by Lea Griffith
He was her Dom, but she owned him. The anger that simmered beneath his surface swelled, becoming hot and vicious.
“I don’t know yet,” he answered. “I’m trying to figure that out now. But it won’t touch you. I won’t let it.” He took a deep breath. “You’re always running, Daly. Tell me, have you ever fought for anything in your life?”
Her back went ramrod straight and she turned to glare at him. She was fucking gorgeous in her anger and his body responded accordingly.
“If you were trying to piss me off, you succeeded,” she bit out. “I fought for you three years ago until you left me no choice. You were the one who let me down, Jeremiah Copeland. I had no other option but to leave. I can’t believe you just said that to me!”
Daly stormed out of the bathroom, and he heard the sounds of drawers opening and slamming before the bedroom door followed suit. Copeland ran a hand down his face wearily. He never said the right things unless they were playing. Then, everything he said was almost perfect.
She wasn’t right—they weren’t in the same emotional space. What he felt for her had grown much deeper in their time apart. He now had an appreciation for what he’d lost. Copeland’s life without her was a bleak place and he refused to return to it. He’d been back inside her body. He’d felt her heart kick against his chest as passion rode her in waves. He’d tasted her. He wouldn’t go back to not having that.
He’d find a way. Come hell or high water, he’d find a way to keep them on track.
Chapter 13
Daly watched him sleep. The man had a set of brass balls. He’d pissed her off so bad earlier, yet he crawled into her bed like he owned it and was now sprawled on his stomach, handsome face turned toward her, sleeping. That he hadn’t left told her more than any words he could utter in apology. He was in this for the long haul.
Her mouth watered at the smell of him and she licked her lips before she bit down hard to remind herself he was off-limits. She’d come into the bedroom finally, needing sleep but unable to find it in her living room. God help her, she’d never be able to sit on that couch again without the taste of wine and the remembered heat of orgasm flowing through her. He’d marked her living space and while it should make her angry, it only made her sad.
Right back where they’d ended years ago. You couldn’t begin again when the end still taunted you. She still had no idea about the entirety of what he’d been involved in to help his brother. It made her tired to consider it. Her gaze roved over the planes of his face. Her fingertips ached to mold his features, sink into his black hair, and pull him to her. She watched him instead.
She remembered the first time she’d seen Jeremiah Copeland. She’d been sixteen and volunteering at the local soup kitchen on Peachtree Street down from the Westin Plaza. Daly’s father had been running for a state senate seat and she’d been forced to do her due diligence in an effort to make him look better. Her father had always demanded she put on a good show for the media.
What he had never understood was that she enjoyed working in the soup kitchens and homeless shelters. It made her feel like she was giving something back. She came from money—a lot of it—yet somehow she’d never managed to adopt that hoity-toity attitude her father had.
When her mother died, she’d been left in her father’s not-so-tender graces. He demanded perfection. His anger was legendary. He spared no hurtful words when he berated, and both Daly and Toby had received no pity because they were his children.
That day at the soup kitchen, Daly had been so involved in her volunteering that it had taken her a minute to realize someone was watching her.
Daly smiled now as she felt anew the lightning bolt of attraction to Jeremiah. He’d walked in like he owned the place, and Toby had been at his side. Toby was forever picking the wrong crowd. Five years earlier, when he’d been a junior in high school, her older brother had been warned by their father to stay away from “trash like Copeland” or he’d be cut off. Toby had told their father to fuck off, and thus had begun Daly’s fascination with the dangerous Jeremiah Copeland.
He’d taken on mythical proportions in her mind. Five years later, as he stared at her across the dilapidated soup kitchen, he’d wormed his way into her heart. She’d been entirely too young to recognize the intense emotions he aroused in her, but her crush had solidified and the mythic being who was Jeremiah Copeland had become her hero.
Toby had been disowned a couple of years prior and lived with Jeremiah. According to their father, Toby had continued to engage in a life of crime and degradation. Her brother never seemed to look anything but happy when she saw him. He’d come to the soup kitchen that day because he wanted to see her, and Jeremiah had accompanied him.
Destiny, she remembered thinking, never realizing the man she was crushing on so hard would break her heart into tiny little pieces. He hadn’t said a single word to her, but he hadn’t needed to. Those gray eyes of his had communicated everything loud and clear.
Daly felt heat climb its way up her neck at the memory. Her hands clenched her pillow to keep from reaching for him. The five years after that initial encounter with him had been a game of cat and mouse. She ran after him; he chased her away. And always there’d been the knowledge that Jeremiah Copeland would hold her heart and eventually her body in his big, strong hands. At the tender age of twenty-one she’d finally caught his ass, and then …
Sleep pulled at her as the memories struggled to take her under. She’d loved him from the first touch of his lips on hers, but he’d never loved her enough. She sighed and felt the blackness blanket her mind. Tomorrow she’d have to deal with all of this. Now she just needed sleep.
* * *
His eyes opened as hers drifted closed. Face relaxed in sleep, she was so fucking lovely he felt his eyes water. What had she been thinking about as she’d lain there watching him? Attuned to her every move in the house, he’d known sleep wasn’t going to come until she joined him in bed. Somehow he had to bridge the distance between them. He had to show her he would hold her safe if she’d just open herself up to trust him again.
He needed her like he needed air. More than that, he loved her. She moved closer to him and he turned on his side, pulling her into the curve of his body. He checked his watch and realized he had about three hours left to hold her before he had to get up and start a new day.
As his eyes drifted shut again, he inhaled and fell asleep with her body against his and her scent on his tongue.
Chapter 14
It was Friday. Three days had passed since Daly had seen Jeremiah. He hadn’t called, texted, or sent word to her in any way, shape, or fashion. It was as if he’d fallen off the face of the earth. If it weren’t for the smell of him on her sheets, she’d think she’d dreamed everything from the past weekend. She sat back in the rickety desk chair at her beat-up metal desk and wished for a good cup of coffee. What the office secretary made, while it smelled heavenly, tasted like baked tar.
“Yo, Edwards!”
Daly sighed and turned to the woman who’d called her name. “Yeah?”
“There’s a charity event tonight at the Westin Plaza and the boss said your name is up,” her friend and coworker, Gloria Davis, said with a smirk.
“No it isn’t. I had Gala Duty last month. Not happening, Glo,” she bit out as she shook her head. “This one’s yours.”
Gloria smirked again and Daly’s fists clenched. “No can do. Baby daddy can’t grab the kidlet, so I’ve got no sitter. I’m sorry, Daly,” she said around a laugh. “I hate that. Really wish I could go.”
“Besides, Officer Edwards, your father is a keynote speaker. He personally requested you attend,” her boss, Hosea Graham, chimed in.
Daly groaned and flipped Gloria off as the other woman continued to chuckle. None of them liked attending fund-raisers. That her father, now a federal judge, had requested her stank to high heaven of manipulation.
How long since she’d talked to the illustrious Heyward Edwards? Three, may
be four months? Not long enough, she thought bitterly. He’d disowned her when she’d moved in with Jeremiah. That was his M.O.—disown. He’d done it to Toby and then to Daly. The father-daughter relationship had never recovered. Her father had tried—hell, continued to try—to bridge the gap he’d created, but Daly wasn’t the most forgiving person in the world.
Unless it was Jeremiah, apparently. He’d gotten back in pretty damn quick, and with little to no effort on his part.
Fingers snapped in front of her face and she glared up at Gloria. “What?”
Gloria shrugged. “You faded out there, Edwards. I don’t know why you’re so down in the mouth about this. If any of us were born for schmoozing it’s you.”
Daly stood up and cocked her head. “Yeah, Glo? Why’s that?”`
“You’re the senator’s daughter, after all,” she responded with a quirked eyebrow.
“He’s a former senator,” Daly said between clenched teeth.
Gloria held up a hand and waved it between them. “Oh, my bad. You’re the judge’s daughter, after all.”
“Look, Glo, I’m about to turn around,” she said so softly that her pain-in-the-neck friend leaned closer. “When I do you’ll notice my ass. What I want you to do before I walk away is bend over and kiss it, okay?” She nodded and smiled sweetly. “Okay, here we go …”
She turned, and Gloria swatted her ass and guffawed. “Bitch,” she said, but her tone was so good-natured Daly couldn’t be mad.
Daly snickered. “It’s a great ass, though. Made just for kissing. You sure?”
“Yeah, I don’t kiss asses much. Hey, Chelsea called and said you’re supposed to buy her dinner at McGuire’s tonight.”
“Well, shit fire and save the matches,” Daly murmured. She’d have to reschedule with Chelsea. When Hosea Graham told you to do something you had little choice in the matter. She had to go tonight. “I’ll call her,” she told Glo.
“Edwards?” her boss shouted from his office. “Go home and get pretty. We need money for that mentor program of yours!”
Daly turned and mock saluted him. “Yes, sir!”
“Oh!” his big voice boomed. “A car will pick you up at seven. Be on time!”
She groaned. “I don’t have to make a speech, do I?”
“Maybe” was his noncommittal response.
“Get to cracking, woman. Those dollar bills don’t just jump into our pockets,” Glo said around a laugh.
Daly flipped her off again and grabbed her things. She headed out the door and dialed Chelsea. They agreed to meet up the following night.
As she drove home she thought about the direction her life had taken. She’d grown up one of the über-rich and entitled and devolved into one of the little people. It was a wonderful thing, and she didn’t begrudge her fall from monetary grace one bit. Jeremiah had been responsible for a lot of that. All the nights he’d told her stories about his time on the streets had led Daly to believe that there were kids out there who needed someone to go to bat for them. As she’d watch her brother struggle to break the yoke of their father’s demands for perfection, she’d grown into an independent woman. She’d never wanted to rely on her father’s money. It came with too high a price.
When he’d snatched his support from Tobias, she’d vowed to never fall the way her brother had. Once she’d graduated from high school, she’d entered the University of Georgia and determined she’d have a criminal justice degree. Being with Jeremiah had solidified her conviction. He’d been her motivation.
And now she was here. A social worker for the Department of Juvenile Justice who had an obligation to raise funds for the mentor program she’d initiated. She sighed, and the sound echoed back to her in the confines of the car. It seemed like so many things wound back to Jeremiah.
She’d lied to him the other night. She didn’t almost hate herself. She fully, unconditionally despised how easily she’d fallen back into something with him without having first resolved the mess between them. But tempered with that self-deprecation was the knowledge that she still loved him desperately.
The last three days without hearing a word from him left her feeling bereft and full of angst. She loved him even though she wanted to hate him. The dichotomy was vicious and unrelenting. She sighed, realizing she was doing a helluva lot of sighing lately, and turned up the radio, losing herself in the music as she made the thirty-minute drive to the small suburb of Buckhead. She enjoyed her ride home through the tree-lined streets and houses filled with families.
Once there, she got ready slowly, showering and then going so far as to repaint her nails—fingers and toes. She’d waxed last week, so her skin was smooth all over. Still, she spread on her Lancôme lotion and rubbed it in. She dried her hair and then straightened it. The brown length glowed in the muted light of her bathroom. Daly put on minimal makeup—a little blush, mascara, and lip gloss.
She found her favorite little black dress, and after pulling on a red garter belt and black stockings she stepped into the dress sans bra and zipped herself up. On her ears she wore diamond studs and around her neck, nothing. The feel of anything against the skin there was abhorrent for some reason, and she forced her mind away from those thoughts.
She strapped on her delicate Rolex watch, grabbed her clutch purse and wrap, and then stepped into her heels. Taking one last look in the mirror and determining she looked passable, she headed out.
As soon as she stepped out the door, she knew someone was on her porch. She reached for her pepper spray and had just gotten it out when a male’s voice called out.
“It’s me, Daly.”
She looked around until she saw David Copeland, leaning against her porch railing. “What’s up, David?” she asked cautiously.
“Not much. Just wanted to stop by and talk to you for a few minutes,” he responded dully.
“Um, you couldn’t have maybe called first? What’s it been, David, a year since I saw you last?” Their offices were across the street from each other but she rarely ran into him. The last time had been when one of her kids was arrested and tried for assault. As the district attorney, he’d dropped the charges on the condition the kid went into a rehabilitation program for anger management.
She locked her door and was grateful she’d made sure her ride was there before she stepped outside. It gave her a reason to hightail it out of there.
“Yeah, maybe that long. Listen, I can see you’ve got a car here. I guess you’re hitting the Juvenile Justice/DFCS fund-raiser tonight downtown, but I wanted to talk to you about …”
She cocked her head and stared at him in the weak light of her porch lamp. “About?”
“My brother,” he said in a rush.
She raised an eyebrow. “Your brother?” she asked skeptically.
He nodded and slid his hands in his pockets. His body language told her he was uncomfortable. If that was the case, he was no more so than she. David had once been her friend. Then he’d been the bane of her existence. If not for David, Jeremiah would never have ventured back to the dark side and she’d never have been forced to leave him.
Slow your roll there, girlfriend. Her brain put on the mental brakes. Had it not been David it would have been something, or someone, else. The fact remained that his love for Daly hadn’t been enough to keep Jeremiah from going back to a life of crime. And yeah, okay, it hadn’t been a life of crime, just a single act, but that act had been the wedge that drove them apart.
“Daly?”
Her gaze snapped to Jeremiah’s brother and she winced. “Yeah?”
“Look, I heard from someone that you’re seeing Jeremiah again, and I just wanted to—”
Daly held up her hand and stopped him. “Not sure who told you that, David, but more importantly, I’m not sure how that’s any of your business?”
He fidgeted and shifted from foot to foot, refusing to look her in the face—in fact, looking everywhere but at her. “It’s not, really, it’s just that I like you and I don’t want to se
e you—”
She held up her hand again. “Discussion over, David. You and I haven’t spoken in over a year. You know nothing about me or my life. Now, I have somewhere to be. I’m not sure if this is some misguided attempt at friendship or if you’re into something over your head, but rest assured, I don’t need relationship advice from you.”
His shoulders drooped and he looked … defeated.
“David, what’s going on? I gave your ring to your brother the other night. Are you in trouble?” she asked.
“No. I’m not in trouble,” he answered swiftly. Too swiftly.
Yeah, sure. “Okay then. Well, since you’re not in trouble and I don’t need relationship advice, I should be going. Good seeing you, David.” Or not so much. Awkward maybe. Not good.
He reached for her as she stepped off the porch. His hand dug into her arm and she hissed in pain. She didn’t want to hurt him, but if she had to, she most assuredly would. “Hands off, David.”
The man was sweating and his eyes were wild, moving from shadow to shadow as if he were afraid someone was listening. “He’s bad news, Daly. Just keep away from him, okay?”
“Bad news? Oh, David, you sound like a really bad B movie. Also? You’re a day late and a dollar short. Tell you what, why don’t you get your hand off my arm and I won’t report your behavior to the State.”
He dropped his hand immediately.
“Go home, David. Get some rest,” she urged. With that she turned and walked to the car.
The driver let her in, and she asked him to stay there until David had gotten in his car and left. Then she leaned her head back against the seat and watched Atlanta roll by. David was in trouble despite his denials. That was why he’d left the ring on her doorstep. And here Daly was, back in the thick of things with Jeremiah.