He nodded, turning his head to press a kiss on the palm of her hand, a gesture he had never made in his living memory. “I want to know, even as I don’t.”
After a moment, she continued, leaning away slightly as if to avoid the heat he could feel emanating from his gut. “I let my guard down for an instant, and rich boy took advantage. He dragged me inside and as they say, the rest is history. The maid found me in the morning and called 911. I nearly bought it, but laparoscopic surgery removed my spleen, the ribs didn’t puncture my lungs, and the rest healed. It took time for the bones to knit, but they did, although the jaw was the worst of it. And the visits to the dentist. Stay away from me with needles. Sandra was one of my nurses and she saved my head, most importantly. We’re now best friends.”
Sandra, as he’d already figured out, was going to be the wild card in what appeared to be a dating relationship. But he couldn’t let that distract him now. He wanted more information about rich boy and hoped Amy would let something slip. “How did you get him charged?”
“The cops did. I was out of it. But it was his room, registered in his name, the security guy verified I wasn’t interested in staying—that man felt so bad. He wrote a deposition and that counted for a lot. Rich boy’s DNA was everywhere and when they caught up with him—his flight hadn’t even left—his knuckles were still covered in my blood. Daddy swooped in and paid me off.”
“So he didn’t pay.”
Amy gave him a startled glance, leaning into him again, this time absorbing his angst with her whole body. “I don’t think a night in lockup was much fun for such a pretty boy, and a trial wasn’t something I wanted, believe me. It might have gone against me. I took the money and ran. Like the John Cougar song, but it was for the best.”
“And you don’t want payback?” The word sounded venomous even in his own ears.
“Dean. I don’t want him to hurt other women, if that’s what you mean. It tortures me, that he thinks he got away with it, but there’s no real impetus by the courts to prosecute rich men. Not when the victim isn’t pure and innocent. Not when the woman asked for it, working in a risky profession. And don’t get all pissy. You know how escorts are perceived.”
Rich boy wouldn’t be hurting any other women. He wouldn’t be able to lift his hands high enough. There were some things worse than death and Dean knew a fair number of them. He quit pressing her. Being powerless and defenseless was a foreign feeling for him, one he’d left behind when he was about ten. But Amy’s experience was fresh, and she was still at risk, by virtue of her gender.
“Your turn.” Dean heard the expectation in her voice and went for broke.
“I have legitimate business interests. I also run street protection and illegal gambling. I launder money.”
Her body tensed and she drew away slightly, then sat up to put an arms’ length between them, scooting along on the fake leather seat. Her violet eyes were enormous, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. “Holy shit.”
He waited.
And Amy processed. “Do you pimp women? Sell drugs?”
“No. Never will.”
“Do you, uh … hurt people?”
“Only the competition, and then in self-defense.” He wasn’t going to tell her what he was capable of and who he really was. At least not yet and maybe never. It could get him killed.
“Is anyone going to hurt me to get to you?”
Fuck. He should have thought of it, as she had good reason to ask, was still feeling vulnerable, and probably always would in some regard. He’d just heard her describe her life on the arm of scumbags in a volatile city. “We’ve never had an issue with any of my crew’s women being used that way, sweetheart. But I’ve never had a woman, so can’t promise you.”
“It scares me, Dean. I was on the fringe of shit in Vegas, for sure. I could have been worked over before, or put down. But I moved here to get away from all that.”
“Let’s find our way, Amy. We have a time frame, anyhow.”
“Time frame?”
“Until, if, you’re on your period. That dictates how fast this relationship moves. You carrying my kid changes things.” And he’d used the R word. So fucked. Still, it didn’t feel too bad.
“You romantic man.” Amy’s tone wasn’t close to matching her words and she shoved further away from him.
He couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out to pull her close, ignoring how stiff with umbrage she was. “I have limited experience, sweetheart, but give me points for trying. Okay?”
Softening, she agreed. “But it’s gonna be a trial. We’re two damaged people, babe. There’ll be a lot of insanity ahead. And I don’t want to have to be watching my back.”
“I’ll have someone on you when I’m not around.”
“Uh, uh. No. I’ll feel like some wiseguy’s piece.”
He waited. If she couldn’t accept the additional risk of being with him then they should probably end this now. The panicked sense of dread boiling up from his belly, the disparate sense of outright refusal to even consider that practical response took him by surprise. He cast around in his head for something to make it work.
“You could move in with me, have a safe place to live and work, if you’re concerned.” Holy shit. Fuck. When he lost his head, or thought with his smaller head, or whatever part was now dictating to him, he fucking lost it to the max. But he’d never had a woman before, past the casual night or two, and he’d never fucked without a condom before. Life was spiralling out of control, and it was a curiously thrilling sensation. Just not one he was familiar with.
Amy curled away from him again and set her mouth in a gesture he wondered if he’d be seeing a fair number of times—if she accepted his offer. It spoke volumes to him; a mixture of surprise, caution and amusement, laced with a little fear. Her words confirmed his increasing ability to read her.
“You are spontaneous, babe. I wouldn’t have thought it, but first forgetting protection and now making such a cozy suggestion?” The fear surfaced, outweighing the other emotions. Her eyes shone a purple midnight-blue. She might want something more than casual sex, but it scared her, too.
Shrugging, he explained, finding the words as he spoke. “You could still keep your place, kind of a safety net, if you want. Be with me, have it known, and be safe. Until we figure things out.”
Unprepared for her response, he found himself wondering what planet he woke up on that morning.
“Still stacking the deck, Dean. There’s always a qualifier with you. When I get my period. Live together until and if we figure things out. I’m no expert on relationships, but you’ve already set us up to fail. You see an ending. I don’t know why you hold women in such low regard, but I’m not interested in being the poster girl for failure. I’ve got work to do. Take me home or I’ll get a cab.” She slid away, across the bench seat and got to her feet, making her way to the exit.
Thinking fast, once again overcome with that unfamiliar panic, Dean scrawled his name across the check and followed her. He stared down the men looking at her as she passed, varying degrees of interest and lust on their faces. The women looked disdainful or aloof, studiously ignoring Amy or their lips curling, clearly envious. He decided he wasn’t letting her go. And when he made a decision he went with it—unless something significant proved him wrong.
Already outside and yanking on the passenger door handle, she turned to give him an imperious stare, violet eyes unreadable, but her features were taut. He remoted the locks open and moved to help her inside. Shaking him off, she was buckled in and leaning back against the leather seat, eyes closed, when he got in behind the wheel. He cranked the key and drove out of the lot, letting the silence build. In his experience, however limited on the emotional front, women broke it first. No surprise, Amy didn’t. Fuck. He put his foot down and drove to his home.
“We’re here.” He wondered if she might be sleeping, or if she’d dissociated. It didn’t matter to him. She could be angry, maybe even hurt, but she was comforta
ble enough to relax her guard around him.
Looking around, she blinked. “Where?”
“My place. C’mon in and we’ll talk some more.”
“I have work to do.”
Dean gritted his teeth and went around to her door. “Amy. Get out of the goddamn truck.”
“Bossy pants.”
Relieved at being teased, he yanked her out and kissed her, delighted when she kissed him back. “I’m going to fuck up regularly, sweetheart. Be glad I figured it out.”
“That’s like number four, babe. Okay, we’ll talk and then I have to get my work done. No contest.”
Dean urged her up the stairs to his condo, mentally sorting through the ways he’d screwed up that day. Or was she counting from that kiss in the hall? Four? Four?
****
“So that’s my life story. In a nutshell.” He was sweating, and had to get up a couple of times to get a beer to keep his mouth lubricated. He’d told her pretty much everything, from his birth, to his whore of a mother, the struggle to get out of Dodge and make something of himself, to his return to running the business. He skimmed over his college degree and didn’t share his ultimate secret, although he thought it might seal the deal between them in a good way. But he couldn’t make himself share that and didn’t care to examine all the reasons, beyond basic survival. He told himself it was too big a risk to share so soon. So instead, he promised himself he’d set a fluid deadline. A time to tell her if they happened to be established as a couple, some time down the road.
Amy hadn’t interrupted very often, other than to ask about sibs and other family. Seemed they were both alone in the world. The other sounds she made weren’t out of pity, but of understanding and acceptance, acknowledging his confession. Something he hadn’t even done in Catholic school. Confession. It felt good, whether for his soul or not remained to be seen.
“Wow. Ever wonder how we’re here and not buried somewhere? Or in jail?” Her face was solemn, those remarkable eyes petal soft.
He shrugged. “I don’t think about it much. Like you said, it’s past. I move forward. What?” Amy’s tiny snort made him look.
“You move forward like I do. Influenced and sometimes burdened by the past.” She laughed, a pure musical sound. “Listen to us. Probably the most I’ve talked to anybody about this shit aside from Sandra. You?”
“I took some courses in the military, psychology stuff. I figured some things out. But I don’t talk about it. And I’m done talking about it.”
Amy stretched from her curled-up position on his couch, taking up little space for such a tall woman with definite curves. His eyes tracked the movement of her breasts and traced a line up to her mouth, tilted deliciously in a smile.
“Okay. I didn’t know the military offered psychology courses, thought the recruits weren’t encouraged to think, but hey. And I’m done talking, too. For now. It made me tired.”
“Would you like to take a nap?” His cock hoped so. It would rock her to sleep. And he hadn’t missed her quiet challenge. For now. He wondered if he could keep opening up to her.
“Nope. Work. I’m disciplined.”
“I work different hours, so your job will fit in well with mine, I think. Especially if you work here. I can show you the den.” And the bedroom. She hadn’t shown any interest in his place and he wondered how she viewed it. Impersonal? Cold?
“I’ll take the guided tour another time, babe. We need to keep finding our way.”
Were those his words of caution coming back to bite him on the ass? They were. “I’ll take you home. I’ll be by tonight. Not as late.”
“Sure. You come on by. Whenever.” That snark was back in her tone.
“Old habits, sweetheart. Like yours. I say something you don’t like, you say so and we’ll talk. Otherwise, I cut to the chase and don’t play games. The soft shit, my history, just got said and I’m over it.” For now.
Bottom lip again caught between her teeth, Amy looked up at him through her lashes and nodded. He could see how she must have looked as a kid and that thing in his chest swelled and his throat tightened. This was way more than lust, and it was both exhilarating and frightening. Dean Chambray didn’t do scared. He tore his eyes away and grabbed his keys.
Randy exited his SUV, parked at the curb a couple of units down, and looked their way as they descended the stairs. He threw a casual wave.
“Randy.” Dean raised his voice a little. His lieutenant ambled over, shambling, loose stride deceptive, as was his size. Randy could move like a cat if he chose.
“Amy Copeland, this is Randy, my right hand. Randy—”
“Blondie. I remember.” The other man cut him off, offering a big hand to Amy, enveloping hers. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you, Randy. I understand you know far more about me than I do about you.”
Well, shit. Dean froze at the subtle threat in Amy’s tone, remembering she had some skill with computers, too. Randy heard it as well and carefully let go of her hand.
Amy smiled brightly, nodded, and stepped around his lieutenant to make her way to the truck. Randy held his eyes for a moment and Dean shrugged. “Later.”
Amy was once again impatiently waiting for him to open the damn door locks. He helped her inside, and this time she allowed it. As they drove to her place he put it out there. “Don’t put your nose into the business, Amy. You won’t find much about me because Randy takes most of the attention off me. But he’s private.”
When she didn’t reply, he tried again. “Part of what we need to agree on, sweetheart. A trust thing.”
Her head turned his way, and he took advantage of the red light to study her face, violet eyes enigmatic, features pensive. “I don’t betray my friends, Dean. Or my enemies. You’ll learn that about me.”
Thinking on that statement all the way to her place, Dean wondered if was possible to take her at face value, tell her everything. But he couldn’t do it, at least not yet. He knew it was a fault, but trusting someone wasn’t an intrinsic part of his makeup, and Randy was the only one he truly trusted, and then only with the business and his real identity. Randy didn’t know the shit that made Dean. The package felt evenly split between his right-hand man and his woman, and was all he could manage at this point. He was feeling fucking overwhelmed, to tell the truth.
The sun was shining and the city bore up well under it, considering the summer heat would soon suck all the life out of it. They skirted downtown, and the sidewalks were full of pedestrians, most of them women, dressed in a variety of outfits cut to beat the heat. He would normally be evaluating each one and enjoying the sight, but his attention was taken by the quiet, statuesque blonde sitting beside him. Wishing he knew her thoughts, but content to just be with her, another chapter in his life obviously opening, Dean took her home.
Kissing her goodbye, hearing the locks snick into place behind her, made him gloomy and he stood, staring at the door until he collected himself. He wanted her in his home, available, easy access, yes, but also to spend time together. He wanted her to make his home their home, a real home, and wrestled with the notion, certain the long-put-to-rest little boy within had suddenly awoken, uncertain if it would make him a better person, or weaken him. In the end he got back in his truck and went to his main office. There was always work to be done, even if it wasn’t always what most businessmen pursued. And it would distract him from this bizarre need to consider domestication … what the fuck was that, anyhow?
Chapter Five
Well, that had been interesting. Interesting? Amy wasn’t certain what words described her day with Dean Chambray. Run over by a steamroller might be closer to the description. So he knew much of what made her tick, and she knew some of what made him. There was one huge difference, at least she believed there was. Casting an eye at the clock, Amy called Sandra’s number. Time for a confab.
“On my way home now. And you can bring Thai here. I’m too tired to come to your place and leave again later.”
&n
bsp; That was Sandra. No questions asked. Amy wanted to talk, she’d listen, but on her terms, being aware one needed to look after oneself in order to help others. Amy sometimes felt the gauche teenager around her friend. She called in the order and checked to see if she had the cash or needed to stop at the bank. She didn’t have credit cards, and rarely used her bank card. She hated the thought of being out there as a byte in the unseen storage units of information compiled by Big Brother and God knew who else. By the time she drove to Sandra’s her friend was home, changed out of her uniform and making ice tea.
“Long day?”
“Pretty much the same. Too many patients, not enough staff. But that new obstetrics surgeon does wonderful work, and his patients heal quicker, get to go home earlier. I like the hospital, overall. Glad we moved here.”
Amy couldn’t resist. “What’s his name?”
Sandra paused, in the process of placing a spicy shrimp in her mouth. “Who? Dr. Wyatt? I don’t know his first name.”
Dropping it, because Sandra really didn’t know, wasn’t playing it coy, they talked a little about upcoming events—a one-man theatre production in Sandra’s case, a new movie release in Amy’s. They sat on little bistro chairs at a small, round table, inset with colorful tiles outlining a fantastical bird shape. Their plates covered its wildly beating wings and the takeout boxes nearly obscured the body, but she’d seen it enough times to know what it looked like. She carefully set her sweating glass down exactly between the bird’s head and shoulder.
“You still seeing him?” The casual question didn’t hide Sandra’s muted anxiety.
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Yah, well, we’ve been together pretty much except for dinner with you. And we’ve been talking.”
Silence. Even the real birds in the miniscule yard Sandra’s home boasted, the manicured beds of flowers and lovingly tended trees making it an oasis, didn’t break the quiet. Amy hurried to fill it.
“I told him. Everything.”
“Okaaay. That’s out of your comfort zone. Trying to chase him away?”
Forever (Eternity #1) Page 9