“Except for that hour in the holding cell when I was a hooker, yes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Um, what exactly were you doing in the holding cell?”
She waved her hand in a careless motion. “It was easier to let my compadres think I was a lady of the night, than to explain why I was trespassing in my underwear.”
“I see.”
“Although, judging from what Cinnamon told me, hookers get paid a better hourly wage than artists. So you know, a career change is always a possibility.”
He laughed and his eyes flicked in her direction. “Do you ever give anyone a straight answer?”
“The truth isn’t all that interesting. I’d rather appear enigmatic and shadowy. Is it working?”
“Nah, it’s too late to be shadowy. I already ran your name through the records database.”
Great. He probably knew more about her than her next-door neighbors did. She wondered what he thought of her. “Did you see the mugshot of me wearing the cougar mascot costume?”
“I wasn’t going to bring that up, but as far as pictures go, it was, uh…”
“Choose your next words carefully.”
“Cute.”
She let out a sigh. “You probably didn’t do anything stupid in college, did you?”
“Nothing I got caught for.”
She turned to better see him. “What did you do that you didn’t get caught for?”
He shifted in his seat. “We were talking about artists, weren’t we? You were telling me how you became one.”
“It can’t be worse than what I did tonight,” she pressed.
He chewed on his bottom lip, thinking.
“I won’t tell anyone.” She held up her hand in a pledge. “I give you my word as a criminal. We’re a select and exclusive club.”
“Okay. I may have set off some firecrackers with a friend.”
She made a huffing noise. “Firecrackers hardly count as illegal.”
“We set them off underneath his girlfriend’s car while she was inside, making out with another guy.”
“Oh. Well, in that case you can join the club.”
He laughed and gave her another smile. It suddenly seemed ironic that the two of them were talking so easily together. Her date with Pre-law James probably wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.
“You were telling me about how you became an artist,” he said.
“I majored in art history in college and planned on teaching. But then I realized I didn’t want to talk about art, I wanted to create it. So now I do oil paintings, watercolors, and sculptures, but it’s the murals that pay the bills. Those and portraits.”
“What’s your favorite type of art?” he asked, and somehow they ended up talking about paintings for the rest of the drive. He knew the difference between romanticism and impressionism, which surprised her. She wouldn’t have thought a cop would be up on his Monet.
At last they pulled up into the parking lot of her complex. The outside of the three-story building was a dreary brown, and the green awnings over the doors didn’t do much to improve the general appearance. But the landscaping was nice. Pine trees towered everywhere.
He parked the truck and turned off the ignition. “I’ll walk you to your door. Make sure you get inside.”
She stepped out of his truck. “Are you being a gentleman, or are you afraid I’ll get lost and go into the wrong condo?”
“Just being a policeman.” He got out and locked his doors. “Actually, forget I said that. I stopped being a policeman when I gave you a ride home.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let your superiors know you were fraternizing with the— ouch!” In the darkened parking lot, she couldn’t see well and had stepped on something sharp. It had embedded into the bottom of her foot. Grimacing, she leaned against the truck to pull it out.
Officer Hansen came around the front of the truck. “Piece of glass?”
“I think it was a sharp rock, but it’s hard to tell.”
“Is your foot bleeding? I’ve got a first aid kit in my truck.”
Of course he did. He probably had supplies to see him through any emergency. All she had in her car were jumper cables and an empty Diet Dr. Pepper can. “I don’t think it’s bleeding. I can’t really tell, though.”
He stepped closer until he stood right next to her. “Sorry. I should have had my sister bring you some shoes, but I figured someone would pick you up at the station. Here…” He bent down, put a hand under her knees, and picked her up. “I’ll carry you over the rough part.”
She put her hands around his shoulders to keep from falling. “You don’t have to do this.” With his arms around her, and the feel of the muscles in his chest against her side, this suddenly felt intimate.
“It’s okay. You don’t weigh much— and yes, I know your weight from your driver’s license, too.”
She laughed and let herself relax against him. “You must have an amazing memory.”
“At the traffic stop, Martinez saw your picture on your license and gave me a hard time about letting you off with a warning. Claimed I was showing favoritism toward beautiful women. He may have repeated your information to me a few times while I was running the paperwork.”
“Well, just so long as you had a good reason for letting me go.”
How long had it been since one of her boyfriends had carried her like this?
Justin, her ex from last year, had picked her up once, but then he’d thrown her into a swimming pool, so that hardly counted as a romantic gesture. Kyle, the guy before Justin, had never bothered to pick her up. And Patrick, the guy before him— well, he’d been so thin, he probably couldn’t have lifted a suitcase, let alone her.
Figured. Bethany finally found a guy who was willing to sweep her off her feet, and after tonight she was never going to see him again.
His cologne had a warm, woodsy scent that brought forth images of fireplaces and hot chocolate. She breathed it in and sighed. Maybe she was going to have to start running through more red lights.
When they reached the walkway that led to her door, he set her back on her feet. “Does your foot still hurt?”
“A little.” Hardly at all, but he kept his arm around her waist so she wouldn’t have to put much weight on her foot. Who was she to reject such a sweet gesture?
Man, Hannah was right after all. Bethany needed a boyfriend. She was feeling ridiculously swoony.
She half-limped the last few steps to her door, glad she’d left on her porch light. She picked up the welcome mat. All that was underneath it was a layer of dirt.
Bethany blinked at the spot, and then searched the rest of her doorstep. “Where’s my key?” She leaned closer to the area revealed beneath the mat, as though the key might suddenly appear.
“Are you sure you left it there?”
“Yes,” she said, taking deep breaths. Hyperventilating really. Her key was gone. She had no other way inside. She was locked out.
“Would anyone else have taken it for some reason, a friend or neighbor?”
“No.” She’d been able to handle everything else tonight, because she’d known that at the end of it all, she could come home, take a warm bath, and forget about the day. And now she couldn’t even get inside. What was she going to do?
Officer Hansen placed his hands on his hips and scanned the area as though looking for burglars, or perhaps an escape route, because by now the guy had to be tired of helping her. And she couldn’t blame him. She was equally tired of her non-stop stream of problems.
Undoubtedly, he was going to suggest that she go to a friend’s house for the night. He’d probably even offer to drive her there. And then she would have to admit that she’d been too determined to stay self-sufficient to make room in her life for friends, that she’d been too wrapped up in her artwork to bother with relationships. She couldn’t tell him that— couldn’t admit the truth out loud. It was painful enough to admit it to herself.
While he used the flashlight
function on his phone to look on either side of the doorstep, she plopped the mat back into place, sat down on it, and put her head in her hands.
She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t going to cry. Yes, she was, actually. Tears sprang to her eyes and flooded her lids before she could stop them. She wiped them away. She wasn’t going to sob hysterically. She wasn’t going to sob hysterically.
“When did you last see your key?” he asked, poking the light into a bush by the door.
“I don’t know.” The words wavered, sounding too close to hysteria, despite her best efforts.
He turned, his gaze zeroing in on her face. He sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. “Hey, everything is going to be all right.”
“My friends are out of town. I don’t have anywhere to go tonight. And I’m locked out of my condo.”
His voice turned reassuring. “We’ll find a way to get you inside. If worse comes to worst, we’ll break a window.”
“Worst? Worst is already here.” She rubbed her forehead and shut her eyes. “This has been the worst day of my life, and it’s not even over yet.”
His hand moved along her shoulder, a gesture of consolation. “If this is the worst day of your life, you’re doing pretty well. Believe me, I’ve seen a lot of people’s worst days. I’ve seen addicts OD on just about every drug you can name. I’ve had to stop men from beating their wives, and I’ve arrested people for fraud and embezzlement. Your worst day consisted of some bad luck. But you handled the situation with humor and patience. That says something about you. You’ve got class.”
“Class? I was taken into custody in my underwear.”
“But you looked good in it. I mean, most women would love to look as great as you did in your…” He broke off and started again. “Okay, that came out stalkerish. That’s not what I meant.”
He sounded flustered and sincere— as though he were attracted to her. She relaxed against his shoulder. “So you didn’t mean that I looked good in my underwear?”
“No, I meant it. I just shouldn’t have said it.”
His arm around her was warm and strong. Nestling into his side felt so comfortable, like an embrace. It felt like the sort of thing couples did before they kissed. Perhaps the day had taken its toll on her in more than one way. Boundaries seemed like shaky things right now, things to be ignored. “What should you have said instead?” she murmured.
“Something that was more...” He was watching her and seemed to have lost his train of thought.
He looked adorable that way, searching for what to say. Adorable and attractive. If she kissed him now, would that go on her record? But then again, he’d said he stopped being a policeman when he’d picked her up to drive her home. She leaned over and pressed her lips to his.
He didn’t move away, just sat in stunned shock. Not the best of reactions, not what she’d hoped for anyway. Maybe he hadn’t been attracted to her. Maybe he’d only been comforting her to be kind, and now she’d made everything awkward.
She leaned away from him. “Sorry. You may have a point about me being too impulsive.”
He let out a slow breath. “Impulsiveness isn’t always a bad thing. I could change my mind about it.”
She smiled and felt a warm glow inside. His lack of reaction hadn’t been rejection, just surprise. She leaned over again and this time his lips met hers with more enthusiasm. He pulled her closer, gently holding her in his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist. The kiss was soft, gentle. His mouth tentatively moved against hers. She may have moaned.
He lifted his head, gauging her expression. “You aren’t kissing me because this is an item on your bucket list, are you?”
“What?” she asked. She already missed his lips.
“This isn’t part of some long-held policeman fantasy?”
“I didn’t even realize women had policemen fantasies.” She let out a sigh and shook her head. “I’ve definitely been working too hard. I’m missing out on all sorts of things.”
“You’d be surprised how many women come on to me while I’m working.”
She put her hand over his. “That’s because you’re hot, not because you’re a policeman. They’d act the same way if you were a pizza delivery guy.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Would you have kissed me if I was a pizza delivery guy?”
“Bring me pizza sometime and find out.”
He chuckled and pulled her close again. He dropped a kiss on her mouth, then his lips moved across her cheek, leaving a trail of kisses there. His voice took on a teasing tone. “So you’ve never had any policeman fantasies?”
“It’s not too late to start.”
That earned her another laugh. He had the most beautiful laugh, deep and resonating. She wished she could paint that laugh.
He wound his fingers through hers. “As much as I’d like to sit on your doorstep and enact your newly formed policeman fantasies, I have more important things to take care of.”
Personally, she couldn’t think of anything more important than her newly formed policeman fantasies, and then she remembered he had plans for the night. She tried not to let the sting of disappointment show. “Oh. That’s right. You’re meeting someone.” She let go of his hand. “Now I feel bad about kissing another woman’s date.”
He shut his eyes and winced. “The blind date. I forgot about that.” He pulled out his phone to check the time. “I’ll call her and cancel.”
Relief flooded through Bethany. He wasn’t going to leave her. He wasn’t just enacting some long-held artist fantasy.
While he flipped through his contacts, he said, “What I meant was that after we get you into your condo, I need to replace your locks.”
“Replace my locks?” she repeated.
“You don’t know what happened to your key. Anyone could have it. That means there might be somebody out there who could walk into your condo any time he wants. Maybe tonight, while you’re sleeping.” He found the contact he wanted and pushed call. “Do you see my point?”
“Yes.” She took his hand in hers. “Thanks for offering to replace my locks. Your blind date is missing out on an awesome guy. I almost feel sorry for her, but not quite.”
He put the phone to his ear. “I should tell her to connect with your blind date. Maybe they’ll hit it off.” He waited for a minute, and then ended the call. “She didn’t answer. I’ll text her and hope she reads it in time.” He began typing in a message. “Otherwise Greg is going to be mad at me for standing up his friend.”
Greg?
That was Hannah’s husband’s name.
Probably a coincidence. There were lots of Gregs in the world.
It occurred to Bethany that she didn’t know Officer Hansen’s first name, and that she really should have learned that piece of information before she’d made out with him on her doorstep. Could he be… no. But then again, they both had blind dates tonight. “Your first name,” she said slowly, “wouldn’t be James, would it?”
He cocked his head in question. “Yeah, it is. Didn’t I tell you that?”
She put her hand to her mouth, thinking. How should she break this news to him? “Your friend Greg— is his wife’s name Hannah?”
James’s eyes went wide. “Wait, you’re not Bethany, are you? Your license said…”
“Elisabeth,” she finished for him. “I was named after my grandmother, but I’ve always gone by Bethany.”
“Hannah’s friend,” he said, as though he still couldn’t believe it.
“I didn’t call her to pick me up at the station—”
“Because she’s on an anniversary cruise with Greg,” James finished.
“Along with all my other happily married friends. Which is why Hannah felt the need to set me up.” Bethany shifted uncomfortably, trying to judge his reaction. “I planned on looking better than this for our date.”
He laughed and then rubbed his jawline. “And I planned on not hauling you down to the station beforehand. That sort
of thing usually kills off a romance.”
She smiled and felt relieved. “You said a decent guy would be understanding about my incarceration.”
“Oh, I’m completely understanding. I understand one hundred percent, in fact.”
She rested her chin in her hand, examining him. “Hannah said you were pre-law. I expected someone more… bookish.”
“I’m going into criminal law. I guess I’m tired of putting the bad guys away, and then watching the courts let them out. I don’t start courses until next fall, though.”
“Hmm… Maybe then I’ll be able to enact my lawyer fantasies. Every woman has those.”
He grinned and shook his head. “I didn’t believe Greg when he said you were my type. Usually the guy can’t pick out pizza toppings for me, let alone women. I’m going to have to eat some crow about this.”
Bethany put her hand over James’s. “We don’t have to tell Hannah and Greg how we met, do we?”
“We met at the Santorini Grill,” James said. “You were a little late but you looked stunning.”
“And I was completely dressed.”
“Right,” he said. “It was love at first sight.”
“Was it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, and leaned over to kiss her again.
She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. This Valentine’s Day, it seemed, wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
Click on the covers to visit Janette’s Amazon Author Page:
Janette Rallison (who is also sometimes C. J. Hill when the mood strikes her) writes books because writing is much more fun than cleaning bathrooms. Her avoidance of housework has led her to writing 21 novels which have sold over 1,000,000 copies and made her a USA Today bestseller. Her books have been on the IRA Young Adults’ Choices lists, Popular Picks, and many state reading lists. Most of her books are romantic comedies or urban fantasies (with romance) because hey, there is enough angst in real life, but there’s a drastic shortage of fantasy, humor and hot guys who want to kiss you. She lives in Arizona with her husband, kids, and enough cats to classify her as eccentric.
Valentine's Day Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 19) Page 5