by Nina Bruhns
Her words hung heavy in air that was spiced with the scent of their lovemaking. He regarded her closely. What the hell? Did she really mean what he thought she meant?
He couldn’t believe this was happening—not this soon.
“You giving me the kiss-off, Mary Alice?” he asked quietly. “Seriously?”
Her fingers toyed with the black hairs on his chest, careful not to stray lower. “I, um…”
Anger suddenly swept over him. He grasped her arms. “What the fuck? Is this some kind of twisted revenge?”
She bit her bottom lip and looked away. “I thought this was the part where you walk away a happy man. No assumptions, right?” She shrugged. And still wouldn’t look at him.
His anger deflated, and he cursed inwardly his own monumental stupidity. Great strategy, Bridger. Just great.
“Oh, honey. It doesn’t have to be like that. I’d like to be together. I really would. I just don’t want you thinking it can be…”
“Permanent?”
He nodded, hating that it had to be this way. Wishing it were possible to try for more. There was nothing on earth he’d rather have than a chance to be with this perfect woman for always.
But there wasn’t. It was for her own good.
She exhaled. “Maybe it would be better if we both walked away now and pretended this never happened.”
His heart plummeted. “Just because I can’t promise you forever?”
A shadow of pain flashed through her eyes, and his heart went out to her. He knew damned well that wasn’t the reason, or at least the main reason. She was afraid to get involved with someone like him, a cop who would remind her every day of those she’d loved and lost in the past, and that she could so easily lose everything again.
And he also knew she was right. Had known it from the start. What had just happened didn’t change a thing.
“You’re a cop, Bridge. You’re all wrong for me,” she said quietly.
Letting out a long breath, he took her in his arms and sank into the warm solace of her heavenly body. “I know,” he whispered, pain searing through his heart. “So, why do you feel so damned right for me?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When Bridge stepped out of Mary Alice’s embrace and walked through the door, closing it quietly behind him, her anguish was complete. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d looked just as miserable leaving as she felt letting him go, she would have sunk to the floor and wept.
Damn, damn, damn.
She’d gone and done it—exactly what she’d vowed would never happen again. She had given herself, her body—and her heart—to the exact man she shouldn’t have.
Why did he have to be a cop?
It wasn’t fair.
Her skin still tingled where it had touched his. Her breasts were imprinted with the sensation of his rough chest hair scraping over them. The flesh between her thighs echoed with the memory of his cock thrusting hard into her, bringing her to heights she hadn’t known existed. And her heart…it swelled with emotions long suppressed. Emotions she didn’t want to feel. Not for this man.
She stepped into the shower and turned on the water, forcing herself to remember why she couldn’t take his hand and lead him to her bed, and welcome him into her body again and again.
Even if she got past her own fears, and his refusal to make commitments, she just couldn’t live with the constant uncertainty of loving a cop—whether for a hundred years or one year, or even just a week. Bridge’s tame undercover assignment watching Watson wouldn’t last forever. He’d told her he was with SIS—which she knew was the most dangerous section of PPD outside of SWAT—dealing daily with the most vicious criminals that existed. He could die at any minute, leaving her far worse off than she was now.
As her father had, and her uncle.
And the last man she’d loved.
No, it was better this way. Better to stop this doomed relationship right now, before it got started. They could be friends.
Friends.
Nothing more.
And her aching heart would just have to accept it.
Chapter Thirty
Breakfast the next morning was a conspiracy of denial. Mary Alice acted as though nothing had happened between them the night before. Bridge didn’t look too happy about it, but thankfully he went along with the pretense.
He announced he’d wrangled his replacement on the road crew, Officer Deane, into spending his Sunday afternoon off watching Watson for him.
“Let’s go to the Pasadena Policemen’s Street Fair this afternoon,” he said.
Mary Alice stared at him in consternation over her French toast. Was he serious right now? “No. I can’t.”
The last thing she wanted was to face a park full of Jack’s and her father’s old buddies and fellow cops.
Especially on Bridge’s arm.
“It’ll do us both good to get out,” he urged.
She shook her head firmly. “No. Not going there.”
“Give it a shot. Maybe you’ll find you don’t hate cops so much, after all, and I’ll have a chance with you.”
She couldn’t help half-smiling at his ironic but hopeful expression. “I don’t—”
“Come on. It’ll be fun. Booths crammed with crafty stuff for the cottage.” He winked. “Kettle corn and funnel cakes.”
He looked so encouraging she actually considered it for two seconds. She glanced down at her plate as her insides slowly twisted into tight knots.
Could she really do it?
He smiled and nodded. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”
Maybe it was time she faced her demons.
Maybe it was time she tried to put the unhappy past to rest.
And with Bridge’s support, she might just be able to get through it.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was a gorgeous, hot day. One of those days when Southern California basked in the glory of its splendid weather. A light wind had blown the smog clear to Amboy, leaving the sparkling San Gabriel Mountains proud and tall as the rugged backdrop to the riot of skyscrapers, fragrant blossoming trees, and the usual colorful inhabitants.
Bridge looked particularly handsome in crisply pressed khakis and a jade-colored polo shirt. He offered Mary Alice his arm when they approached Central Park, where the Policemen’s Fair was being held. As she looped hers around it, she bit back a nervous swallow. It was usually so comfortable being with Bridge. He always made her feel so pampered and nurtured. So safe. As though he’d take care of her, no matter what.
If only that were really so. But she knew the feeling was just a cruel illusion. Because there was no guarantee he would even be there tomorrow.
At the entrance, he stepped up to buy their tickets. She took one look at the table and eased behind him. The officer sitting at the cash box, Lieutenant Washington, had worked with her father.
“Bridge, old buddy! Good to see you. I hear the feds’ve got you pulling twenty-four hour shifts. That sucks.”
“Yeah, had to bribe Jason Deane to relieve me this afternoon so I could—”
“Mary Alice, is that you?” The lieutenant peered around Bridge. “I’ll be damned. Come here, girl, let me take a look at you.”
She fumbled for something to say, and Bridge slipped a supportive arm around her.
“Say, you aren’t with this old reprobate, are you?” Washington guffawed, then wagged a finger at Bridge. “You be good to her, you hear? None of your usual shenanigans. This is Seamus Flannery’s little girl.” He looked back at her, and she could see the memories flash through his eyes. “We still miss him down at the station, Mary Alice. He was a real good man.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled, wanting to turn around and run for home as fast as she could.
Bridge accepted their tickets, making some comment about taking care of her, then led her into the maze of booths and attractions. She stopped to take a couple of deep breaths.
“You okay?”
She nodded, looking
around. “I’d forgotten there would be so many uniforms.” They were everywhere in the crowd—hundreds it seemed. Blue, gray, khaki, of every rank and jurisdiction in four counties. “I haven’t seen this many since—”
The funerals.
Turning quickly so he wouldn’t see the sudden glaze of tears in her eyes, she folded her arms tight across her midriff. “So, which way first?” She raised her chin, determined not to fall apart, and scanned the booths. “Oh, look! The hat lady.”
Grateful for something that might genuinely distract her, she grabbed Bridge’s hand and tugged him over to a stall brimming with every type of second-hand hat imaginable.
“I always used to stop by and pick up a few hats for the kids’ dress-up corner.”
Back before—
“Well, hi, love! Long time no see.”
Delighted to see Mrs. Daniels who ran the booth, Mary Alice purged the bad memories from her mind and chatted for several minutes. Off to one side, Bridge entertained them by trying on every hat he could reach—men’s and women’s. He’d drawn quite a crowd before running out of examples, and everyone was in stitches.
“You are such a ham!” she said with a laugh as they walked away, yanking the brim of his newly purchased Panama hat down over his eyes. “Have you ever considered a career in stand-up?”
“Would it make you like me any better?”
She gave him a wry look. “Bridge, it would be downright dangerous for me to like you any better. That’s the whole problem.”
“I don’t see this as a problem,” he said teasingly.
She rolled her eyes.
“We could have a fast and shallow, but deeply satisfying”—he waggled his eyebrows—“relationship. Until you walk out on me for a stable, boring accountant. Everyone’s happy. Right?”
“Has anybody ever told you that you have a one-track mind?”
“Frequently. It’s one of my more endearing—”
“Traits, right.”
He chuckled. “In the end I always get my man. Or in this case, woman. It’s why I’m such a good—” He winced.
“Cop?”
“Oops.”
“Mary Alice?”
She whirled at a familiar voice, and her heart lodged in her throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell.”
Mrs. Maxwell smiled broadly. “I thought that was you. How are you, my dear?”
In a million years, Mary Alice wouldn’t have thought she’d run into Jack’s parents here. When his mother gave her a long hug, Mary Alice could barely keep from shaking with emotion. She accepted another hug from Jack’s dad. “I’m okay. How are you both?”
“We’re doing well. Work on the anti-handgun bill is going great. I think we’ll win this next round.”
The Maxwells had poured their tremendous grief over their only son’s death into efforts to change the gun laws.
Mary Alice still felt horribly guilty every time she saw them. She hadn’t kept up their friendship. Seeing them had only reminded her of her loss…and she was sure that was even more true for them.
“I’m so glad,” she said, floundering in the guilt. “You are doing such good things out there for society, and all I do is worry about my roses.”
Mrs. Maxwell patted her arm. “That’s not true, dear, and you know it. Every day at school you teach those kids in your class how to solve their differences using words instead of fists—or guns. That’s more important and far more effective than any gun law could possibly be.”
Mary Alice bowed her head, then remembered Bridge and introduced him. When they looked slightly taken aback, he rescued her once again.
“Mary Alice is helping me with a case I’m working on.”
Mrs. Maxwell quickly recovered, and looked from him to her. “Well, Mary Alice, it was wonderful to see you,” she said with a wistful smile. “I’m so glad you are finally getting out. I know Jack would never have wanted you to hide yourself away like you’ve been doing.”
Jack’s parents kissed her cheek and said their good-byes.
And suddenly, she knew his mother was right. Jack had been her best friend, her fiancé, but deep down she knew he would have totally disapproved of the lengths she’d gone to keep her heart safe after his death. He’d have taken her Master List and torn it up into little, tiny pieces with a snort of derision. If he were here, he’d be the first one to tell her to get over it already, and get on with her life.
The insight hit her hard.
But she knew it was right.
She just didn’t know if she could actually follow the advice.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Nice couple.” Bridge said as they walked away. He watched Mary Alice carefully. So far, she’d been holding up fairly well, but he’d seen clearly that this last encounter had thrown her for a major loop.
“They really are nice. We sort of helped each other through the early days, after…”
Bridge sent her a frown. “Didn’t the Department give you someone to talk to?”
She took a breath and shrugged. “Yeah. But I didn’t need a shrink. I just needed a hug every once in a while.”
He had his doubts about that. But she looked as if she could use a hug right now. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and give her the comfort she needed.
Not a good idea. Touching her would only make him remember how much he wanted her in his bed. Besides, she needed more than simple comfort. She needed far more than he was able to give.
“Come on,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Let’s look at some more booths.”
They wandered around, and Bridge couldn’t believe the number of people who came up to her, saying a few words about how good it was to see her again, or how great a guy Jack or her dad had been. By late afternoon she was looking more than a little shell-shocked. He hoped he hadn’t made a huge mistake by bringing her here.
“How about a treat before we go home?” he asked. “Do you like Cactus Cooler floats?”
For the first time since the hat booth, she broke into a broad grin. “Are you kidding me? I love them! Damn, I haven’t had one of those in years.”
“That settles it, then.”
Although they’d never caught on in the big world outside SoCal, the concoction of pineapple-orange soda and sherbet was a local favorite, especially at the fair, where they were sold exclusively in the food booth run by the Sierra Madre Fire Department.
“What kind of sherbet would you like in it?” the firefighter doing the scooping asked her.
“Rainbow. Definitely rainbow.”
Bridge grinned. “Oh, you brazen thing, you.”
She grinned back. “Only when I’m with you, bad boy.”
He caught himself just in time, right before he impulsively slung an arm around her and gave her a big kiss.
It was a constant struggle, not reaching out to her. Not pulling her close. Or kissing the hurt and sadness from her eyes, to put a smile on her pretty face.
They settled at a wobbly table and dug in. A few minutes later, several young police officers piled around a table right behind them and started discussing a recent shooting that had occurred in their district. Mary Alice paled when one described the way the victim had been left in an alley to bleed to death.
“Let’s go, okay?” Bridge suggested quickly. “We can stop at the Fisherman for some shrimp, and I’ll barbecue them for dinner.”
Wordlessly, she rose and followed him.
When they arrived home, he conferred for several minutes with Officer Deane about the activity at Watson’s place. Together, they filled out the log, then he walked Deane out to the front porch.
“How’s it going on the road crew?”
“No worries, Sarge,” the kid replied. “Kinda fun, actually.”
“Good. And thanks for filling in for me today. I appreciate it.”
The young man cast a meaningful glance back through the door, where Mary Alice had settled on the sofa. “Tough assignment, eh?”
; Bridge gave him a stony look. “Don’t even think it, rookie.”
“Sure, Sarge, whatever you say.”
The kid’s face as he jogged down the steps said plainer than words that he found the idea of Russell Bridger staying in the same house with a beautiful woman and one bed, but not touching her, to be patently absurd.
Bridge had to agree.
What was with him, anyway? He still wanted her. Like crazy, he wanted her. And he was fairly certain with very little persuasion he could have her again.
So, what was holding him back?
He jettisoned a frustrated breath. He just hated it when his capricious sense of honor reared its untimely head. It was damned annoying. What was it about this woman that made him want to tuck her under his wing and protect her, rather than tucking her under his body and—
“Bridge?”
Her voice fired him out of his uncharacteristic thoughts. “Yeah, angel?”
“You going to stand out there all night?”
She was leaning against the doorjamb, looking so pretty and fragile and inviting. He wanted to scoop her up and kiss her until she forgot all about cops and shootings and her dad and fiancé’s deaths, and the fact that she’d ever known any other man but Bridge.
Damn, but he had it bad for her.
He ground his teeth. “Think I’ll move your car into the cut-out so you can get to work tomorrow morning.”
She nodded and went to get the keys. He could feel her eyes on him the whole time he walked to the car and back. Afterward, they went to the backyard where he stoked up the grill and uncorked a bottle of wine for her. Too bad he was still on duty and couldn’t down half that bottle himself. He could really use a drink.
Relaxing in a lounge chair with an iced tea, Bridge toasted her and the private paradise he found himself sitting in. “Man, I could get used to this.”
In the other chaise, she smiled. “Uh-oh, the big bad bachelor shows signs of cracking.”
He closed his eyes and basked in the cozy warmth of twilight. A pair of mourning doves called out from the roof of the house, their melancholy song wafting about the yard.