Break for Me

by Shiloh Walker

  Curled against his side, her hand clenched in the faded fabric of his University of Kentucky T-shirt, she stared dully at the cross he wore and tried so very hard just to not think.

  That pain kept snaking up to nip at her, like a little demon, taking awful, tormenting bites at her and she just couldn’t stop it.

  He pressed his lips to her temple and then he eased her to the side. Jensen closed her eyes and pressed her face against the cool, soft leather of his couch, breathing in the scent of Dean and leather.

  The floorboards creaked and she felt the couch give way under him a minute later but she didn’t have the energy to look at him until he slid his arm around her waist. Look at me, baby.”

  She turned her head and stared at him, scowling. “I don’t much care for the term baby,” she said, lying through her teeth. Normally, she didn’t. But there was something about the way he said it that made her not mind so much. He could probably call her dollface or cupcake or any number of cutesy names and she wouldn’t mind. As long as she didn’t hear him doing it with anybody else.

  A smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

  “Whatever.” He lifted his hand and she saw the rag just before he pressed it to her brow. She all but whimpered in relief at the cool, damp feel of it against her skin.

  “Your head hurting?”

  “Like a bitch,” she said.

  “Want some water?”

  She nodded and he pushed a bottle into her hands.

  “You’re pretty good at taking care of people,” she said. “Sure you shouldn’t have gone into medicine instead of law?”

  “I prefer to specialize … keeping it to a select few people.” He shifted on the couch and guided her until she had her head in his lap. The position was incredibly intimate and heat gathered inside her, even as a blush spread to her face. Part of her thought about turning in to him, pressing her mouth to his lean belly, maybe exploring a little lower.

  Sex was good for headaches, she’d heard.

  But another part of her felt too raw. Too exposed. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to get horizontal with him when every nerve ending she had, every emotion was so completely wide open. She was already teetering too close to a precipice with him, one she’d easily avoided with any and every lover she’d ever had.

  “I…” The word formed on her tongue. I need to do something. She didn’t know what. Move. Get up. Think. But before any of those words made it to her mouth, he placed one hand on her scalp and gently started to massage. All thoughts of moving or thinking fled as he worked some form of magic on her.

  Groaning, she felt herself going limp.

  Time faded away and bit by bit, the pain in her head eased back. Outside, the rain continued to pound down around them, wrapping around them. There was no light on and she thought she could just lose herself, right there, to the feel of his hand, stroking the pain away, and the sound of the rain outside.

  “Better?” he murmured.

  “Yeah.”

  He brushed her hair back and she dragged her lashes up to stare at him. “Sorry to fall apart on you like that.”

  “Don’t say that,” he said, shaking his head. He stroked his thumb over her lower lip and that light contact sent shivers through her. “If you need me, for anything, I’m here and I don’t want you to be sorry.”

  Something hot unfurled in her belly and she wondered what he’d say if she sat up and draped herself across him. All of a sudden, the idea of being exposed to him wasn’t as scary as it had been.

  Maybe she shouldn’t think about being exposed. She should just think about nothing. Think about forgetting. If anybody could help her lose herself for a while, it would be him. But … hell. That wasn’t really fair. Not to him.

  Slowly, she sat up and although sanity tried to insist she move away, she ended up curled against his side and when he wrapped his arm around her, she couldn’t help but think how utterly right that felt.

  Everything with him felt completely and utterly right, now that she’d let herself stop running.

  The knot of heat in her belly expanded and she bit her lip, looking around the room, all but desperate for a distraction.

  Her gaze landed on the small collection of pictures sitting on top of his entertainment center. She saw one of him with his parents; she’d met them a couple of times. He had barbecues a few times a year and they always came, along with his brothers, a sister, and an almost scary number of cousins, aunts, uncles, and nieces and nephews. There were pictures of him with the family, his siblings. Some of the faces were vaguely familiar. She tended to memorize faces that she saw around her street—there was no turning off the cop, she’d learned.

  Her eyes focused on the one of a child. A young girl. Maybe five. She didn’t remember seeing the girl before, but she was adorable. That smile …

  That smile. Slowly, she sat up, staring at that picture.

  “Who is she?”

  He was quiet for so long, Jensen wondered if he’d answer. Turning her head, she looked at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was on the little girl in the picture.

  The girl with his smile.

  “That’s Amaya.” He looked down, a sigh escaping his lips before he turned his head and met her gaze. “My daughter.”

  “I didn’t … I didn’t know you had a daughter,” she said, forcing the words out.

  He reached up, touching something under his shirt. She recognized the gesture. It was the same one she made when she was thinking about her mom. The little silver pendant she wore was the last gift she’d gotten from her mom, a present for her twelfth birthday. She never went anywhere without it.

  Dean’s eyes were sad as he looked at her. “She died just a few weeks before she would have started kindergarten.”

  * * *

  How did he even start to explain this?

  Slowly, feeling like he’d aged twenty years in the past twenty seconds, Dean straightened on the couch, bracing his elbows on his knees as he stared at Amaya’s picture.

  “Her mom and I weren’t married,” he said slowly. “We met in law school.” He slid her a look from the corner of his eye, grinned a little. “I caused her a hell of a lot of trouble. She was an adjunct teacher for one of the courses I took in law school. She had a job at a local law firm, taught for a semester while I was still in school. I was crazy about her. The feeling was mutual, but that’s a good way to get your ass in trouble. For both of us. Rochelle wasn’t having any part of it, not that I didn’t try. She had busted her ass to get where she was and she wasn’t going to let some slick-talking boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth screw things up for her.” He shrugged and reached up, rubbing his neck. “Once I was out of school, I didn’t see her for a while. Then I ran into her one night after I’d passed the bar. I was working my ass off for this slick defense attorney in Lexington. He had his hands in almost every big case that went through that city—remember the basketball player accused of paying for his girlfriend’s murder? He had that one.”

  He caught the sneer on Jensen’s face and sighed. “I’m not the man I was then. I had my eye on one thing, making a name for myself. Getting a partnership, maybe opening up my own firm at some point. You want to make a name for yourself, you take cases like that. And … even the very guilty are entitled to a defense.” He ran his tongue around his teeth, thinking about how many of the very guilty he’d helped keep out of jail. “Rochelle and I started dating. We figured out pretty fast that what we had was heat. Nothing else. But it was pretty damn hot. Then she ended up pregnant. The baby…”

  Even now, he could remember that amazing feeling, the way love and awe had rolled through him as the doctor placed the baby in his hands the very first time. “She was everything to us. We didn’t love each other, but we adored her. Shared custody, went to every doctor appointment together, picked out the school together. Everything.”

  He lapsed into silence as other memories stirred.

  A
hand reached out and covered his.

  Looking up, he saw Jensen staring at him.

  “What happened?”

  His voice rusty, he said, “Rochelle … she…” He blew out a breath and looked past her. “She grew up in a rough area. She got out. Her brother didn’t. He started showing up, looking for money. She didn’t give it to him. He was pretty damn desperate, had all sorts of trouble chasing him. Then it found him. Had a couple of dealers, they tracked him down—drive-by shooting. He lived. Rochelle and Amaya didn’t.”

  “My God.”

  “Yeah.” He rose and walked over to the entertainment center, taking the picture of his little girl down. “I knew one of the motherfuckers. Rich-ass bastard. Made his money selling drugs to teenagers, but the cops kept fucking up because they were so determined to take him down. It was easy to get him off, like taking candy from a baby. I was one of the lawyers who helped get him off. I helped put him back on the street … and he killed my little girl.”

  When she came up behind him, he didn’t move.

  As her arms came around him, he didn’t move.

  He just stood there, staring at Amaya’s innocent, precious face.

  After a minute, he said, “I went home after her funeral and sat in my room. I knew all about how to get a gun. I didn’t own one—still don’t, but I know more about getting my hands on a weapon than most people. Except a cop or drug dealer probably. I kept thinking about how easy it would be for me to just go kill him. I knew where he hung out. I knew where he lived. I already knew how easy it would be for me to get off with killing him. He had killed my daughter … the mother of my child. Two innocent people, gunned down. There were witnesses—not that they’d ever testify, but they had told me what they saw. I knew how to talk to people.”

  He put Amaya’s picture down.

  Jensen ran her hand up his arm. He felt the light brush of her mouth against his arm. “That’s not the man you are.”

  “That’s the man I was that night,” he said woodenly.

  Slowly, he turned and stared down at her. “But as I was sitting there, in my room, thinking about how I’d never hear her laugh again, one thing kept coming back to haunt me. I didn’t ever want another father, another mother to have to feel like that again.” He cupped her cheek, brushed his thumb over the soft, smooth curve of her jaw. “I decided instead of killing him, I’d find other ways. Maybe I couldn’t prosecute that bastard, but I could find others. I knew how defense attorneys thought, after all. Knew their tricks, how they’d prepare witnesses and shit.”

  She covered his hand with hers. Lowering his head, he pressed his brow to hers and stared into her eyes … so close, so close he felt lost in her. “I know that pain, Jensen. It’s like a part of you is missing—like you’ve lost a limb, or somebody went and ripped out a chunk of your heart and then sewed it back up together without bothering to make sure all the pieces line up. I know that pain … if I could make this better for you, I would.”

  A sigh drifted out of her and she eased back. She had one hand on his waist and slowly, she shifted that hand, laying it on his cheek and staring into his eyes. “Dean, I think you’ve got enough pain of your own. You don’t need to worry about making this better for me.”

  “Maybe we could make it better for each other.” He curved his arm around her, spreading his palm wide against her spine so that he could feel the graceful curve, the warmth of her skin, as much of her as he possibly could.

  “You offering to kiss and make it all better? Comfort sex?”

  He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Hey, there ain’t nothing wrong with comfort sex. But…” He hugged her against him, stroked a hand up her back. “For now, I’m talking about dinner. You need to eat. We can talk. Once you look a little more steady, I think I might try to seduce you.”

  “Seduce me, huh?” She bit her lip, her hands curled into fists against his chest. “That doesn’t really sound like comfort sex to me.”

  “That’s because I don’t have comfort sex on my mind when I think about you. I’ve wanted you for a damn long time and nothing changes that. I’m going to want you when the sun goes down tonight, when it comes up tomorrow, and probably for a good long time after. But I want you steady when you come back to my bed, Jensen. So if that’s not tonight? We’ll wait for another night.”

  * * *

  Seduce you …

  The very thought was enough to melt away her bones and her muscle until she collapsed into a puddle of goo at his feet.

  Even now, she couldn’t stop thinking about that.

  It had been nearly thirty minutes since he’d delivered that calm, matter-of-fact statement, although his eyes had been anything but calm. They’d practically burned as he stared at her.

  He was back in control, though, and as she sat at the island in his kitchen, watching him work, it was hard to believe this was the same man who had been in the darkened living room, his eyes dull as he quietly told her about his daughter’s death, the death of the child’s mother.

  Hard to believe it was the same man who’d held her against his body, all but vibrating with hunger.

  I’ve wanted you for a damn long time and nothing changes that. I’m going to want you when the sun goes down tonight, when it comes up tomorrow, and probably for a good long time after …

  Those words kept knocking around in her mind and even now, her mouth was dry. She was tempted to grab the glass of wine he’d poured and knock it back, but if she did that, she’d be tossing back another, and another. No way would she be steady if she did that.

  Polishing off a bottle of wine wasn’t going to let her stay in control and make calm, rational thoughts.

  Who says you need to be calm or rational? She could still be steady, and throw calm and rational to the wind, she figured. Wasn’t like she didn’t have reasons to toss back a glass or two of wine.

  She tried to push that voice to the side but then abruptly, she frowned and made herself answer that. Why did she have to be calm or rational?

  She’d been calm and rational most of her life.

  She paid her bills on time.

  She had a nice, neat little savings account.

  She never dated.

  She’d had exactly two sexual encounters prior to the weekend she’d spent with Dean. The first one had sucked, but she’d been a twenty-one-year-old virgin who’d decided she wasn’t going to be a virgin anymore. She hadn’t been looking for fun—she’d just been looking for sex.

  The second encounter had been … whoa and damn. But Adam Brascum, the town Romeo knew all about whoa and damn. Maybe not so much about emotional connection, but she hadn’t been looking for that, either.

  She’d just been looking for … the whoa and the damn.

  Staring at Dean’s turned back, the way his shoulders stretched the threadbare cotton of his shirt, the dreads secured at the nape of his neck, the sleek, elegant play of muscles under his skin. He was beautiful. And when he touched her, it wasn’t just whoa and damn.

  Her heart stuttered when he touched her.

  Her heart stuttered when he looked at her.

  A knot settled in her throat and she had to admit the truth. She wanted him, but it was so much more than that. She was going to want him when the sun went down, when it came up.

  It went deeper than want.

  He somehow managed to break her and remake her all at once.

  Maybe that was why she’d ignored it for so long.

  She didn’t want to face this, or handle it.

  But she was having an even harder time walking away from him now.

  Her mouth had gone dry as the Sahara, but instead of gulping the wine, she slid off the stool. “Mind if I get a glass of water?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her and then gestured with a spatula to the cabinet on the right. “In there.”

  She found them and grabbed a tumbler of pretty, cobalt blue. “You have a thing for color, Dean.”

&nb
sp; “No. I don’t,” he said, chuckling. “My mom does. She came in like a Pinterest whirlwind a year or two ago and redid everything, dragged my sister, my brothers, and their wives into it—it was her summer project.” He glanced around the kitchen and shrugged. “We redid the entire inside of the house. I wanted to build a deck, but this was what Mom wanted to do, so this is what we did.”

  “I guess it didn’t occur to you to tell your mom you’d rather have the deck?”

  He gave her a look like she was out of her mind. “Clearly, you don’t remember meeting my mother. You don’t tell that woman no once she’s got her mind made up.”

  Jensen grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced past him, more out of a need to distract herself than anything else, eyeing the deck. “Looks like you got the deck anyway.”

  “Yeah. Did it myself last fall.”

  “It’s nice.” Nice. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and sipped at the water instead, leaning against the counter and trying to think through the noise in her brain.

  She had such a bad habit of overcomplicating things.

  She knew that.

  She needed to quit thinking. The longer she thought about what was going on here, what might be going on between them, the more scared she became.

  Seeing what people did to each other … hurt. She thought about her parents, everything that had happened, and it made her gut twist. But she realized something else. Thinking about not reaching for … whatever might be unfolding, that hurt, too.

  She thought about putting down the glass of water and just walking out the door and it filled her with such dread, it almost sickened her.

  She thought about maybe quitting her job, finding a position somewhere else. She could. Cops were always needed.

  But the thought of never seeing him again?

  Whoa.

  That thought really hurt.

  Where did this come from? When did this happen?

  From the corner of her eye, she watched him as he stood over the stove. Vegetables and steak sizzled in the pan and rice steamed in a pot on the back burner.

  A funny, familiar ache moved through her. This wasn’t a new thing, either. This was why he pissed her off so easily. Why she avoided him. This had been building between them for a while, but she just hadn’t wanted to face it.