by Lauren Layne
But now…now it was occurring to her that maybe she just hadn’t met the right man. Hadn’t met the person who cared enough to look beneath the surface.
And this man had. He’d asked about Ava the person. Not Ava the talking head on TV.
Ava’s emotions felt anything but frozen at the moment.
“The man beneath the uniform is exactly what I want to show people,” she said, keeping her voice soft. It’s that human element that made you pseudo-famous in the first place.”
Luc’s eyes went warm, and he took a half step closer. “Now who’s putting on the moves?”
She hadn’t realized how close they were standing before, and now there were only inches separating them. The world around them seemed to go quiet, and her gaze dropped to his mouth.
It would be so easy to lean into him.
So easy to take this simmering attraction between them to the next level.
And yet…
He was a story. Her story. The story.
And if this thing between them went south…
Ava took a quick step back, then another. Luc gave her a small smile that said he knew exactly what she was up to, but he didn’t fight her on it.
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and gestured toward the door as though the heat of the previous moment had never happened. “Come on, Sims. Let’s get you home.”
“I am home.”
“You’ve met Nonna. What do you think she’ll do to me when she finds out I didn’t walk a lady to her door?”
“All right, Moretti. But let it be known that I will be calling you old-fashioned at some point in my story.”
“Bring it on. The kind of girls I like love old-fashioned.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what kind of girls he liked, but instead, she rolled her eyes and headed toward the front door of her building.
She looked at him expectantly when he reached out to hold the door for her, and he shook his head. “No way, Sims. All the way to your door.”
“Said the stalker,” she muttered.
“Said the cop,” he corrected.
“Fine,” she said, oddly charmed by his old-school ways. It had been a long time since anyone had walked her to a door. “But the elevator only works about half the time, so stairs it is.”
Stepping into the stairwell, Ava had already reached into her purse and was pulling out her flip-flops before she remembered that she wasn’t alone.
She halted in the process of pulling off her stiletto heel and gave a curious Luc a sheepish smile. “Sorry, habit.”
He waved a hand. “Don’t change routine on my account.”
Since it was too late to reverse the process without looking like an idiot, Ava quickly slipped her feet into her flip-flops before scooping up her stilettos and carrying them by their heels in one hand.
She eyed him testily. “What, no lecture on how we women shouldn’t wear uncomfortable shoes if they make us miserable?”
He held up his hands. “I said nothing of the kind. I’m not going to stand here and tell you that I don’t think the four-inch heels are dead sexy.”
Ava huffed and headed up the stairs. “Then you wear them up three flights of stairs!”
“A well-fed Sims is an ornery Sims,” she heard him mutter, as he followed her up the stairs and down the hallway to her third-floor apartment.
Ava dug her keys out of her bag and turned to face him. If this were a date—a real date—this would be the moment of truth.
The kiss-or-no-kiss moment, which if ended in the kiss option would have turned into the nightcap or no nightcap, which would turn into sex or no sex…
Not a date, Ava. He’s just a job.
“Thanks again, for dinner,” she said, giving him a bland smile. “You really didn’t have to pay, but I appreciate it.”
He nodded, but didn’t respond.
Huh. Charming Luc was apparently gone. She didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved.
“Well, good night, Officer. It’s been nice talking to you when you’re not carrying a gun around your belt.”
His smile tipped up a little at that. “Good night, Sims.”
Always Sims.
She’d never really noticed before, but the man hadn’t used her first name. Not once.
Strange.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one with boundaries. Maybe he was protecting himself too.
Ava clenched her fingers around the sharp edges of her key to keep her from throwing herself at this generous, kind man who would be so easy to care for.
Instead she turned and slid the key into the lock, giving him one last half smile before slipping into the safety of her apartment.
And damn her hormones, because she closed the door as slowly as possible, giving him the chance to make a move.
He didn’t.
When the door finally shut between them, Ava told herself she was relieved. Glad, even, that a night that had had distinct moments of sexy had ended so harmlessly platonic.
It was a good thing. Really.
Her lady parts, on the other hand, were screaming moron.
Dropping her heels by the door, Ava went to the table and set down her keys and purse before making the cooing noise she always used to summon her cat.
As far as cuddly, supportive pets went, Honky Tonk was a dud.
She’d rescued him a couple of years ago thinking he’d be great company, but mostly he did his own thing.
The only time he really let her pet him was when she got sushi.
Smart cat.
Ungrateful. But smart.
“Here Honky Tonky Tonky,” she said in her cat-call voice.
An orange head peeked out from under the couch, gave her a sleepy blink before promptly disappearing again.
“Okay then,” she muttered. “Good talk.”
Ava put her hands on the small of her back, stretching and debating whether a long, hot shower would help ease her restlessness, or make it worse.
Then the image of Luc in the shower with her, pinning her to the wall as his hands skimmed over her wet, soapy body, his mouth…
Damn it. So that was a no on the shower then.
Ava made it only two steps toward the fridge for a much needed glass of water when she heard the knock.
Luc.
It had to be him. The only people who ever knocked on her door were the sushi delivery guys that she saw way more than she probably should.
She opened the door, and he was there.
One hand was braced on the door frame, and the other…
His other hand reached for her.
Luc’s palm slipped around the small of her back, barely giving her a chance to gasp her surprise before he tugged her to him.
And then he kissed her.
His lips were firm and smooth as they moved against hers with just the right amount of roughness as his other hand slipped around the back of her head to hold her still.
It was the kiss of a man who knew what he wanted. And if the way his lips pulled at hers was any indication, right now he wanted Ava.
And Ava wanted him right back.
It took her only seconds to adjust to the feel of his mouth on hers before her arms found his waist, clutching at the soft fabric of his shirt.
Luc tilted his head just enough to take the kiss deeper, and Ava was right there with him, reaching for his tongue with hers. Luc let out a raspy groan as the fingers in her hair tightened and Ava was forced to face a rather disturbing reality:
It was without a doubt the hottest, most perfect kiss she’d ever had.
It was the rightness of it that finally had her coming to her senses, although it took her several moments before she could force herself to break away from his lips.
She was slow to open her eyes, and when she did, she was braced to see triumphant male ego on his face. But although he was watching her, the only things she saw on her face were the very same things she was feeling: heat and confusion.
&n
bsp; “Well,” he said, his voice raspier than she’d ever heard it. “That’s…inconvenient.”
She nodded slowly, touching her fingers to her swollen lips. “It probably shouldn’t happen again. Conflict of interest and all that.”
He shook his head just as slowly as though also convincing himself. “Right. Shouldn’t happen again. Our lives are incompatible. I want to be left alone to do my job; you want to push me into the limelight.”
Right. That whole thing.
She didn’t blame him for wanting to keep his distance, and he didn’t know the extent of research she was doing on him behind the scenes.
“So this is good night, then,” she said. “For real this time.”
“Night. And Sims?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He winked and was gone, and it wasn’t until after she’d closed the door and opted to take a hot shower after all that she realized this was the most she’d looked forward to tomorrow in a long, long time.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The nightmares didn’t come often, but when they did, they were real pissers.
It took Luc several minutes after wrenching his eyes open to orient himself—to let the panicked part of his brain recognize the agony for what it was:
A memory.
Luc sat upright in bed, leaning forward and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to push out the memory of Jensen’s shocked eyes as the bullet ripped through his chest. The mental image of Shayna Johnson’s tiny, unmoving body on the bedroom floor.
Fuck.
He knew from experience that going back to sleep now would risk him falling back into the dream, so he rolled out of bed and headed into the kitchen for water and something—anything—to distract him.
He was halfway through his second glass of water when Anthony’s bedroom door opened. Luc caught a glimpse of long blond hair spread out on his brother’s pillow and the rustle of sheets before his brother stepped out into the darkened kitchen.
Luc jerked his chin toward the bedroom door that his brother had just closed. “Is that the same woman from last week? Kelsey?”
“Kelly. And no,” Anthony said, loosely tying the string on his pajama pants before opening the fridge. He pulled out a Tupperware of pasta leftovers and held it up to Luc with raised eyebrows, but Luc shook his head.
The shitty nightmare had killed any semblance of an appetite.
Anthony shrugged and popped the leftovers into the microwave before pouring himself a glass of water. Luc waited and watched.
Anthony drank the entire glass in three gulps, refilled it, and then turned to stare at Luc.
There it was.
The big-brother-inquisition. It was a silent inquisition. Most things were silent with Anthony. But the question was there.
Scratch that.
The demand was there. The one that said talk.
As always, the desire to talk about what happened warred with the desire to bury it deep inside him in hopes that the memories would die a quiet death.
But Luc had heard about too many cops going off the deep end because they didn’t deal with the shit they’d seen head on.
“Another dream,” he said finally, setting his glass on the counter and folding his arms over his chest.
Anthony said nothing as he retrieved his pasta, stirred it up a bit, and placed it back in the microwave. “Same shit?”
“Same shit.”
“Tell me.”
Luc gritted his teeth. “I just told you it was the same shit. The definition of same meaning that it’s identical to every other Goddamn time that I’ve told you about it.”
Anthony pulled his pasta out of the microwave again, popped a piece of penne in his mouth to test the temperature, and deeming it hot enough, dug in with his fork.
All the while, he stared at Luc.
That damned silent inquisition.
Shit. Luc caved.
“It’s like a movie reel,” Luc said, arms still crossed over his chest, fingers clenching his arms. “Except I never see the beginning. I never see the part where we get to the house of the suspected perp and sit outside, awaiting orders. I never relive those agonizing moments where we sit with our thumbs up our ass outside that house waiting to see if the lead is good.”
Anthony pauses in his chewing, looking like he wants to interrupt but instead nods at Luc to continue.
Luc runs a hand over his neck. “I never see any of the early stuff. It’s like my subconscious wants to utter the ultimate fuck you by dropping me into the dream right at the moment that the front door opens and there’s a Goddamn thirty-nine barrel pointed at Jensen. Two pops, and…”
Luc paused. This was the hard part. No, one of the hard parts.
“I see Jensen’s face. The walk, the front door, even the gun, they’re all kind of a quick blur, like they’re just details, and then the dream sequence hits slo-mo when I turn and watch Jensen go down. His eyes…”
Anthony sets his pasta aside unfinished, and Luc knew he’d just killed his brother’s appetite. Mike Jensen had been Luc’s partner, but he’d been Anthony’s friend too.
“What else?” Anthony asks, breaking his silence.
Luc stared down at his bare feet. “The girl. I see her every time, lying there, still. That’s the only part of the dream that deviates from memory…the way it actually went down; when I first saw her body, I knew she was dead, but didn’t know just how recently.”
Luc tensed his jaw, once, twice, before continuing. “But in the dream, I know. In the dream I’ve got the shitty benefit of hindsight, and I know that she’s been dead only minutes. Dead because Jonas Black saw our fucking car parked out front like a couple of rookies and panicked.”
Anthony’s gaze was steady. “Black was going to kill her anyway, Luca. You know that. He killed three other girls before that, without any cop intervention.”
“I could have saved her. I fucking knew it was him, and I sat there waiting for orders.”
“Luc—”
“I knew it was him!” His shout echoed, and both men glanced toward Anthony’s bedroom door, but it stayed shut. His sleepover buddy was apparently a deep sleeper.
Luc took a deep breath. Calmed himself. “I knew it was him in my gut, Anth. I knew it. But I was too scared of getting reprimanded for disobeying orders.”
Anthony shook his head. “Your captain tells you to hold off, you hold off.”
“Is that what you would have done?”
It wasn’t a casual question. It was a challenge, and Luc could tell from the narrowing of his brother’s eyes that Anthony knew it.
“Following orders is the job.”
It wasn’t a straight answer. Luc wasn’t sure he wanted a straight answer, although he was afraid he already knew.
Anthony would have gone in there without permission if his cop instinct was buzzing.
If Anthony had been called to the scene instead of Luc, Jensen and Shayna would still be alive.
But even chewed up as he was over the nightmare, Luc knew that going down the path of hypothetic wasn’t healthy. It wouldn’t happen. Except…
It had been Luc who had been called to the scene.
It had been Luc’s partner who had gotten shot.
It had been Luc who had to touch the angry marks on Shayna’s neck to check for a pulse that wasn’t there.
“Hey,” Anthony said, his voice gentler than its usual gruff bark. “Whatever you’re thinking…stop.”
Luc met his brother’s eyes, and then with every burst of willpower did what the cop therapist had suggested he try whenever the memories threatened to take over.
He took a deep breath. Counted to three. Another breath. Three again.
One…
Two…
Very slowly the pressure in his chest started to ease. He gave his brother a nod. I’m okay.
Then he reached for Anthony’s discarded leftovers, not bothering to get a fresh fork, b
ecause…brothers.
“Guess I should be thankful the paparazzi and tourists weren’t around for that part of my career, huh?” Luc asked with a wan smile, trying to lighten the mood.
Luc stopped chewing and narrowed his eyes on Anthony’s face. His brother had suddenly stopped making eye contact and was making a big deal out of washing his water glass.
Not having Anthony’s power of silent inquisition, he went for the regular, verbal kind. “What’s up?”
“Huh?”
Luc speared the last remaining piece of penne and studied his brother. “Don’t huh me. You got all weird when I mentioned the media.”
Luc’s fork dropped loudly to the counter as he stood up straighter. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t tell Ava Sims about Shayna Taylor.”
“No!” His brother looked uncharacteristically expressive, and the expression was pissed. “Fuck you.”
Luc relaxed only slightly. “Nonna? Did she tell Ava?”
“Christ, Luca…We’re your family. We’re here to protect you, not throw your most painful memories out to a hot reporter.”
“Then why’d you go weird?”
“I didn’t,” Anthony said, shoving past and using his shoulder to jar Luc’s. “You’re the one being weird. I’m going to bed.”
Luc watched his brother head to the bedroom. “Hey, Anth.”
His brother paused, turned his chin almost to his shoulder, although he didn’t look back all the way.
“Thanks. For listening.”
Anthony held up his hand in a silent you’re welcome, before slipping back into his bedroom to spoon his overnight guest.
Luc stood for a long while in the dark, the sharpness of his dream fading into the usual shadows of his mind, even as his instincts hummed that that episode in his life wasn’t over yet.
Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
This is bullshit,” Luc said, running two hands through his hair. “You’ve already seen the video. Everyone’s seen the video. What’s the point of reenacting something when you can watch the real deal?”
Ava’s chest expanded slightly in what Luc now knew was her don’t lose your shit internal pep talk to herself. “So we can have dinner together, but we can’t just walk and talk along the river’s edge in Battery Park?”