by Violet Duke
But the coffee…well, the coffee, he would hold onto to be polite until he was back at the station, where he’d toss it without drinking a sip.
Like most former addicts, Caine could remember the exact day he’d had his last drink.
It was the morning Addison and the kids had left seven years ago.
Once a ten-mugs-a-day drinker, he hadn’t touched the stuff since—not even in the form of barely caffeinated mocha ice cream or the popular java liquor truffles from his buddy Luke’s chocolate shop in Cactus Creek that everyone he knew was obsessed with.
Yep, Addison hadn’t just ruined him for all other women, she’d ruined him for all other coffee as well.
Strangely, he didn’t miss it as much as he thought he would.
Ditto when it came to women.
After failing miserably at being remotely good company during the handful of blind dates some of his friends had pushed on him over the years, all the folks in his inner circle finally accepted that he had no interest in anyone that wasn’t Addison.
His heart was a damn stubborn thing. And he was okay with that.
It didn’t matter how many years passed, Addison was it for him. He may not have had a lot of time with her back in Creek Hills, but he knew himself well enough to know he’d fallen in love with her, plain and simple. So much so that he found himself hoping that wherever she was, she was finding happiness, even if it wasn’t with him.
Of course, his brain wasn’t nearly as sadistically sappy as his heart.
He’d managed to pulverize a good number of punching bags beyond repair by imagining they were possible new men in Addison’s life. He was only human. In his perfectly reasonable and rational mind, the only sort of happiness she was engaging in was the celibate, nothing-more-than-a-peck-on-the-cheek variety like he was.
Christ, he missed her.
Little things reminded him of her every day. Even now. Here he was just driving on back to his regular beat, when a memory hit him of how Addison always used to have little notes jotted down on the back of her hand, a lot like the scribbled words on the back of the dainty hand attached to the raven-haired woman a car length ahead of him in the next lane over.
Over the years, he’d gotten better at not overreacting to things like that.
He’d come a long way in that regard.
Seven years ago, before Addison’s stalker had jumped bail, those few scribbled words would’ve had Caine already running that car’s plates to get info on the driver—who, with her jet black hair and badass biker babe make-up, didn’t look even remotely similar to Addison.
And if the woman in question had briefly met his gaze through her side view mirror and quickly slid her sunglasses back down over her eyes like this woman was doing now, he would’ve gone batshit crazy and called an APB out on her right then and there.
But it wasn’t seven years ago.
And Addison’s stalker was still friggin’ at large.
As a result, Caine had had a long time to develop the kind of rigid self-control necessary to resist looking for Addison every second of every day.
So…when the well-disguised woman that he knew in his gut was definitely Addison began weaving her way to the farthest lane away from him to get to a freeway on-ramp, he called on every available bit of restraint he possessed to fight back the urge to follow her.
For all of two seconds.
Then he did the only thing a man with no reserves of self-control left did when he found himself just a few car lengths away from the love of his life, who was not only out of hiding, but hightailing it away from him after seven long years.
…He chased the hell out of her.
Addison pulled up her parking brake and turned off her car in gobsmacked astonishment.
He’d actually pulled her over. Caine Spencer. With his flashing sirens and everything. For no good or remotely plausible reason.
The man had even had the nerve to use that squad car bullhorn speaker when she’d first slowed to a stop on the side of the road. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Seven years since they’d seen each other last and this was how he was greeting her.
Unbelievable.
The Caine she used to know would never have done anything like this, not even as a joke.
And judging by the unrelenting clench of his jaw, the edgy steel in his frame, and the intimidating all-cop way he was now walking over to her, he definitely wasn’t trying to be funny.
Truth be told, Addison had run this reunion though her head thousands of times over the years—how coming face to face with the man she’d lost her heart to back in Creek Hills would play out.
Not once had she imagined anything like this.
Maybe he doesn’t know it’s you.
She nearly snorted out loud over that. Sure, he was wearing dark tactical sunglasses, but no manmade metal could contain the intensity of his gaze, or hide the way he was pinning her in her seat with his focused stare via her side view mirror.
And even more damning, no amount of distance or time could temper her irrepressible reaction to having Caine’s eyes on her again.
His eyes know it’s me as surely as my body knows it’s him.
That’s when she finally looked beyond his still-impressive biceps to the metal clipboard and traffic ticket booklet he was carrying. He was really going to do it. He was seriously going to write her a ticket when she’d done absolutely nothing wrong.
She didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish with this whole tall, dark, and relentless vibe, complete with the brooding police Jedi mind tricks, but she refused to let it ruffle her.
“Hands on the steering wheel.”
Okay, it was starting to ruffle her a tiny bit.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s just trying to throw you off balance, control the situation.
Well, it wasn’t going to work.
It didn’t matter how criminally sexy he’d looked strutting over in full uniform with his massive arms reminding her how he’d once held her up against a wall and…
Damn it!
He’s treating you like a perp on the side of the road. She tried like heck to hold onto her indignation over that as she placed her hands on the steering wheel and listened to his boots crunch a few steps closer until his muscle-bound frame filled her driver’s side window.
Having never in fact been pulled over before, Addison hadn’t realized that a six-foot cop standing right outside her car positioned her right at eye level with his—
She yanked her wandering eyes back in its sockets and then turned to stare straight ahead, keeping her focus on her tight grip on the steering wheel as she asked extra-politely, “What seems to be the problem, officer?”
From the corner of her eye, she watched him cross his arms over his distractingly broad chest as if saying silently, “Really? That’s how you want to play this?”
It was the only play she had. Because it was one thing to pretend that she didn’t notice how her memories clearly hadn’t done justice to how devastatingly gorgeous the man was, or how somehow, he’d managed to become even more dangerously compelling now that he was seven years older, harder, and hotter. But it was another thing to attempt to stem the flood of emotions that came rushing back simply from being this close to him again.
“License and registration.”
Lordy, was it entirely necessary for him to use that husky, gritty voice on her?
She reached over for her registration, willing herself not to reach back and pull down her tee-shirt, which she could feel sliding up the small of her back a bit. It was just an inch of flesh; no need to get paranoid that his eyes were on that sliver of skin above her waistband.
So saying, she could feel his gaze on her back, and couldn’t help the resulting tremble in her hands as she handed him her license and registration.
When he reached forward to grab it, her eyes stuck like glue to his strong, calloused hands. His sinewy forearms. Good god, it was like that unifor
m was custom tailored to mold to the hard, flexing muscles of his laser-cut arms, and broad chest.
She slid her eyes back to the safety of her dashboard.
It was a good thing she still had her sunglasses on.
“Remove your sunglasses, please.”
Cripes, the man played dirty.
“You didn’t tell me why you pulled me over. What was I going, a whole five miles over the speed limit?”
His lips twitched at one corner. “More like three miles, could even be two.”
The ass. Don’t you dare smile, woman.
“The sunglasses, ma’am.”
Ma’am? “I’m guessing this isn’t one of those ‘I take mine off if you do’ scenarios,” she asked as she tossed her glasses onto the passenger seat.
In reply, he deliberately pushed his own sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. With another maddening lip twitch.
She tried to recall if they’d ever had an exchange this…incendiary seven years ago.
None came to mind.
Shame.
As he continued to study her driver’s license, his voice sobered a bit as he observed quietly, “You’ve only been a few hours from me all this time.”
Feeling the blast of emotions ebbing out of him in waves, she decided to answer his non-question, figuring if their roles were reversed, she’d want him to. “All my research on going into hiding indicated it would be best to move to a city that wasn’t too small or too big. And since the kids were still minors I couldn’t take over state lines without adding to my growing rap sheet. So I went with Tucson.”
That’s when he began typing something into his tablet computer with the black industrial-looking department-issued case.
Oxygen refilled her lungs when his attention finally shifted away from her, and over to whatever he was reading on his tablet that was making him frown.
The reprieve lasted all of two seconds.
“You’re living in a homeless shelter.”
Her gaze snapped up to clash with his again. “It’s not a homeless shelter; it’s a transitional housing community for homeless families,” she clarified adamantly, well aware that she was about to see him morph into alpha protective mode.
She’d forgotten how that barely-leashed, wholly male reaction to things regarding her living situation did ridiculous things to her insides.
Caine took a step closer, perched his tablet wielding hand on the roof of her car and the other on her side view mirror. She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear his measured breathing. His entire frame was a rigid mountain, and she could practically hear him counting silently to keep from spewing like a no-longer-dormant volcano.
Dangnabbit, what was it about the man that could make surly Hulk-like protectiveness seem so insanely cute.
His face reappeared in the window, outlined by the sun. “Are you homeless, Addison?”
“No. I’m the director of the housing complex. We officially opened our doors a little over a month ago, but the entire project’s been almost a year in the making.”
That made the tension in his forearms lessen a bit. The tiny tell held so much relief, she broke standard pulled-over-by-a-cop protocol and reached for something in her purse.
He looked at the business card she handed him. “CORE Family Housing?”
“That’s short for Cohabitate-Rehabitate Family Housing. We help families transition out of the cycle of homelessness.”
Instead of returning her business card, Caine pocketed it and asked another non-question, “You’re in Phoenix now.”
She glanced at the police badge on his uniform. “So are you.”
His voice gentled then. “How are Kylie and Tanner?”
The affection in his voice put a slight wobble in hers. “Tanner’s in college in California now. Dean’s list every term. And Kylie’s doing well too. High school, straight A’s.” Seeing the lines around his mouth soften, she then proceeded to do something that conjured mental images of worms bursting out of cans. “Do you want to stop by and check out the housing complex? I’m sure Kylie would want to see you.”
He stilled.
After a beat, he checked his watch for the time and scrubbed a hand over his jawline. The man didn’t say a single word, but her ears were ringing and her pulse rate was picking up. Good God, he must be highly effective in the interrogation room. She felt compelled to confess something even though she wasn’t hiding anything.
“Your beard is thicker,” she blurted out. “And your muscles have grown new muscles.”
Alright, so maybe she had been hiding something…like the fact that she’d been checking him out and cataloging an apparently very detailed list of all the new things about him.
In response to her outburst, he retorted, “You’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
Was that why he’d ordered her to keep her hands where he could see them?
He stood there in silence, waiting for her to reply.
“Was that a question?” Truthfully, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But interestingly, the accidental sass made him do the whole looming thing again. And even though a normal person would and should be a tad bit terrified right now, for some reason she felt like smiling.
But she managed to hold back.
And instead, did the next best thing.
She zipped her lips and waited him out, using his own classic move on him that she remembered so well.
His lips flattened to a straight line.
Though she couldn’t see for sure because he was still wearing those dang cop shades, she’d bet good money that the scowl he had on now wasn’t quite reaching his eyes.
She missed those dark, intense eyes of his—equal parts stormy and sexy—and wholly mind-melting whenever they used to fix on her. Man oh man, she was sorely tempted to reach up and drag his dark Terminator sunglasses right off of him.
But first, she had a standoff to win.
He continued to loom in silence.
She continued to wait.
He broke just a second or so before she did. “The name on your license and registration—Addison James…”
Him and his non-questions. This one, however, she felt was important to concede on. “Obtained legally, years ago.”
His entire frame relaxed a fraction at her declaration—lordy, she’d forgotten how intensely sexy a man with a code of honor to live by could be—but his jaw remained clenched tight when she didn’t expound any further.
“Are you. Married?” he gritted out finally, in a graveled rumble so raw with exposed barbs of unmasked feelings it liquefied her bones, along with the concrete foundation holding up the walls around her heart as well, it seemed.
She shook her head and somehow managed to push a reply past the emotions clogging her throat, “No, Caine. I’m not married. Never been married.”
A new electric jolt of tension seemed to rack him then and she saw his hand grip the top of her car door just a little bit harder. As if bracing…or rather, restraining himself.
After a long, charged moment, he nodded briefly and rasped matter-of-factly, “Your housing complex is outside of my beat, but I can still stop by to say hi to Kylie in two hours, at the end of my shift.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Four
Caine wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to see at Addison’s housing complex. Maybe a modified shelter. Or a group of government-funded duplexes sparsely outfitted and straining at the seams with families squeezed into studio-sized apartments.
But then again, this was Addison.
He should’ve known that a project she was heading for a cause she herself had experience with would be as extraordinary as the well-thought-out complex before him. He passed rows of efficient apartments and family-oriented communal buildings with everything from a student computer lab to what looked to be a full daycare center. Not to mention a half dozen areas for children to play and families to gather across the property. It was homey, happy.
Hell, he wanted to live here.
Finding Addison in the main office talking to two staff members, he hung back in the hall until she was done, taking the opportunity to survey all the changes she’d made to her appearance.
Where once she used to have rich mahogany brown hair always up in a simply ponytail, now it was a glossy obsidian black in layers around her face with silvery chrome highlights and cobalt blue tips streaked throughout.
Her make-up was now equally dramatic to match. Usually, he only saw that much dark cosmetics on women in clubs going for a bad ass biker or rocker chick look, but on Addison, the smudged charcoal liner, and the blend of gunpowder black and metallic gray across her lids, combined with her new witchy ink-black contacts, just made her look darkly ethereal.
“Hank, where are we on the updated list of specialized diets for the residents?” Addison reached over to grab a printout from the printer. “The farm-to-table nutritionist is coming next week to work with Francine and the parents who signed up to learn new menu items to make with the fall crops. Remember, these eleven new families just moved in within the last week so you need to check in with each of them. Don’t let them be shy. We need to know allergies, obviously, but also, if someone is watching their carbs or another is really into fish, I want it on that list.”
“Will do,” replied a young guy in his twenties feverishly taking notes.
“And Francine,” she turned and shot an affectionately scolding look at the older Hispanic woman with a large cast on her leg, and an apron splattered with about a dozen different fresh food stains. “I know you’re going to fight me on this, but the reality is that your broken foot isn’t going to heal right if you don’t stay off it.”
“I’m doing just fine,” argued the woman, even as she continued to wipe some sort of red sauce out of her hair. And shirt. And jeans.