she looked away at the floor and began to turn, brushing her breasts against his bare chest in the tight space. Instinctively, Gray reached out and took her wrists in his hands. When she turned her eyes back to his, he tried to whisper some explanation. All that came out was a low groan, racked with his desire. “Mia.”

  * * *

  He brought his hands from her wrists to her waist, pulling her closer to him. Mia felt his arousal through the thin fabric that separated them, and her heart quickened its pace. As he brought his lips to hers, all thought left her mind. There was only Gray’s body and her need for him.

  The air in the bathroom was steamy, his body and mouth hot against her skin. His large hands passed over her shoulders to peel off her robe before tugging at her T-shirt. She held up her arms to assist him, and when he tossed the shirt to the floor, she lowered her arms to wrap them around his neck. He locked his hands to her hips, pulling her tighter to his arousal. She moaned into his neck as he brought one hand between them to grab her breast. His touch was confident, and he rolled his thumb over her nipple lightly before leaning down to taste her.

  “Gray.”

  Her voice was thick, unrecognizable to her own ears. She’d never wanted anyone as badly as she wanted him in this moment, and she tangled her fingers in his hair as he sweetly tortured her with his mouth. He was pure muscle, and every inch of him felt hard against her. She stroked her fingernails down his back, delighting in the quiver of his muscles and the slight moan against her breast.

  “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he whispered. “Mia. You have no idea what you do to me.”

  She was beginning to get an idea as she pulled at the towel around his waist and saw him fully. She reached down to touch him and heard his sharp intake of breath. He was perfectly still as she stroked his length, his body frozen by the pleasure of her touch. Then he brought his hands to the concave of her lower back and slid them down, pressing his fingers into the waistband of her shorts before inching the fabric down her thighs. Mia moved her legs, assisting him, and kicked her shorts aside when they landed at her feet.

  He kissed her again, cupping her jaw with one hand while his other slid between the juncture of her thighs. She moaned helplessly against his mouth, moving her hips to feel him more deeply as her mind emptied all the thoughts that had been bouncing around for months. Now there was only this, the heat of Gray’s body, the skill of his mouth and fingers, the smell of his soap, the tremor of her muscles as he touched her. He occupied her senses, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, Mia lost herself.

  His lips were running across her neck, stopping now and then to flick at the most sensitive parts of her. Then he spun her around so that her back was to him, and she was facing the mirror. Watching him behind her.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he swept molten kisses down her back. “Incredible.”

  His touch was sinfully good, the kind of experience that left her mind blurry and her adrenaline rushing. The kind of indulgence that could give a person cavities. She arched her back against him, resting her head against his shoulder as he stroked lightly down her rib cage and kissed her neck. This felt perfect, and she brushed aside the voice in her head urging her to be cau
tious, that she didn’t know who she could trust anymore. I can trust Gray. She surrendered herself to that assurance and brought her hands back to rest against the hollow of his powerful thighs. “I have...protection,” she whispered. “In the cabinet.”

  He reached for the box of condoms, and Mia flushed as he tore open the box. What better way to say I have no sex life than with an unopened box of condoms? But Gray didn’t seem to care about her aspirational birth control as he tore the foil wrapper. She turned to face him. “Should we go to my room?”

  “No. Here.” He spun her back toward the mirror. “Like this. I want to watch you.”

  Her hands clutched the edges of the sink, and he urged her thighs apart. He entered her slowly, teasing her until she brought her hips back against him and took all of him. Then he placed his hands over hers and began to rock back and forth, each stroke sending delicious chills across her body.

  “Look at me,” he breathed into her ear.

  Mia hadn’t realized her eyes were closed. She opened them and looked ahead into the mirror. Gray was standing behind her, the gorgeous planes of his body moving to pleasure her. “You feel amazing,” she gasped as her body began to tense.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are, Mia? Look at how sexy you are.” He continued to stroke into her, his thrusts quickening with his breath.

  She watched him in the mirror, taken with how much she felt for him. He made her feel beautiful, and he made her feel safe—safe enough to sleep in her apartment, safe enough to allow him access to her thoughts, her fears and her body. Gray was the person she could be herself around. He allowed her to be exactly who she was.

  She closed her eyes and gasped as she climaxed, gripping the sink and shuddering as he continued to move behind her. Moments later he groaned against her neck at the force of his own release, and his body went rigid. She didn’t know how long they stood, locked together, before he righted himself.

  Mia pushed back to stand, her knees still shaking. “I feel like I should buy you flowers or something.”