by Nicole Helm
She stepped into the little hallway that led to the bedroom and stopped cold at his body sprawled across the floor. “Dad?”
She rushed to his side, sank to her knees, took his wrist in her hands. The shaking that had never manifested itself as she’d threatened the junkie outside took over now. So much she almost couldn’t take a decent pulse.
But it was there. Steady. Probably just passed out from too much alcohol, based on the stench. She inspected his arms for signs of shooting up, his head for signs of hitting it if he’d passed out while upright.
But everything seemed to be fine. Breathing, pulse, no bumps, bruises or marks. She rocked back onto her heels in the same crouching position, trying to steady the shaking, the fear...
And ignore that little spurt of relief she’d felt when she saw him lying there. So wrong. So awful and wrong to hope something so awful, no matter how fleeting.
Once her heart rate slowed and the shaking stopped, she pushed to a standing position. Guilt and confusion and fear were par for the course with dear old Dad.
So she did what she always did when she came over and he was passed out. She searched his apartment. She found an empty bottle of Jack in the kitchen, then a half bottle of some cheap off-brand whiskey. She unscrewed the cap and poured it down the sink, scouring the rest of the apartment for other alcohol or signs of drugs.
She found a few minibottles in the bathroom, disgustingly enough, under the plunger. She emptied those, collected all the empty bottles in a bag. Then went through one more time because how were things getting worse if drugs weren’t involved?
But there wasn’t a drop of evidence that pointed at drug use. That was even more deflating than finding something. Because she didn’t know how to fix this current slide if there wasn’t extra reason for it.
She’d done everything she could to keep him away from alcohol—she never gave him money, only groceries and toiletries. He didn’t have a job, a car. What else could she do that wasn’t babysitting 24-7? Not a damn thing. She’d do a lot to fix him, but she wouldn’t give up her career. It gave her everything.
What about what Marc’s giving you?
She looked at her father, then the door. Marc—stoic, terse, sweet, good Marc. He gave her the feeling that she might matter, and that feeling was nonexistent outside of work.
Why did he have to be a cop? But if no one knew...
She turned her gaze from her father to the door. She could go back, get away from this...thing that was spiraling out of her control. She could find a life that didn’t involve Dad.
It was a little fiction, really. She’d never escape Dad, guilt, wanting to fix him, but maybe she could live in this fiction for a night.
She crossed to Dad, rested a hand on his cheek, too hollow. He was too thin, too frail, too everything. Why couldn’t she find a way to save him? Why couldn’t she crack whatever code kept him going back for more of this misery?
“Bye, Dad. I’ll check on you later.” Inevitably, she would, even if she didn’t want to. Even if she had no answers. She’d keep coming back.
Because fiction or not, what other choice did she have? She picked up the bag of empty bottles and left, locking the door behind her with one eye on the door Junkie Boy had disappeared behind.
But the sound of an engine caught her attention and she glanced at her car. One of the Bluff City cruisers was parked next to it, Granger’s form silhouetted in the dome light of his car.
She crossed to him, wishing someone else had taken the call.
He got out of his patrol car as she approached. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this so late at night?”
The fact he all but repeated the sentiment of the low-life junkie he was here to harass pissed her off more than she already was. “Screw off, Granger.”
“Booty call, I take it.”
“My father lives here. But congrats on being a disgusting pig.” She wrenched open her passenger-side door and dropped the bag of empties in.
“Jeez, Camden, lay off the bitch pills.”
“I’ve had one asshole in my face tonight. I don’t need a second, and I’m not in uniform. Don’t make me remember I don’t have my badge with me.”
He had the audacity to roll his eyes. God, she could punch the little fucker right in the nose. But Franks wouldn’t just be giving her a stern talking-to over that one.
That was the only thing that saved him from getting his ass handed to him by a girl. “Apartment 1C.”
“Hate to break it to you, but you don’t get to give me orders right now.”
Her fingers curled into fists, but she’d dealt with enough dickwads in her day to know the most infuriating thing you could do was act as if they were the inconsequential nothings they were. “Keep telling yourself that.” She flashed a screw-you smile and slid into the driver’s seat of her car.
She drove, fury at the male population flowing through her, but once she returned to her apartment, she felt empty, wrung out, numb. Sad, really, really sad. Because she hadn’t found any evidence of drugs, which meant whatever was happening was just escalation for no reason.
Almost worse than drugs, because how did she fight something she couldn’t find the cause of?
Never mind the prick run-ins, she had more important things to deal with. If only she had a clue as to what to do. For the first time maybe ever, she was on complete empty. With no reason for the furthering downward spiral, and no letting up, she had nothing to fight.
She trudged into the apartment complex and up the stairs. Maybe...maybe her fight had run out. She was getting older, and her life was her work. And her father. Was she ever going to have something for herself?
She wasn’t a woman who’d had the luxury of believing in signs or in fate or in anything good being dropped at her doorstep.
And yet, there, virtually on her doorstep, was a man. Waiting for her, worrying over her. No insults, no judgments on her character. He was a good man, and she knew so few of those. How...how could she keep resisting that? That someone cared. Enough to step back. Enough to worry.
“Hi,” Marc said, very obviously self-conscious about his choice to sit in front of her door.
“Hi,” she replied, watching him stand up with a smile.
“Everything go okay?”
Slowly, she walked to the door, pulling her keys out of her pocket. Marc stepped out of the way so she could unlock the dead bolt. No, things weren’t exactly okay, but that was the story of her life. Not quite okay. Not quite normal. Not quite...hers.
Maybe it was time to change that.
“Tess?”
She pushed the door open, stepped in, then turned to him. “Come inside, Marc.”
“Oh, I—”
She didn’t wait for him to finish that thought. She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, then closed the door behind him.
* * *
MARC HAD NO idea what was going to happen. He only knew how relieved he was that she was okay.
Of course, he was the idiot waiting around in the hallway. If only the way she’d looked at him when she’d crested the stairs hadn’t washed away all those idiotic feelings.
She’d been happy to see him. It had been obvious. How long had he wished someone would act happy to see him?
Now he was in her apartment, standing awkwardly by the door she’d shut, while she stared at him, some inner conflict all over her face.
“I said I’d text you,” she said at length.
“I know.”
“I said you shouldn’t wait up.”
“Yes, for all that was holy and sane, but I didn’t have a clue what that meant and...look, I don’t know what kind of guy you take me for, but the kind of guy who wouldn’t worry about someone going into a dangerous situation is an ass.”
<
br /> “You are very much not an ass.” She smiled up at him, stepping closer, her fingers grazing the faded logo on his shirt.
Um... “But you’re safe, and we have to work tomorrow morning. So I should...” Get away from the woman whose life was ruled by a disease, just like everyone else he was close to.
But she kissed you when you expressed concern, offered help. This is different.
She got closer, fingers trailing up to his shoulders, resting there. “You should what?” She cocked her head, looking at him from beneath her lashes, her breasts brushing against his chest as she leaned closer.
He’d promised himself he hadn’t been waiting for this. That this wasn’t about her kissing him earlier. It wasn’t about the erection he’d sadly, pathetically had to do something about once she’d left. That was sadly, pathetically making a reappearance.
He cleared his throat, only he didn’t remember what she’d asked him. “What were we talking about?”
She laughed, her breath feathering against his neck. “I forget,” she murmured, her mouth very, very close to his jaw, her fingers now cupping his neck, those gray eyes of hers focused on his mouth.
Then she closed the remaining distance between them, her lips warm and soft on his. Her body warm and soft against his. Everything about her like being enveloped by comfort.
There was no chance of him surviving any of this, so he gave up. He surrendered. To her, to them, to whatever thing leaped between them. He wrapped his arms around her. The heat of her mouth centered itself in his gut, in his dick.
She arched against his erection and he groaned, letting his head fall back with a thunk against the door. Her laughter echoed in his ears, making him feel way better than he had a right to.
“I thought you weren’t going to do that again,” he managed to croak out, trying to remind himself he wasn’t going to, either. Utter failure on that.
She shrugged, grinning, her arms still around his neck, chest still pressed to his. He wanted to touch her, without the layer of clothes. Feel the skin of her abdomen, her breasts, know what she tasted like. Everywhere.
“I said probably. Guess the bad odds won out.”
“Bad?”
“Well, ill-advised. Definitely not bad.”
“Hmm.” Since he was already giving up and giving in, he allowed himself to indulge the impulse. Pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips graze her cheek, trace that top lip.
Her eyes never left his, but her breath caught. So he pressed his mouth to where his fingers had been—mouth, cheek, ear.
“I don’t want to do something you might regret.” He kissed her temple, brushed his fingers across her collarbone, emboldened by each hitch in her breath, each shaky exhale.
“Oh, it’s almost guaranteed I’ll regret it.” When he pulled his hand away from her neck, she grabbed his wrist. “But I am very pro regretting this tomorrow and very anti having nothing to regret.”
“Wait. I’m not sure I follow that.”
She chuckled, pulling him deeper into her apartment. “I will regret having my wicked way with you, but it’s better than not having my wicked way with you. For once in my life, I deserve a little...wicked.”
“Can you give me some more information on what your wicked way entails?”
“See, I didn’t expect you to be funny, always so serious and stoic. But you are. It’s a sneaky funny, but you are.”
“Not something I hear too often.”
She stopped pulling, put her hands back on his chest, resting her palm over his heart. “And good. Really, really...good.”
“Let’s not pump my tires too much.” Which he said more because he wanted that way too much. Someone to think he was good. Worthy. That was all kinds of warped.
“No, you’re not perfect, I just mean...you have a good heart.” She hitched up her shirt, he thought to take it off, which he was all for, but then a gun holster on her hip came into view. She detached it from her belt and placed it on the table.
It stopped him in his tracks, that she’d be scared enough to take her weapon. “You took a gun?”
“Focus, Marc. Or I’m going to think you’re more interested in saving me than in having sex with me.”
His gaze immediately jerked from the gun to her face, and she grinned. He hadn’t exactly let himself believe sex was a foregone conclusion.
But gun.
But sex.
“Don’t superhero out on me.”
“How does one superhero out?”
“They’re too noble to take the very fine offer in front of them. I don’t want noble. I want you.”
“I just—”
“You.” Then she did take off her shirt, and, well, discussing taking the gun could probably wait. Until she wasn’t standing in front of him in a bra. It wasn’t a particularly sexy bra—just flesh colored and plain, but, you know, a much better view of her breasts than he’d been afforded prior.
“If you’re so inclined to be available for having, you can meet me in the bedroom.” She turned, took a few steps before pushing her jeans over her hips, letting them fall with each step. He was too busy staring at her ass in pink polka-dot panties to care if the pants removal wasn’t exactly smooth seductress.
Because as that running spandex had proven without a doubt, Tess had a fantastic ass, and he wanted his hands on it.
Desperately.
So he followed. Despite every voice in his head that told him maybe they should discuss a few things first. Like everything. But when he stepped into her bedroom, she was sprawled out on her bed.
Gorgeous.
She lifted herself up on her elbows. “I see you decided to join me. Excellent. Now, please remove eighty-five percent of your clothing.”
Funny. She was the funny, fun one. Anything he did to make her laugh was some weird offshoot of her humor and something about her. Being with her.
She wrinkled her nose. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Kind of...” She made a jerky gesture with her hands. “Never mind, just take off your clothes.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk first?”
She dropped her elbows, laughing, which made her chest bounce. He’d had about all the bouncing he could take.
“Let’s talk later.” She patted the space on the bed next to her. “I would like to be doing other things with my mouth right now. Fun things. I would very much like some fun.”
It was that little hint of sadness that had him reaching behind his head and pulling his shirt off. She probably did deserve some fun, and, really, what could be more fun than this?
It was a hell of a lot better than furniture shopping.
“You look good in a uniform, Marc, but hello, six-pack, you look even better out.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been so shamelessly ogled before.”
She sat up and smiled, the queen-of-the-world smile that had basically knocked him speechless the first time she’d flashed it his way. “What a waste. I’ll make up for lost time. Drop the pants.”
He did as she instructed, if only because she seemed to need that. Things to go her way—the way she wanted them—and who was he not to give her that? He was good at giving that and at least there was something in this for him.
She sighed, eyes roaming everywhere before they met his, full of fun and mischief. “A plus.”
“I didn’t realize I was being graded.”
“Pop quiz. Now, here’s the real test. Can you talk me out of my underwear?”
He knelt on the empty space next to her on her bed. She needed fun and distractions. Words might not be his forte, but he’d find a way to give her what she needed.
“Do I need to t
alk you out of them?” He traced the strap of her bra with one finger, gently nudging it off the curve of her shoulder then repeating the process on the other side. “I’m not so good with the talking. Doing, on the other hand...”
“Doing...works,” she replied, her voice getting breathy as he traced his index finger along the edge of her bra. Her skin was warm, soft, and the flowery scent that had irritated him so much those first few days seemed to intensify without her clothes on.
He moved a hand up to cup her jaw, to make her look him in the eye rather than where he’d been touching her.
“Just so we’re one hundred percent clear.” He kept his focus on her eyes, his body from touching hers, even though it was hard. So. Damn. Hard. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Her eyes widened a little, and she cleared her throat. “What, I’m going to say no, I’m not sure, and you’re going to put your clothes on and leave?”
“I would.”
She looked horrified for a second, though he couldn’t figure out why. What was he going to do? Force himself on her? Surely, she didn’t think...
Before he could finish that thought, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. “You, Marc Santino, are a little too good to be true.” She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall. “And for that, you are going to get yourself a reward.” She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest before her mouth sank into his.
Well, he wouldn’t say no to a little reward.
CHAPTER NINE
ANY TREPIDATION, ANY DOUBTS Tess had had disappeared. All he’d had to say was “I would” and all the rules and determinations she’d set for herself, for her life evaporated. Because no one, not one person she could think of, had ever been able to give up something they wanted for her.
Marc had said he would, so seriously, so earnestly, as though there wasn’t even another choice. How could she not sleep with the guy? How could she not fall for the guy, regardless of how little she knew about him or how little time they’d known each other?
She didn’t know about his family, the weird thing with his sister, why he’d come here. But she knew he cared. She knew he was a good man. Who liked biographies and sports and quiet.