I took a very long, hot shower and let the water ease the aches I had in my shoulders and neck from a long day of blowouts, updos, and applying makeup. I hadn’t eaten anything except for a small pastry for breakfast, and my blood sugar was letting me know it. I wasn’t a bit hungry, but I knew I had to eat or I’d end up with a massive headache.
Speaking of headaches, I happened to see one very sexy and frustrating detective standing on the sidewalk in front of my house. Gabriel Wyatt. I could tell by his body language that he was very hesitant about knocking on my door. Could I blame him? I wanted to; I truly did, but I knew I was the reason he hesitated. I ran hot and cold with him, and I knew it had to fuck with his mind. It wasn’t something that I did intentionally, but I doubted he would believe that.
I stood in my window and just looked down at him while my mind replayed every run-in I’d had with him over the last few months. I had seen him around our small town plenty of times, but we never spoke until Bianca’s death. I had heard my friend’s screams and called 911. That night, Detective Dark and Dangerous showed up at my house to ask questions. I felt something sizzle and spark inside me the first time I looked into his eyes.
My attraction to him died a quick and painful death when I followed him and his partner out of my sitting room downstairs to ask a question about Bianca’s death. They didn’t know I trailed them, so they felt free to talk amongst themselves. What I heard that night left no doubt in my mind that the dark-haired, dark-eyed detective was no different than the rest of the guys I mistakenly fell for in the past.
“He’s cute, huh?” his partner had asked tall, dark, and dreamy.
“Stop, Adrian.” His response was surprisingly firm.
“Come on, man. You and Kyle split up over a year ago. It’s time you got back on the horse or allowed yourself to be mounted—whatever you’re into.” I couldn’t see the expression on Adrian’s face, but I imagined he was waggling his eyebrows or something silly.
“He’s not really my type,” Detective Dreamy said with a casual shrug. Right then I knew where this was going, and I should’ve just turned around and gone back to my friends, but I couldn’t. I had to know what he was going to say.
“Why ever not?” Adrian sounded genuinely confused by his answer.
“He’s just a bit too…”
“Feminine?” I finished for him. I could hear the edge of anger in my soft voice. The detective duo whipped around to face me, shock registering on their faces. The look of shock on Gabe’s face turned to shame in an instant when he realized I knew what he was about to say. I held my head high and stood straight and proud in front of them like I’d taught myself to do over the years.
“You’re one of those ‘masc only’ guys, aren’t you?” I even used air quotes for emphasis. At least he had the decency to look mortified at getting caught. “Don’t worry, Detective Wyatt. I’m not into tall, dark, and dickish men, so you’re safe from my affections.”
As first meetings went, it was terrible. He had approached me with an apology in his eyes several times during the weeks that followed, but I didn’t want to hear it. He wasn’t sorry he thought it or that he was about to say it. He was only sorry that I overheard him. It was a battle I’d faced all my life, and quite frankly, I was tired of it. So, I insulted him at every turn before he could get a word in edgewise.
Gabe took it like a champ each time until his patience ran out; then he kissed me. I didn’t react very well to the kiss—okay, I did during the scorching kiss, but not afterward. In the process of setting him straight, I exposed some of my insecurities to him, flirted with another guy, and insinuated that I’d be going home with him to make Gabe jealous. In essence, I’d made an ass of myself.
I barely slept after I returned home from the club alone. After tossing and turning for hours, I got up and baked apology cookies and took them to Gabe later that morning. I wasn’t sure what kind of reception I was going to receive but was surprised when he welcomed me into his home without any wisecracks. Instead, he made us coffee, and we sat down to eat cookies at his kitchen table. I wouldn’t have been as forgiving or as nice as he was that morning had the situation been reversed.
Gabe moaned and groaned indecently around his bites of my chocolate chip cookies. My dick didn’t care about how big of a mistake it would be to get involved with him. He looked at me, his eyes honing in on my lips, and told me I had a little chocolate on my mouth. Gabe leaned forward, and I thought he was going to wipe it off with his finger, but instead, he licked it off.
That small gesture was like throwing gasoline on a bonfire. Gabe threw me over his shoulder then carried me upstairs to his room where I rode him like he was a bronco. After I had bragged about being limber in one of my tirades, I had to show him what I could do. I thanked the yoga gods when I saw his dark eyes burn with unadulterated lust when he looked up at me. He gripped my hips so hard he left bruised fingermarks that lasted for days, and it turned me on every time I saw them.
I snuck out of his house and did my walk of shame home and then avoided him for days afterward. When he finally pinned me down, I told him what we experienced was a mistake and would not happen again. I wanted to mean it, but I also knew there was something about him that made me want to take a chance. Later that same night, I got the scare of my life when Bianca’s killer broke into my house and tried to kill me. I had called Gabe in a panic when I heard the glass in my back door shatter and knew what was about to happen. I could’ve called 911, but if those were my last minutes on earth, I wanted to hear his voice one more time.
He saved me that night. He shot and killed that guy in my bedroom and then held me tight when fear and shock rocked my body like an earthquake. The police came and separated us so they could take our statements, and I immediately missed the heat of his body and his arms around me. After everyone had left, we looked at each other for several long moments.
I wanted to ask him to stay; I think he wanted to take me back to his place to tuck me away nice and safe. In the end, neither of us said anything of the sort. He watched as I pulled spare blankets out of a hall closet and made up a temporary bed on the couch. That bastard died on my bed, and I’d never sleep on it again.
“I’m going to need to buy a new bed tomorrow,” was what I ended up saying to Gabe. I didn’t thank him for running to the rescue and saving me. I acted like I always did, I pushed all thought of the incident aside and focused on what I could control. I couldn’t change what happened in my home, but I could buy a new bed and bedding.
Gabe reluctantly left that night, and we went back to pretending we were strangers for the weeks that followed. I’d seen him about town, but we never spoke again until the morning outside Georgia’s house. Looking down at him through my window, I could see how twisted up he was about stopping by to see me. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and let him make up his mind, but instead, I yelled out the window and issued a challenge that I knew would work in my favor. Regardless of what my brain said, I wanted to see him again and breathe in the scent of him—sandalwood, citrus, and man.
I met Gabe at the back door and insulted him like a school kid would, but it didn’t faze him. He just smirked at me and walked into the kitchenette the staff, and I used for the salon. I shut the door and turned to face him. The way he chewed his lower lip and his furrowed brow led me to believe that he was feeling uncertain about being in my home.
“How are you doing?” he asked, his deep voice filled with concern. I liked it almost as much as when his voice was gravelly with need when he came.
“Who’s asking? The cop or the guy who…” I let my words trail off because I wasn’t sure how to classify him.
Gabe could’ve come back with a witty, snappy reply, but he didn’t. He was obviously a better person than me because I would’ve jumped all over that opening. “I’m not here on official police business,” he replied. “You’ve been dealt many blows lately, and I wanted to make sure you were holding up.”
“You
want to come up for a cup of coffee?” I think we were both shocked by my question—probably me more than him. “And I mean coffee, nothing more.” I had seen the little flare of hope in the dark depths of his eyes and I had meant it when I said we weren’t having sex again. He was just too damn dangerous for my heart.
“Sure.” Gabe offered me a sly grin and followed me up to the second story.
I wondered if he was thinking how different that visit was from the previous one. I still woke up with nightmares of that man pinning me to my bed with his knees on my chest. I couldn’t breathe, and I was quickly losing my strength as the sharp end of his knife got closer and closer to my throat. Sometimes I dreamed other people were trying to kill me. In fact, one dream included the dashing detective with a knife to my throat. Dreaming of him pinning me to my bed wasn’t new, but in all my previous dreams I was panting, moaning, and begging for more, not fighting for my life. I felt that dream was symbolic of my internal struggle to resist him.
Gabe took a seat on the sofa while I popped a K-Cup in the Keurig to make him a cup of coffee. I remembered how he liked his coffee from my only visit to his house. It was good host manners and nothing more that encouraged me to add the hazelnut creamer and sugar to the brew for him.
“Thank you,” he politely said when I handed his cup to him. “So, how are you holding up?” he asked when I returned to the living room with my cup of coffee. I sat in the club chair rather than beside him on the couch. The smile on his face was almost a smirk. Did he think I didn’t trust myself to sit beside him? Well, he wasn’t wrong. I feared he was my kryptonite.
“I’m still shocked,” I replied honestly. “This seems like a really bad dream.”
“Tell me about the Georgia you knew,” Gabe said. He didn’t sound like he was asking as part of his investigation. He sounded like he genuinely wanted to know as if he cared.
“She was a tough nut.” I closed my eyes and pictured the Georgia I knew; the one she rarely showed to the world. She smiled, she laughed, and she told bawdy jokes. She didn’t care that I was gay. She only cared that I was always honest with her. It wasn’t something that happened when she was the mayor’s wife. People told her what she wanted to hear and she lost respect for them. Then there was the ordeal with Nadine and Rocky’s affair. That was the ultimate betrayal, and she felt her entire adult life had been a lie. “I knew a different side of her than most. She trusted me.” Emotion choked my voice when I added, “And I let her down.”
“How so?”
“I could’ve refused Nadine as a client, but I thought it was bad for business to choose sides. Personally, I always chose Georgia.”
“Were you upset about what she said to you?” Gabe set his coffee down and leaned forward when I didn’t answer right away. “I’m not here as a cop. I’m trying to be a…” He paused for a few moments as he searched for the right term. “Friend,” he finally said.
“Friend,” I repeated, testing the word on my tongue. The thing was, I couldn’t be sure I even liked Gabe, so a friendship wasn’t something I wanted from him. I chose to ignore it and answer his damn question for fear I’d give myself a goddamned migraine if I thought too hard. “I wasn’t worried,” I told him, but I had already said that earlier in the day. “She would’ve forgiven me. I was going to make it up to her.”
Gabe looked at me for a few seconds before he picked up his coffee and took another sip. “Look, I’ve wanted to say something to you for quite some time now and…”
“Don’t.” My words were firm and resolute, to the point that he jerked back a bit in his seat. “I know you want to apologize for what you almost said the night Bianca died. I’ve seen the apology in your eyes many times, but I honestly don’t want to hear it.” His mouth dropped open in surprise, so I took advantage. “I wish I could tell you it’s water under the bridge, but it’s not. By now you’ve learned it’s a very sore subject for me. Guys like you…” I broke off because I was stereotyping just like he’d done to me because I’m leaner than most men, there’s a sway to my hips when I walk, and I’m vibrant. To a lot of men, that made me feminine, and it pissed me off. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter, Josh,” Gabe said. “I hurt your feelings, and I am sorry for it. I’m not going to bullshit you by pretending I wasn’t going to say it or that I didn’t mean it at the time because I did. That’s not what I was going to apologize about.” Kudos for honesty.
“Then what are you sorry for?” I asked, tilting my head to the side in puzzlement.
He rose to his feet and set his coffee cup down. “For being narrow-minded.”
“Oh,” was my awe-inspiring response. Gabe Wyatt had done something that not many had over my lifetime; he rendered me speechless.
“I’m going to show myself out now. You’ve had a traumatic day, so you stay up here and rest. I’ll lock the door behind me.” He nodded his head when I sat there staring mutely at him. “Okay then, I’ll see you around.” He made it to the top of the stairs before I finally found my voice.
“Detective,” I called out. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at me. “Do you honestly think I’m dangerous?” Did he think that I could hurt another person? I needed to know.
“Not to anyone but me,” Gabe said in response. His mouth quirked up in a half-smile before he descended the steps.
My heart pounded in my chest, and my brain throbbed over the possibility of his words. Did he mean that I was dangerous to his heart? Couldn’t be! It had to be my low blood sugar playing tricks on me. And if I did understand him correctly? Then what?
THE SKY OPENED AND released a torrent of cold rain as soon as I was inside my car. I had almost walked the two blocks to Josh’s house, but I was glad I drove when my wipers couldn’t keep my windshield clear on max speed. Rather than risk an accident, I pulled over and decided to wait until the rain let up a bit.
I would’ve normally groaned about the cold rain, but I was still buzzing from being in Josh’s presence and not being on the receiving end of his cutting tongue. For once, things weren’t tense and awkward between us. Weird feelings stirred within me when he handed me my coffee and I saw it was exactly how I liked it. It meant he had been paying attention to me and I liked that a lot more than the simple act warranted. It made me feel bolder and gave me the courage to speak up.
Did I just flirt with Josh? I did, and I shocked him so much that his mouth gaped open and no words came out. That was a first. Usually, he was the one who left me tongue tied. Of course, my mind immediately went to the gutter, remembering the way our tongues tangled during our hot kisses and trying to figure out how to get more of them.
The truth was Josh had me completely enthralled with him. It went beyond his looks because I had seen him many times before, but the way I responded to him was different. I wasn’t in love with the guy. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I liked him. There was something about him that captured my attention the first time he opened his mouth and blasted me with his sarcasm. Josh was prickly, untouchable, and carried a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. And damned if I didn’t want to knock that chip off. I decided it was straight-up lust. If so, it would fade over time, and I could get back to solid footing instead of feeling like my equilibrium was fucked up.
The way he challenged me was new to me and it turned me on beyond sanity. What kind of guy wants someone who doesn’t want them back? I mean, I’ve seen that behavior before and I always shook my head in confusion, but, yet, there I was in the same boat. I craved Josh Roman like an illicit drug. Why? Because he was a challenge? Because he was completely different from any guy, I had ever dated? I didn’t have the answers to my questions.
All I knew was that he sparked something inside me that I didn’t want to squelch. That one afternoon I spent with him showed me that something huge had been missing in my life for a long time—passion. I had loved Kyle deeply, I truly had. Our sex life for the first year and a half of our relationship had been stellar, in my opi
nion. Things had slowly fizzled out between us, and I had blamed our careers and the time apart, but even when we were together, we lacked spark. Sex had been more perfunctory, as if we were going through the motions, by the time our relationship ended.
I felt guilty thinking about Kyle in those terms, but it was true. Even after our cordial breakup—and it had been very amicable—we still hooked up a few times because it was easier and safer to have sex together rather than look for it with strangers. At the time, I thought it was no big deal. We weren’t hurting anyone, and we both got what we needed, but I was wrong. We were hurting ourselves by not going out and finding someone more suitable for us.
Sure, Kyle and I had a lot in common, but we didn’t push each other to become better. We didn’t spark an insane need to be inside one another. Playing it safe with our emotions wasn’t going to enrich our lives on any level, and I suddenly wanted that for myself at thirty-five years old.
I wasn’t implying that Josh was “the one” I would grow old with, but I knew he was “the one” I wanted to take a chance on—if only he could find a way to like me after I botched things. I had tried on numerous occasions to apologize to him. I was glad that he never let it happen and that I had to force my words on him that night. Truthfully, my earlier apologies would’ve been based on my guilt rather than enlightenment. I meant what I told him that evening.
I had been narrow-minded in my thinking and I failed to recognize that beauty exists in more places than just ripped muscles, chest hair, and deep voices. I don’t know when I changed, or how, but I suspected it was just something about Josh himself that had me sitting up straight and taking notice. I admired his long, lean frame and the fluid way his body moved while walking, dancing, and fucking. Josh had appropriately proportioned muscles to fit his frame and the smoothest skin that I had ever felt. I discovered I liked the differences between our bodies—from our heights, our skin tones, and our weight. I never once thought of his attributes as feminine when I had him in my arms or my bed. I had been a judgmental ass, and I was determined to prove that my old way of thinking was well and truly in my past.
Dyeing to be Loved (Curl Up and Dye Mysteries, #1) Page 6