by Regan Black
However fate had crossed their paths, she was thankful for a man who understood exactly what she’d needed without rendering any judgment.
With a minimum of awkwardness, they both straightened up their clothing. Her cheeks blazed with belated embarrassment as she stuffed her torn panties deep into the tote she’d used for her toiletries.
“Carson?”
He leaned across the seat and bussed her lips with a fast kiss. “You don’t get to ask me anything else until we’re both safely inside the house.”
He couldn’t mean the trouble had followed them so closely. “Safe from what?”
“Each other.” He winked at her and opened the door. “This is a family neighborhood.” At the truck bed, he pulled out her backpack and then held open the garage door for her.
As they entered the house through the kitchen door, she couldn’t help but contrast this moment to the first time she’d seen it. She’d been lost, trapped in a haze that held her very identity out of her reach. Now she didn’t recognize herself for other reasons.
She’d thrown herself at him.
And he caught you quite well, said a snarky, thoroughly sated voice in her head. Satisfaction wasn’t the point. She accepted the bottle of water he offered, needing to cool her parched throat. She should say something. Thank you would definitely ruin everything, although she was plenty grateful he was taking it all in stride. They couldn’t do that again, despite the thrumming in her bloodstream that vehemently protested the idea of a one-and-done situation.
She opened her mouth, hoping the right words would tumble out of their own volition, but his voice filled the room. “I’m going up to grab a shower. If you can’t find anything you want to wear here, we have plenty of time to go shopping.”
Her mind had locked onto the image of him in the shower, water running all over that hard body. “A shower sounds like a great idea.” She caught the husky timbre of her voice and felt another blush climb up her neck.
He raised his eyebrows, the invitation clear.
“Separately.” She took another quick sip of water. “I’ve taken enough advantage of you already.” She capped the water bottle and hefted her tote over her shoulder, moving toward the front stairs.
Suddenly he was in her path, filling the doorway, his presence far bigger than his lean frame would suggest. Her pulse skipped in happy anticipation.
“Is that what you think?” His voice was low, packed with warning.
She folded her arms, ignoring the tight sensation in her breasts. “I’m trying to think and be rational rather than simply react the way I did in the garage.” She tipped her head in that direction. “You were—”
“Don’t say it.” He cut her off, his hazel eyes inscrutable. “Just stop talking.”
“Shouldn’t we—” At his hard glare, she clamped her lips together.
“If the rest of that sentence is ‘talk about it’ or some other way to define and contain what we both enjoyed immensely, stop.”
He took a step closer, close enough that she could smell her perfume on his skin. Good grief, she’d even managed to smear lipstick on his collar in the ultimate cliché. He tipped up her chin, held her gaze for a long moment. “I’m a big boy,” he told her in the calm, quiet tone she’d trusted from that first moment behind the club. “I could have said no.”
She wasn’t sure she’d given him enough time to utter even that single-syllable denial. His eyes cruised over her face, landed on her lips. Deep inside, her body quivered, eager for another kiss. “Why didn’t you?”
His mouth tipped up at the corner. “You’re irresistible,” he replied. He started to say something and changed his mind. “Sex happens.” He shrugged. “We’re consenting adults with a mutual attraction. You have enough on your plate without overthinking an amazing moment.”
He was giving her far more credit and showing more maturity than she deserved. He kissed her cheek, then eased back with a casual smile. “I’m going to take a shower. A cold one, unless you decide to join me. No wrong answers here. It’s up to you.”
She stood there dumbfounded as he walked backward several paces. When she didn’t move, he flashed an unrepentant grin and disappeared up the stairs.
She couldn’t join him. She absolutely should not join him. Need scorched her blood, pushed her forward and out of the kitchen at last. Upstairs she had another internal fight. He’d called her irresistible, and she thought he might have meant it. It was a compliment she’d carry with her when this was all behind her.
He’d left his bedroom door cracked, and she could hear the water running in his cold shower. Unless I join him. If she joined him, it wouldn’t be the spontaneous combustion they’d shared in the truck. No, it would be premeditated and amazing and brilliantly satisfying. But she wouldn’t be able to rationalize her decision as a lapse in judgment. It would be a definitive step in a direction she suddenly didn’t feel prepared to take.
Frustrated with her confusion in the face of his easygoing acceptance, she went into the hall bathroom, closed and locked the door. Not to keep him out. To keep herself in.
Running the tap on cold, she stripped away the black clothing and stepped under the biting spray.
Chapter 8
By the time she’d chosen a cobalt blue dress with a flared skirt from the wardrobe Carson’s sisters had stashed in the guest room closet, she’d finally come to terms with what had happened in the truck. Simply stated, they were new friends with amazing sexual chemistry. That was the easy, no-muss, no-fuss explanation. A lack of history was a benefit, she decided, as it left them with less baggage to cart around in the aftermath. The deep connection she’d felt with him amid the urgency of the moment was merely a by-product of coping with a sudden death, exacerbated by the fact that Noelle had been both her age and her best friend.
All of her sensible rationalizations evaporated under the flat-out hot gaze Carson leveled on her as soon as she walked into the kitchen.
“You look great,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “Maybe I should change.”
“No, don’t,” she replied too quickly. “You look great, too.” The deep green button-down shirt open over a gray T-shirt brought out the green in his hazel eyes. His jeans were faded and molded to his lower body in all the right places. Her mouth watered a little, and she blamed the spicy herbs of leftover lasagna filling the air.
They settled into a comfortable conversation over the meal, discussing topics only slightly more exciting than the weather. New friends, she reminded herself, stuffing another bite of food into her mouth every time she was inclined to ask him to kiss her. It was a great solution until she was too full. Still, Grant was expecting them, and she wanted to thank him personally that his team had saved her apartment and probably the entire house, as well.
Riding in the truck had her blushing at the memories for the duration of trip to the pier, and she was grateful it was dark outside. Carson drove right up to the club, once more parking near the back door. The club was packed, and a heavy rock beat poured from the refurbished warehouse into the night.
“Why don’t you ever use one of the parking lots?” she asked.
“I’m not inclined to take chances with you after today.”
“Because we had sex?” He didn’t strike her as the clingy type, but again, what did she know about him? Too little, too late on those questions, she thought, scolding herself.
He rolled his eyes and laughed a little. “I was thinking about the break-in and fire, but I like that you’re stuck on that particular encounter.”
“Ha.” She barely resisted the urge to fan herself, struggling to handle this with the same ease he demonstrated. “I might be irresistible, but you are irrepressible.”
“Found out so soon? This relationship is doomed for sure.”
Relationship
? No. No. She didn’t know how to do those. Girlfriends, sure, but even in those cases her track record proved she was often more reserved and aloof than her peers. There had been dates, and Carson wasn’t her first sexual experience, but relationships required a commitment skill set she didn’t have.
Her car door opened and she jumped, startled.
“You okay?” he asked with that immediate concern that wrapped around her like a cozy blanket.
“Just distracted.” Her gaze involuntarily drifted upriver, where the detective said Noelle’s body had been found. “I want to remember,” she murmured as he held open the back door for her.
Alone in the back hallway, he pulled her into his arms. “I know. We’ll get you through, Lissa. I promise.”
With his heart beating under her palm, she believed him. “I want them to catch her killer.”
“I understand.”
She stepped back, her hands lingering on his trim waist. He did understand every piece of her misery, even coming clean about envying her amnesia. “It helps knowing you do.”
Escape Club staff bustled back and forth, greeting them both with open, friendly smiles as they worked. Finding Grant’s office empty, they went into the club and found him sitting in as guest drummer. He was having a grand time, not just with the music, but giving a true performance for the enthusiastic audience.
“Grant’s made this a special place,” she said at Carson’s ear as they watched.
“More than a few of us wouldn’t have made it without him.” Carson bumped her shoulder with his and grinned. “I’m full of energy,” he said with a meaningful wink. “I’m going to see what I can do to help. Hang out here for just a few minutes.”
He was gone before she could protest or offer to pitch in, as well.
“Left you stranded?” the bartender asked with a wide smile. “Don’t worry. He won’t be gone long.” The bartender stuck out his hand. “I’m Mitch Galway.”
She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mitch.” She gave her name and saw his eyebrows arch. “I guess you’ve heard about my situation?”
“Don’t let it bug you.” He worked on orders while he talked. “Grant brought us all up to speed since your case was more public than most. Even if he hadn’t, your face has been plastered all over the news and my fiancée—Julia, the attorney—has kept up with the developing case. I’d have to be blind not to recognize you.”
She laughed as her awkwardness faded.
“How are you feeling?”
She wagged a hand side to side. “According to Carson, I’m doing better than expected, and I should be patient.”
“Carson would know,” Mitch replied as he mixed another drink. “He should’ve been a doctor. Rest easy. Grant is working his tail off to unravel your trouble.” Mitch slid the finished cosmopolitan in front of her, complete with the curl of orange peel. “A Cosmo Escape,” he said. “On the house.”
“Nice presentation,” she said turning the glass back and forth and catching the scent of orange essence.
Mitch held up his hands, surrendering. “Everyone watches too many food shows these days. Enjoy it,” he said, moving down the long bar to serve more customers.
She took a sip, and the flavors blended into the perfect burst of happiness on her tongue. When Mitch looked back to check her reaction, she raised the glass in an appreciative salute. Carson returned as the last notes of the song faded away, propping his elbows on the bar top beside her. His hair curled at his temples, damp from sweat.
“Feel better?” she asked.
“Yes.” Under the bar, he bumped her thigh with his. “I helped them catch up on glassware for the bar and burned off some extra energy.”
If he kept saying things like that, her resolve wouldn’t last, and she’d be asking for another kiss within the hour. He turned, leaning back against the bar to watch the band as they dialed up the volume on the next song. She decided the drink was stronger than she’d thought when Carson convinced her to dance with him.
It was a great feeling to cut loose and let her body move with the rhythm. The band was excellent and although the dance floor was crowded, the soaring ceiling and wide space was designed so it didn’t feel that way at all.
Dancing had been Noelle’s thing, and she’d made an impression on local clubs and DJs starting their freshman year of college. Lissa thought back to how she’d dressed on Friday, comparing it to tonight. They must have been headed somewhere. She rarely wore dresses or skirts to work, since it was impossible to know what she might be called to do on any given day. Slacks or jeans were always the better bets.
When the music changed to something slower, Carson took her hand and twirled her until her hips were close to his, her hand resting on his shoulder. A perfect distraction. He smiled down at her, kissed the tip of her nose, and she laughed. They swayed to the music, letting it pulse around them, through them. The crowd drifted into the margins of her vision, until her world included only Carson and the music. His arms banded around her, sheltering her, his soft denim jeans brushing against her skirt and her skin as fabric swayed and moved.
Something broke loose inside her, floating free and spiraling up and out. Pure happiness and sheer delight, she realized. Had she ever felt anything like it? He gave her another twirl, pulling her tight to his chest as the last notes of the song faded into the rafters overhead.
Feeling light-headed and wary of the emotions surging through her, she excused herself to the restroom, amazed her knees didn’t buckle under the weight of her nerves.
The familiar bustle of bodies and female camaraderie settled her, and when she reached the sinks she used a damp paper towel to cool the heat pooling at the back of her neck, and above her heart.
She couldn’t be having these wild feelings for Carson. Oh, sex screwed up everything. She never should’ve crossed that line. He’d been assigned to her when she’d been in trouble, and kindness was simply part of his nature.
Forced proximity, simple laws of attraction, she reminded herself. None of her rationales held up this time, and she redefined her part of the equation as a crush. She could get over a crush. Anything more than that, well...she wasn’t willing to take the risk of getting hurt or hurting him.
She turned for the door and caught the whiff of a sweet and slightly familiar odor that flickered at the edges of her memory. Lissa hurried out of the bathroom and away from the unpleasant scent. In the hallway clogged with men and women, she forced her way through, ignoring the curses in her wake.
She needed clean air. She needed Carson. Preferably both. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she fumbled with the screen, trying to send a text to Carson that she was headed for the back door rather than the bar.
A hand came out of nowhere and slapped the phone away, grabbing her wrist in a bruising grip. A familiar grip. Panic seized her when she recognized the man she’d bumped into at the museum on Monday. She clawed at him with her free hand and pulled back with all her strength. He was dragging her to the emergency exit, away from the people in the bar and the kitchen who could help her. She screamed Carson’s name.
“Shut up, bitch!”
A woman’s voice behind her and the feel of a hard hand on her back snapped all the jumbled pieces of her memory into place. The woman had been with the men on Friday. They worked as a team when they’d attacked her and Noelle, drugging them both outside the hospital. Sensing what was about to come next, Lissa dropped low, and saw the syringe meant for her neck land in the arm of the man trying to drag her out of the club’s emergency exit. She scrambled back toward the center of the club on her hands and knees.
The tenor of the voices overhead changed. Shouts and orders flew, and then a blast of river air flooded the corridor a moment before the alarm on the emergency exit door sounded.
Lissa was struggling to her feet, shouting
for Carson when more hands grabbed her, hauled her up. She screamed and fought, kicking out and throwing elbows until she heard Carson’s voice through the din.
“Lissa, it’s me!” He held her shoulders in that firm grip. “Come on, you’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She opened her eyes and tried to explain. “They were—that was them.” She gave up and buried her face in his shirt as the panic and the near miss kidnapping shocked her system in waves.
Still soothing, he gathered her into his arms, carried her out of the crowd. “You’re safe. I promise.”
“Don’t l-let go.” She repeated it over and over as the memories came back in a flood of misery and haunting pain. “Where are we going?”
“Grant’s office. Take it easy,” he added when the tremors started.
“I remember it, Carson. All of it. Just like you said I would.”
He sidestepped through the doorway and set her gently on her feet, not letting go until he was sure she had her balance. “Sit down,” he suggested.
She sank into one of the chairs in front of Grant’s desk, accepting the jacket someone had delivered and a bottle of water. “Can I have something st-stronger, please?”
“Grant keeps a bottle of good whiskey in his desk,” Carson said.
Perfect.
She heard the liquid splash into a glass, caught a whiff of robust spice and toffee when he wrapped her hands around the heavy, squat glass. She tossed it back in one gulp, letting the bite of the alcohol burn away the remnants of her fright.
“You found me. Saved me.” She gazed into his patient hazel eyes.
“You were saving yourself when we caught up with you.” His hands ran through her hair and he kissed the top of her head. “I was watching for you and saw the way they culled you out of the crowd.”