It’d been since her mother’s death that she’d sought sanctuary in this simple place, years of following the ways of the world instead of the church. Organized religions had failed her with their various scandals and deceits. God had failed her the night her mother died. Even now, Roxy wasn’t certain what she believed, but this was where she felt closest to her mother, and she needed Mama now.
Roxy ducked into the buttery comfort of Isaiah’s jacket. Taking a long, full breath, she inhaled the scents of midnight and leather, seeking relief from the throbbing ache in her chest that she couldn’t escape. Damn, love hurt.
She bowed her head. She knew the words. The Memorare, every traditional Catholic’s plea for their Divine Mother’s intercession, poured easily from her heart. “’Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession, was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence, I fly onto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother. Before thee I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petition, but in thy mercy, hear and answer me. Amen.’”
The peace those words had always incited swelled in her soul. Roxy took a deep breath as she became aware that her hands were now clasped at her chest in supplication. Unknowingly, she’d assumed the stance of a true sinner. Wasn’t that the truth?
The joint operation had taken its toll on her, and while she knew she should be celebrating Candace Bratton’s capture with the rest of her team, she couldn’t face them, not with goodbye so imminent. She, the toughest beat cop in the District, was afraid she’d reveal too much of her heart when the time came. And all because...
“I love him,” she confessed to the smiling Madonna towering over her with her perfect white palms stretched forth, offering perfect blessings and perfect comforts for perfect believers.
“Which is why I have to let him go. He’s bigger and better than me, Mary. He’s destined for greater, grander things, and I’m just a millstone around his neck. I’ll hold him back, and I can’t do that. You know what I mean. It’s like when Jesus was twelve and you left Him behind in the temple. Remember? You knew He was different then, that He had more glorious things to accomplish, and that He had to be about his Father’s business. That you had to let Him go. That He… that He…”
Tears flowed so fast and so hot, Roxy couldn’t speak. Dragging her sleeved arm under her nose, she wiped her lips and cheeks. Her heart shouldn’t feel like it had cracked wide open, as if she’d have nothing more to give once Isaiah was out of her life. But it did. It was broken, which was how she knew this love for Isaiah was the real thing. And why she had to set him free. He was no ordinary man, and yeah. He wasn’t Jesus H. Christ, but he sure as hell belonged in that same loftier sphere, where miracles happened and angels trod and all that crap.
She wiped her nose again, searching for answers, but seeing nothing more than blurred shadows and looming loss. She’d fallen in love with a man who had visions. He saw things no one else could, and he knew things no one else did, not even his boss.
Isaiah’s mission came from God, as did the rest of his team’s. That should’ve given her another reason to celebrate, knowing that a handful of FBI agents with super powers were out there fighting evil in the world. But it only reminded Roxy that her special agent—the one she loved with the breadth and width and depth of her battered warrior’s soul—had lost his miraculous gift of sight because of her. She was his Achilles heel and the day might come that she got him killed. Not acceptable. Yeah, they’d made wonderful music together, but she refused to let him fail when he had so much to offer. Still...
“It’s not fair,” she told Mary as more tears squeezed between her puffy eyelids, “to finally find the one man who lights up my life, only to have to give him back. I don’t know how you did it. I don’t want to.” Her heart crept up her throat, stuck where she could neither breathe through it nor vomit it out. Stuck where it would remain lodged forever.
Bereft of the comfort she’d come for in this secret garden, and in real physical pain at the depth of her love for the unlikely archangel in her life, she begged the Mother of Christ, “Help me. I don’t know how to do this. I’m not strong like you are. I don’t want to give him up to the world like you had to do with Jesus. I’m selfish, and I want him all to myself, and Mary…” A sob stole her breath. “I love him so much.” The anguish tore out of her. “I don’t want to lose him. I’m just human and...”
“And I love you, Roxy Thurston.”
Startled, she jumped to her feet, her revolver automatically in her hand and aimed at the man who’d spoken from the shadows. Could it be? Shit, yes. Isaiah. And he’d heard every word. “Why the hell are you always sneaking up on me?” she shrilled.
His palms came up as he stepped forward. “I can see through your eyes, Roxy. That’s how I knew where you were. I followed you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Isaiah. You’re” —she swallowed hard and lowered the weapon— “here. How... how long have you been there?” How embarrassing!
“Long enough.” He seemed uncertain, which meant he’d heard everything.
Biting her lip, she turned back to the statue in defeat. “I can’t do this,” she breathed, though she no longer knew who she was talking to, Mary or—him.
“I’m rich,” he said.
That got her attention. “So?” snarked out of her like a whip of lightning. “I don’t want your money, you ass. If you think for one second that I care—”
Isaiah had the nerve to grin, and she wanted to smack that handsome face. He took another step forward, his palms still up. “Not once, Roxy. Not once have I thought you cared about money more than people, or you wouldn’t be a police officer, right?”
She had to give him that, even as her eyes brimmed. Police officers and other first responders made squat. “Right. So?”
“Answer me this, why do you work so hard at a job that pays so little?”
She didn’t know what he was getting at, so she told him what she did know. “Because there are men and women out there who need me.” Duh! “There are babies and kids who don’t have it as good as I do.” Another duh! “And because I’m stupid. I do believe in truth and justice and the American dream, for everyone, not just the rich dicks who make it big and think the world owes them!”
He took another step forward. “And you have to give back, don’t you? It’s how you’re made and it’s who you are, Roxy Thurston.”
The gentleness in his voce melted her snark.
“You’re just like your mom and dad. You’re not a taker; you’re a giver.” He gestured at the street beyond the churchyard. “You’re not one of the entitled masses who wake up offended every day, looking for attention and welfare and something to complain about. You’re one of the few and the proud and…Jesus.” That same hand raked over his head, ruffling his hair, baiting her fingers with the need to touch it. Her heartbeat swelled like a heavenly chorus in her veins, praising—him. “I’m turning this into an infomercial for the Marines, but what I mean… I-I-I mean…”
Damn, she adored this stuttering, unwilling hero.
“I love you, Roxy. I should’ve told you before, but I’m telling you now. I love you.” His fist settled at his chest—over his heart—just like hers had when she’d been praying. “I love you so much I can’t think straight without you.”
“That’s the problem, moron. You can’t think straight with me, either. You lose focus and you can’t do your job. You can’t read people like you should, and I… I...” There was no other way than to spill her heart. “I make you weak, and that’s the last thing you are” —Roxy hated the whine in her voice— “and I need to go because maybe you’re weak right now, and that’s why you’re standing here telling me this, and it’s because of me, and…and…” What the hell am I saying?
“You’re right, Roxy. Everything I am—weak, strong, wrong, or rig
ht— is because of you.” In one fluttering beat, Isaiah had her in his arms and Roxy clung to him. “I love you. Just you, damn it. Always, you.”
“I love you,” she cried into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. “But I’m selfish and—”
His palm came down hard on her butt.
“Ouch!”
“I’m selfish, too,” he ground out, “but I’m not giving you up, not for anything or anyone. Marry me, damn it. Tomorrow. Say yes, or I’ll bend you over my knee and spank you.”
Wowza, the man had a lot of nerve and… she liked it. A blazing glow crept up her spine from what had to be a very fine handprint on the left cheek of her ass, judging by the warm glow on said ass. “You’d do that in front of the Blessed Virgin?” she asked, suddenly coy and tempted to string him along just to see if he meant what he said. “You’d spank me? Out in the open?” Why, oh why did the naughty image of her bent over his knee set her lady parts to watering and tingling?
He never glanced at the statue, just stared down at Roxy without blinking, his eyes dark and aroused, sparkling with the intent of the pure alpha he was. “Try me.”
“Home,” she ground out against his demanding lips. “Take me home so you can ask my dad and so I can… so I can say yes.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Isaiah took her home just long enough to have that heart-to-heart with Hayden Thurston and get his permission to marry his only child. While Roxy went to her room and packed an overnight bag, Isaiah chatted with Kitty and Darrin too, so they knew he hadn’t forgotten them, and that great things were in store for the both of them. He wasn’t sure precisely how he knew, but he did. These kids were not going into foster care.
After high-fives with Tate and Keller for jobs well done, Isaiah was off with the woman of his dreams. Finally alone with Roxy, he drove straight to Crystal City and the Marriott Hotel. Pulling under the grand portico at the entrance, he tossed the keys to Willie, the night valet, and said, “Thank you, William.”
Willy replied with a flash of white teeth against his chocolate dark skin. “My pleasure, Mr. Zaroyin.”
“How’s Leketia?” His wife was working on her final thesis—in nuclear science—at one of the local colleges. While she worked two jobs and raised their three children. Also while Willy ran an Uber service out of their home during the day to make ends meet. These recent immigrants were living every bit of the American Dream and proud of it.
“Only three more weeks,” Willy said with a roll of his eyes. “Then I’ll be married to a doctor. Can you believe that?”
“Yes, I can. Give her my best and tell her I expect an invitation to her graduation.”
Willy gave Isaiah a thumbs-up. “That I will, sir. That I will.”
“You live here?” Roxy asked Isaiah, her eyes wide as they walked into the lobby of the premier hotel.
“Only when I’m working late and can’t make it home,” he assured her at the elevator.
“You really are rich.”
Isaiah had to stop her right there. “Not really. This is just a room with a bed. Come with me.”
Up they went to the fifteenth floor, his room with a bed—in the penthouse suite. Roxy’d never believe him at this rate, but he wanted her all to himself tonight, and this place was closest, so there they were. Stepping into the lavish suite, one massive living/dining/kitchen area to his right and a single lonely bedroom to his left, he heard her gasp.
“This way,” he said as she dropped her bag and slouched out of his jacket. The poor woman must think him insane to be so blasé about this room, but really. None of this was about the money. Not the chilled champagne in the bucket by the gas fireplace. Not the enormous basket of cheeses and grapes waiting on the hearth. Not even the magnificent bouquet of red roses that he’d requested for her. This night was about exposing his true self for the first time in years.
Taking a deep breath, Isaiah led Roxy to the unlimited view the floor-to-ceiling windows offered. He tucked his chin into her neck as they faced the dark stretch of the Potomac River and the wharf beyond. Running lights blinked yellows and blues from various watercraft. As was the norm for this particular stretch of the river, a bevy of dark helicopters, very possibly with the Secret Service aboard, raced westward. A jetliner followed in their wake, no doubt landing at Reagan International as the choppers went onto who knew where.
Isaiah let his chest expand with another deep sigh, inhaling the coconut sweetness of the rest of his life. “The money’s not mine,” he told her honestly. “Not anymore. It’s all in a trust which I oversee.”
“It’s your dad’s?” she asked.
“It was Dad’s and Mom’s, yes. They left everything to me, but I hated every penny of it and the way I got it, so…” Pursing his lips, he blew out his angst at having deceived Roxy. All along she’d thought he was just another agent. “I put everything in a trust for the foundation I set up in their names. You might have heard of it. One Against Hunger.”
Roxy squirmed until she’d turned in his arms to face him, “That’s you?”
He nodded, watching her carefully. One Against Hunger was his personal pitch into a universe that had ultimately given him back more than he’d invested, expected—or wanted. “So, yeah, in a way I’m rich, but legally, all this…” He tossed his head at the appearance of great wealth behind him. “This is just a room with a bed when I need to escape. I’ve hired good men and women to run the foundation. I’m only involved when it’s time to make decisions or when things go wrong.”
Roxy’s eyes had gone softer and darker. Her fingertips tapping at his collarbones were the only thing keeping him from tossing her over his shoulder and taking her on the couch.
“So that five million’s probably nothing compared to, umm, your net worth.”
“It’s five million bills, Roxy, that’s all it is. It’s money. If it was mine, I’d put every last cent to good use instead of drawing interest just to live better than everyone else, and this…” Again he nodded at his suite. “The foundation pays the rent and I work for the foundation. This is just another office. That’s all.”
But it wasn’t all, and he knew it. Roxy knew it, too. He was the mover and shaker behind his foundation. It wouldn’t exist without him.
She eased out of his arms. “Does your boss know?” she asked as she tiptoed—how adorable was that?—across the white plush carpet to the fireplace.
“He knows,” Isaiah replied, his voice gone hoarse. “Frankly, Tucker’s been up here. Remember the drought in Sierra Leon last year? He was the force behind the military operation that took in all those relief supplies. He knows people, and he lined up the Navy, Air Force, and Army.” It made the news, Roxy had to have seen it. That was one time the press did good, catching all those smiling faces before they’d turned into emaciated statistics.
“You saved them? You and Tucker? So you’re not just FBI agents, you’re…”
Her throat worked to swallow or to speak, he wasn’t quite certain which. This conversation could go either way, and he wanted to give her room and time to bail if this new development was too much. There were days it was a lot for him, too.
“A lot of people saved them,” he corrected. “Tucker’s on my board of directors. He keeps his ear to the ground for problems we can fix. Like you, it’s important for me to do good.”
“You don’t want to be remembered for what your dad did.”
He nodded. “I’d like to think I’d still be who I am today even if… that had never happened.”
She sank cross-legged at the fireplace, facing him with her hands on her knees and a sparkle in her eyes. “You really are Superman.”
“No, I’m not,” he murmured, but he thought, ‘I’m just a man who’s head over heels in love with you.’ His blood sizzled at the sight of her sitting there, by his fire—in his home—meek and mild, and so damned seductively hot. But he was just Isaiah, not some super hero. Not a hero at all, but a man who wanted
this woman with every fiber of his being.
She crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”
He couldn’t get to her fast enough. Kneeling at her knees with her olive skin aglow from the fire, her eyes gleaming, and his heart already kicked into overdrive, this—THIS!—was everything he’d ever wanted. This woman. This right here and now. Settling his palms to his thighs, he kept his greedy hands to himself. The next step was on her.
“I’m not Lois Lane,” she told him as her fingers trekked up his arms to his shoulders. “I’m more a take charge kind of gal. I’m not inclined to wait for some guy in tights to come save me.”
He bobbed his head because he had no idea where she was going with this, only that it would break his heart if she left him now. Cautiously, he extended one finger and traced the sassy lips he loved. “I should’ve told you about all this sooner,” he said, and he meant it.
“I’d like to know when that would have happened. We haven’t exactly had much free time lately,” she scoffed, right before she tugged his face into hers and licked his lips.
Closing his eyes, Isaiah let the beat begin. “So you don’t mind that I live here?” he asked, his blood on fire for this woman. “That we’ll live here, I mean, if you want?”
Roxy shrugged, her breath warm and her tongue working delicious magic in his mouth. It was all he could do to focus on where this conversation needed to go, but damn. Like always with Roxy, his control slipped away with every breathy kiss and nibble. When her arms circled his neck, he braced both hands to the floor to avoid crushing her. Still she used her weight against him until, okay, he settled to his forearms and pressed the length of his body against her lush, warm curves.
“You make me crazy,” he breathed into her mouth.
She turned her head then, and her chin went up, exposing the long column of her neck. With one long lick, Isaiah was done talking. His hand sought the waistband of her pants, and ziiiiipppp. The denim was out of his way, and her hot body arched into his hips.
One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3) Page 33