by Iris Morland
That was something she’d never experienced before.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” He swore some more, grinding his teeth until Kat was sure he’d have only dust for teeth in a moment. “This is not okay. We have to go to the police.”
“I don’t disagree, but what are they going to do? I know this person—or persons—is untraceable. It’s a threat, but unless they can ID him, the most I could do is get a restraining order, if I knew who he was. But since we don’t, there’s not much we can do.”
Gavin just glared at the ground. “I get what you’re saying,” he finally said, “but I’m not going to sit around and do nothing.” He took her hands. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Kat. I promise you that. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but we need to figure this out. Can you come over tonight?”
She blinked. “To your apartment?”
At that, his fierce expression softened into a grin. “For dinner only. I promise. Emma will be there anyway.”
She still hesitated. Being in Gavin’s space, seeing his apartment, just being in close quarters? It was a recipe for disaster. Or rather, a recipe for letting whatever this was get beyond a few kisses in a parking lot one night.
But Kat realized with a start that she didn’t want to return to her grandmother’s house all alone to think and stew and be afraid.
“Okay, yes. Dinner. Should I bring anything?”
He smiled, and her heart pounded for an entirely different reason now. “Just yourself. I’ll take care of the rest.”
5
“Emma, could you set the table?” Gavin called from the kitchen.
He could see his daughter’s blonde head pop up from the couch before she called back, “What?”
He sighed. “Come set the table, please!”
“Why? We never set the table for dinner.”
God save him from questioning eight-year-olds. Although Emma was shy around people she didn’t know and was often extremely self-conscious in public, she managed to seem more like your usual kid when at home. It was some small comfort to Gavin that the daughter he’d gotten used to before everything that had happened still existed.
Emma wandered into the kitchen to watch him. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“You’re cooking.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Ms. Williamson is coming to dinner, that’s why. Now, go set the table like I asked you to.”
Emma rolled her eyes, but Gavin was so happy to see her acting like a real kid that he didn’t have the heart to reprimand her for it. Better to have a daughter rolling her eyes than hiding behind him because she was terrified of invisible monsters.
He heard the clatter of silverware and glasses as he attempted to finish sautéing the vegetables. After messaging Jaime for advice on what to serve, Gavin had decided a quiche would be easiest to manage in the short time frame he’d given himself. When he’d asked Kat for dinner, he’d realized—only afterward—that he’d have to, in fact, cook something edible. Most nights he was too tired to do more than put something in the oven or microwave for himself and Emma. He winced inwardly. He probably should do better on that front, at least for Emma, if not for himself.
“Okay, I’m done,” Emma said as she came back into the tiny kitchen. They currently lived in a small apartment above Mike’s grocery store, and although it had two bedrooms, sometimes it felt overly crowded with one adult and one child. It was a far cry from their house in Boston. Then again, that house had too many painful memories; it was the last place Gavin wanted to return to.
“Did you use placemats?” he asked absently, wondering if the zucchini was supposed to be this soft.
Emma made a huffing sound. “Of course I did.”
“Good. Be sure to fill a pitcher with ice water before Kat—I mean Ms. Williamson—gets here.”
She didn’t say anything, but just watched as he transferred the vegetables to a plate. Gavin hadn’t taken much in the way of stuff when he’d left Boston. All the china and silverware he hadn’t cared anything about. Now, though, he wished he had something nicer than plastic plates and glasses. How he’d ended up bringing any placemats with him was beyond him. He’d been in such a daze it was a wonder he’d managed to get himself all the way here without incident.
A knock on the front door sounded, and Emma ran to get it before Gavin even asked her to. He listened as Kat said hello to Emma, and he tried to stop his heart from racing as he thought about Kat being here, in his apartment, which was only a few yards from his bedroom, which had his bed, which he could kiss her in, and touch her, and…
“It smells amazing,” Kat said as she walked into the kitchen. “You cooked for me?”
Gavin opened the oven to take out the quiche. He sighed in relief to see it wasn’t a soupy mess, but it still needed a few more minutes. “I tried, at least,” he replied grimly. “If it tastes awful, feel free to tell me as much.”
“Don’t worry, we will,” Emma chirped.
He gave Emma a look. “How about you go show Ms. Williamson those kittens, little miss sassy?”
Emma didn’t need to be asked twice. She practically bolted from the apartment, dragging Kat along with her. Knowing Emma, she’d knock on Joy McGuire’s door—Gavin’s brother’s fiancée—and ask her to come, too, even though she’d seen the kittens at least twice already.
Gavin had a feeling Emma would ask to keep one of those kittens, but they were still too young to part from their mother, so he had a bit of time to stall. He wasn’t averse to having a pet, but right now he had way too much on his plate to care for a kitten. Emma could help, but she was young enough that Gavin would still have to help her.
He rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t need to be thinking about kittens right now. He needed to figure out how to help Kat with these threats she’d received. Gavin didn’t know anything about Internet trolls and gamers and whatever else Kat had talked about, but he did know cowards, and he refused to see Kat scared and upset again. Not if he could prevent it.
The timer dinged for the quiche, and he opened the oven to pull it out. After placing the quiche and vegetables on the table, he grabbed the loaf of bread he’d picked up from the store and hoped that the meal was at least decent. He wasn’t a bad cook, per se, just an inexperienced one. When he’d been married and Teagan had been well, she’d usually cooked for the family. After she’d started spiraling, though, meals had become less and less important. It had become more about surviving, if he was honest.
The front door opened as the pair returned. “Dad, one of the kittens has a white spot on its belly!” Emma gave him the news like she’d discovered the cure for cancer, and he couldn’t help but smile. “And I think one of them is going to be long-haired while the rest are short-haired.”
“Interesting. Go wash your hands before dinner,” Gavin replied. He looked up to see Kat smiling. She’d changed since he’d seen her earlier, wearing tight skinny jeans with boots and a bright red blouse. When she smiled, though, it transformed her face, and she became not merely pretty, but beautiful. And when she turned and showed off that amazing ass of hers? Gavin had to stifle a groan.
This really hadn’t been his best idea, he admitted to himself.
Kat washed her hands before they all sat down for dinner. Despite her loquaciousness just moments earlier, Emma reverted to her normally shy self now with Kat sitting at the table. Gavin had a feeling it was because the excitement over showing Kat the kittens had faded, and now his daughter preferred to keep quiet. It didn’t help that Gavin found himself tongue-tied. Could he ever figure out how to act around this woman?
“The quiche is very good,” Kat offered into the silence. She didn’t seem fazed by the silence, and he admired her ability to talk to people with ease. “Thanks again for inviting me,” she added.
Gavin nodded. “You’re welcome.”
He wanted to ask her about the emails, but it wasn’t exactly a subj
ect you discussed over dinner. Finally, he landed on the mundane. “How’s work?”
“Much the same as always. I teach the kids about computers and hope they don’t forget everything the next day.” Kat picked up her wineglass and swirled the wine before sipping it. “Some days a student will press the print button twenty times and we end up with some huge photo printed over and over again, so that’s usually exciting.”
His mouth twitched. He looked at Emma, but she was studiously gazing at her plate. Perhaps talking about school and students wasn’t the best idea around a girl who was one of her students.
He fell silent, feeling awkward and stupid. He’d only had one girlfriend—and then that girlfriend had become his wife—and so he had little experience with women. Having a daughter helped in a way, but he didn’t really know how to talk to a woman as put-together and beautiful and smart as Kat. She radiated confidence. Even as she cut into her piece of quiche, she somehow managed to do so with style. Gavin couldn’t explain it.
“So you were living in Boston?” Kat asked.
“Yes. For about six years or so.”
“Is Emma’s mom still there?”
Gavin swallowed. He glanced at Emma, who was now slumping down into her chair like she was trying to disappear.
“Yes, she is.” Gavin knew he sounded tight-lipped and borderline rude, but the last thing he wanted to talk about was Teagan. He wished he could talk about his ex-wife without feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but at the moment, thinking about her only reminded him of how he’d failed his family completely.
I couldn’t save her. And now I’m afraid I won’t be able to help my daughter, either.
Kat, as if realizing she’d ventured into awkward territory, seemed to decide that silence was her best option. Gavin didn’t know what to say either, so the dinner continued with only the sounds of silverware against plates and water glasses being lifted. When Emma asked to be excused after eating only a few bites, he didn’t have the energy to fight her.
Emma went to her room, closing the door. Gavin knew she was retreating into her books, which he understood completely. He had always done the same. Although recently he’d had less time to read, he remembered reading book after book as a kid just like Emma did now. Books couldn’t hurt you—not really. A book could surprise you, sadden you, anger you, but when you closed it, it was over. It had never happened. The fantasy would dissipate, and soon you’d be thrust back into cold reality, the glimmers of that fantasy slowly fading.
Despite his insistence otherwise, Kat helped with the dishes. Gavin could barely concentrate on washing anything with her standing next to him, so close he could smell her perfume. She smelled spicy yet sweet, and he wanted to inhale against her skin to take in all the notes. How did she manage to unsettle him just by standing next to him?
They retreated to the living room, where one wall was covered with books of all sorts. Gavin might not have taken any of the china, but he’d made certain to bring his books. A wineglass in hand, Kat perused the shelves, touching some of the spines with light brushes of her fingers.
“Do you have a favorite?” she asked.
“I don’t, actually. I know I should, but I could never decide.”
He saw her try to hide a smile. “Then what are some of your favorites?”
“Would it be cheesy to say that all of these are?”
She pulled out a copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude. “You’ve read all these? Impressive. I don’t know if I’ve read thirty percent of the books on my shelf.”
“I only keep the ones I like. I have a rule that if I don’t read a book within a year of buying it, I donate it.”
She laughed. “If I had that rule, I wouldn’t have any books left.” Placing the book in her hand back onto the shelf, she continued looking before taking out another one. “Lady Chatterley’s Lover, huh? I have read this one.”
Gavin felt a blush on his cheeks, and then wanted to blush for blushing. “It’s a good book,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Kat shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t much for the guy—what’s his name? Mellors?—mansplaining all over the place. Telling Connie how she should orgasm and everything.”
Gavin coughed on the wine he was drinking, and Kat good-naturedly hit him on the back. He waved her away, and she just laughed. “That’s not exactly how I read the book,” he replied, “but why am I not surprised by you saying something like that?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She put her hands on her hips, although the smile on her face belied her irritation.
“Just that you’re so…” He struggled to find the right word. “Forthright. You aren’t afraid to say what you mean.”
“You mean I’m too opinionated and should keep it to myself.”
He shook his head. “The opposite. I wish more people were like you. Hell, I wish I were more like you. I think too much about what other people think about me.”
She didn’t say anything, simply sipping her wine thoughtfully. He gazed at her profile, taking in the slope of her nose, her full lips, the dimples in her cheeks. Her skin shimmered in the low light, and he remembered touching her that night in the parking lot. How she’d been soft as silk and tasted like strawberries.
“I think that’s the first time someone’s said they wanted to be like me,” she admitted. “Most of my life, people have told me that I shouldn’t be so opinionated. Flamboyant. Talkative. I’m already stereotyped since I’m black…” She looked at him, but he just waited for her to go on. “I’m either the angry black girl or the loud black girl. Never just a woman who has things to say and maybe isn’t quiet about it.” She shrugged, flicking her gaze to him. “But now I’m just talking about nothing.”
“Nothing you could say would mean nothing to me,” he admitted.
She smiled. “Even though that made no sense, I’m going to say thank you anyway.”
He bowed, which just made her laugh. Had he ever heard her laugh before? It was a sound he could listen to all day, every day.
He didn’t know if was the quiet of the apartment, or how she looked standing next to him, or if it was just a quirk of fate that he could not control, but as she turned toward him, he said in a voice he barely recognized, “I’m going to kiss you.”
Her eyes widened. She wasn’t laughing now, for which he was patently grateful. But to his surprise, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “Oh thank God,” before she ended up kissing him.
It was like a match to a wick. They inflamed each other, and Gavin pulled her close so that their bodies aligned, her softness to his hardness. She was taller than Teagan was, and he had to admit, it was nice not to get a crick in his neck from kissing. All thoughts of his ex-wife fluttered away, though, when she slicked her tongue inside his mouth. He groaned, his hand sliding down her back to cup her ass. He felt her inhalation of breath.
The kiss lengthened, became something neither of them expected. It was sweet and desperate, all tongues and teeth, soft moans and groans filling the space between them. He wanted to touch her everywhere, and his hands didn’t stay in one spot for long. Her ass, her back, her shoulders, her arms. He wanted to strip her bare and revel in her body.
Kat was no passive partner. She kissed him with equal fervor, and when he felt her hands sliding up under his shirt, he practically jumped out of his skin with want. Yes, touch me, feel me, he thought frantically. Gliding her fingers up his abdomen, she circled his belly button before going higher. She flicked one of his flat nipples, and for that, he nipped at her plush bottom lip.
He’d grown so hard it was almost painful. He wished she’d delve lower, take him in hand, and stroke his cock until he came. As if she read his mind, her other hand teased around the waistband of his jeans.
“Jesus, Kat,” he groaned against her mouth.
She just toyed with him, only dancing her fingertips across his skin. She dipped a finger near the button of his jeans, and he almost lost a
ll of his self-control.
“I’d make a joke about you being happy to see me, but that seems kind of unfair right now,” she whispered.
He grasped that roving hand and pressed it against his hard cock. She gasped, and he leaned in to kiss her as she fondled him through his jeans.
About to beg her to put her bare hand on him, he stroked the line of her neck when he heard a door creak open. He barely registered the sound, but Kat came to her senses more quickly than he did. She jumped away from him just as Emma came into the living room.
The three of them stared at each other in silence. Gavin tried to control his breathing and turned away so his arousal wouldn’t be visible, and he could see Kat trying to put herself together as well. Emma simply blinked at them before walking into the kitchen. Gavin heard her turn on the faucet before she walked back to her room, water glass in hand.
He let out a breath. Kat snorted, and he glared at her.
“I think that’s the sign for me to go.” She smoothed her clothes, although she looked barely wrinkled. Whereas Gavin felt like he’d been sent through the wringer twenty times over.
“Let me walk you home,” he offered.
“No, it’s fine. I need the fresh air.” She hesitated, but then leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for dinner.”
After Kat left, Gavin realized with a start that they hadn’t talked about that email she’d gotten. He cursed. What kind of protector was he if he got so distracted by kissing her that he couldn’t come up with a way to keep her safe? After his body had calmed down and his mind wasn’t quite as filled with thoughts of her in his bed, he sent her a quick text.
Forgot to talk about that email. Still think you should go to the police.
Her reply was almost instantaneous: That’s not what I was thinking about on my walk home, but I’ll think about it. Have a good night, Gavin.