by Cecy Robson
“I assure you, I’ve never been to those places,” I stammer.
My nervousness and direct eye contact totally give me away.
Curran straightens as stunned recognition spreads along his features. “Argyles?” he asks.
Chapter 2
Curran
Tess Newart. Miss “Let me tie you up so I can ride you hard” is sitting close enough to touch. Fuck. Me. I never thought I’d see that face again.
But there it is, with a nice coat of red to top it off.
“Is there a problem?” Miles Fenske asks me.
His attention drifts from me to Tess. Hell, I never knew her real name was Contessa. Then again, I never knew that much about her. Unless you count the night we…
I clear my throat, knowing both Miles and Declan are watching me. “She’s wearing argyle socks,” I say like a dumbass, motioning to her feet.
“And?” Miles asks.
I shrug. “Didn’t know grown-ass women wore that shit.”
I grimace. Okay. Probably not the best response. But damn, argyles? It’s been what—almost four years since I last saw her? And she’s still wearing those things? What the hell’s up with that?
Miles looks to Declan, whose grip on his pen tells me he’s seconds from stabbing me in the eye. I should be on my best behavior in front of his boss. But I’m not. In my defense, Tess, here, now, is a damn good reason to be off my game. Not that she’s exactly thrilled to see me. Shit. I thought we had a good time.
She keeps her attention forward and away from me, her spine straight enough to raise a flag on.
Okay. Maybe it wasn’t as good for her as it was for me.
Declan forces a laugh. “You’ll have to excuse my brother. His mouth sometimes gets away from him,” he says, gritting his teeth.
“That’s understandable,” Miles says, nodding. “My father, God rest his soul, was a police officer.”
“Yeah?” I direct my focus back on him. “With Philly?”
“No. Newark.” He takes his time answering, appearing to remember his old man. “He worked long hours to put me through school, and get me where I am today. He took pride in the job. But too much time on the street and too many felons to deal with eventually took their toll.”
“Yeah,” I agree, meeting him square in the eye. “Those shithead perps can do a real number on you.”
I thought for sure Declan would snap that pen in his hand in two. Miles, though, nods like he understands what I’m saying. “You have a hard job, my friend. Please know how much our office appreciates you, and all that you do.”
“It’s my sworn duty and honor, sir.” I mean what I say, but I’ll admit I’m laying it on pretty thick. It’s probably taking Declan all he has not to roll his eyes. My bullshit always screws with his patience. But he has his gifts and I have mine.
Miles adds a respectful nod, which I return. There’s a reason Miles Fenske knows who he knows and holds the position he does. He’s keen on what to say, and how and when to say it.
“So tell me about the third in command,” Miles says, returning his attention to Declan. “He’s managed to stay under the radar until now. How is that possible? And how is someone that young so high in the ranks?”
Declan goes into full attorney mode, spitting out everything he has. Without meaning to, I let my attention wander back to Tess. And damn, hasn’t she changed. Her once stick-thin frame has filled out. Her rack, while still small, actually makes a dent in that green blouse she has buttoned to the base of her throat. Gray pants cover her long legs, and she’s wearing the same kind of shoes Ma’s friends wear to church—the kind that belong on spinsters and fucking leprechauns. Why the hell is she wearing those damn things? Better yet, why’s she covering up that body? Especially now that she has a respectable ass to grab.
“Well, everything looks in order. Keep up the good work,” Miles says, wrapping things up. He stands and shakes Declan’s hand, appearing satisfied. But as he pulls back, his tone gives away his concern. “I know you want to work this alone, but if you need more staff, I expect you to notify me at once. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
No he won’t. Big bro has something to prove and he’ll do it alone or die trying. Miles doesn’t suspect as much and leaves. Now, it’s just the three of us. One too many, if you ask me.
Tess resumes her typing. Declan his legal blubbering. Me, I’m back to eyeing that one-night hookup I broke the bed with.
She leans forward, tucking her hand against her face so her blond hair falls in soft waves. That’s different, too. One length, down to her shoulders, not like that pin-straight haircut that never made it past her chin and bangs so straight I could have used the edge as a lever.
There’s something else, too….She squirms in place under the weight of my scrutiny, adjusting her— That’s it: the glasses. They’re not those giant Harry Potter–looking pieces of crap. They’re little, square, and yeah, kind of hot.
“Curran?”
Aw, hell. I look up at Declan. “Wassup?”
“Contessa has to pick up some paperwork the judge just signed. My detectives are tied up at the moment. I asked if you could accompany her courtside?” he snaps, his jaw clenched so tight, I’m sure he’ll crack a molar.
“Oh, yeah. I’m on it.”
Tess leaps to her feet. “I have to close out my files and shut down my computer first. It’s late, and I left it on. I’ll be right back.” She rushes away, slamming her knee into the chair. I reach to steady her, but she jumps like I burned her and plows into the wall. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m—I’ll be right back.”
She tears out of the room, slamming the door behind her and working that ass like—
“Did you fuck my intern?” Declan growls.
I glance back at him as he looms over his desk. “Just a little,” I admit.
Tess
Argyles. He called me Argyles. That’s the same nickname he gave me the morning after we, we…
I slap my hand over my head. Oh, my God, I need to get out of this. I need to get out of this now!
My urgent steps slow as the reality of my situation becomes abundantly clear: I can’t give up my opportunity to work with Declan. I can’t refuse police surveillance. I can’t request another police officer this soon. And there’s no escaping Curran O’Brien.
But then there never was, was there?
I lean against the wall and start flipping through the notes I took on my iPad.
I groan. Who am I kidding? My mind isn’t on work, it’s on Curran, just like it was from the first moment I saw him.
As rush chair of Kappa Omega Kappa, notoriously known as KOK, Curran was loud, obnoxious, and perpetually surrounded by girls who found him oh so charming and laughed at everything that came out of his mouth. I roll my eyes, remembering their constant giggling and overt flirting.
Oh, Curran. You’re so cute.
Oh, Curran. You’re so funny.
Oh, Curran, you’re such a nice KOK.
I stare at my screen, recognizing that I was one of those girls taken by his wit, his smile, and his striking looks. But I never expected him to notice me. Not with all the pretty girls in my sorority cozying up to him, and not when my eating disorder had left me so painfully thin. God, I was so unhealthy then, my hair so fine I couldn’t grow it out, and nails so brittle I had to keep them short. Throw in my dorky wardrobe and an awkwardness I never fully outgrew and, well, I never thought Curran would look my way.
Yet eventually he did, making me feel like I mattered.
I remember that day so clearly. It was the end of finals week our junior year. As the president of the college, my father discovered my stellar grades had been ruined based on my performance in my journalism class. The research paper I’d turned in counted as 90 percent of my grade, and I’d erroneously written it without checking the references against more reputable sources. The prof had scored it a 70, given the lack of credibility. Although I’d worked hard on it, the heav
y course load in my double majors in politics and pre-law that semester hadn’t allowed me the time I needed to cross-reference my material.
Father was furious, and not only verbally thrashed me until I cowered and collapsed in tears, but forced me to rewrite the entire paper by hand—all forty pages—so I’d learn “my lesson” about not being lazy and turning in sloppy work.
“My lesson” had been one of many throughout my life used to humiliate me and destroy my will. And it worked. After years of being mistreated and reduced to nothing, I surrendered and obeyed.
Just like I do now.
I left his office that day a shuddering mess, forcing a smile as I passed his peers—because I was the daughter of Donald Newart, university president, political figure, respected member of the community, and overall idol. I had to keep up appearances. Yet all I could think about was finding the strength to kill myself so I could finally break free of his hold.
But I never tried. Too weak. Just like he always claimed, and exactly how he kept me.
I push off the wall and walk slowly back to the law library. To this day, his words sting because he continues to verbally berate me, reminding me of my incompetence, and how I can’t survive without his help.
My father should be my hero. He should be my greatest champion. He should mean everything to me, but he doesn’t.
He’s the only blood relative I have, and the man who gave me life. Yet I can’t stop myself from hating him.
The problem is, sometimes I hate myself more.
I enter the law library and slump into my desk chair, feeling a sense of defeat so great, everyone around me seems to vanish. With almost robotic movements, I log on to my laptop and begin saving my documents to their appropriate files. And although I try to focus, I can’t shake the memory of that day.
My fingers fiddle with the pages of the deposition I’d been working on. I hit an all-time low following the degradation in Father’s office. But instead of allowing me to wallow in self-pity, my sorority sister convinced me to “have some KOK,” as she put it, and dragged me to Curran’s frat party.
Curran was one of the rare few who never seemed to care who my father was. He saw me sitting alone and holding an empty cup, and sat beside me. He could have ignored me like everyone else, flirted with the skimpily clad girls, and drank and roughhoused with his obnoxious friends. Instead he edged closer, despite how I tried to avert my gaze, and drew out a smile I didn’t know I had in me.
“You’re really pretty when you smile,” he told me there on the couch…and once more the next morning when we awoke naked together.
I cover my eyes and lean forward. Now he’s here, to guard me on a case I can’t walk away from, one that can grant me a life of independence from my father.
A sharp rap at the door forces me to glance up. Nausea punches through every cell of my body when I see him standing at the entrance. No. There’s truly no escaping Curran O’Brien.
He marches in slowly, his expression tight. “You ready, Tess?”
That’s the name I went by in college, back when I had friends, and someone like him to make me smile. I nod, hurrying to shove the necessary paperwork in my large purse. “Yes. One moment please, Officer.”
Officer. I cringe at the word. It’s what he is, though, so why do I feel so stupid calling him that? Because you wrapped your lips around his tremendous penis, I remind myself.
“Who’s this?”
My shoulders slump. Burton. Of course he’d have something to say. I should ignore him yet I don’t, feeling like I need to defend Curran’s presence. “He’s my—I mean, he’s here to help me with the Montenegro case,” I manage.
“Help you?” Burton says, his laugh reddening my cheeks. He eyes Curran up and down. “If you say so, Contessa.”
Curran’s attention bounces to me as every part of me bristles. Something in my expression causes him to scowl, yet instead of addressing me, his attention shifts back to Burton. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he snaps, “but I’m the cop assigned to watch Tess’s back. Who are you, the office idiot?”
I rise slowly. I remembered Curran the joker, but forgot all about Curran the brawler. Unlike me, Curran doesn’t fear confrontation and isn’t afraid to take a swing.
Burton leans back in his chair and crosses his arms as silence stretches across the room, arrogance splaying along his face. “I’ll let that slide, given I’m a well-respected attorney.”
“A well-respected attorney?” Curran repeats, appearing unimpressed and slightly bewildered.
“That’s right.”
“Hmmm,” Curran mumbles, looking around. “And you work here? In a library? Mom and Dad must be proud.”
My, and doesn’t Curran have everyone’s attention now?
“Unlike your situation, mine is temporary,” Burton sneers. “Just biding my time until the next DA’s spot opens up.”
This time, it’s Curran’s turn to grin. “And how long has this temporary gig been going on?”
The smile vanishes from Burton’s face. “That’s none of your business.”
Curran keeps his smile, but his voice gathers a sharp edge. “And it’s none of your business what I am to Tess, asshole.”
Curran’s not bowing under Burton’s self-proclaimed awesomeness, and Burton doesn’t appreciate it one bit. “I think DA Fenske would take offense to your choice of vocabulary, Officer.”
Claims the man who called me a bitch.
“He didn’t seem to mind when he thanked me for putting my life on the line a few minutes ago—it’s what us boys in blue do to keep the community safe,” Curran fires back. “I know it’s not the same as filing books after spending two hundred grand on education, but he seemed to appreciate it.”
Burton rises to his full height, his face boiling over with rage. “Consider your inappropriate language and misconduct reported.”
His comment only widens Curran’s smile. “To who, my brother Declan O’Brien, the assistant DA? Nah, he can’t do much seeing how I don’t technically work here. And my captain probably wouldn’t pay much attention to a whiny little wannabe librarian.” He glances around the law library. “No offense to any of you. I’m sure you won’t wait as long as this dick has for a promotion that’ll never come. You seem smarter than that.” He turns to me then. “Ready, Tess?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”
I scramble to gather my belongings. Curran’s verbal ass-kicking will likely turn the other clerks further against me. Yet for now, I don’t care and do my best to squelch my smile.
I walk fast, hurrying down the hall toward the back stairwell. Curran easily keeps up. “Is there a fire?”
“No. The judge is waiting. They—the judges, I mean—don’t like to wait.”
“So why didn’t we go there first? Why’d you head back to the library?”
I push open the door leading into the stairwell, but it isn’t until the metal door shuts behind him and we reach the landing that I turn and face him. He cocks his head, waiting for me to answer what should be a simple question.
My mouth opens only to abruptly shut. He raises a brow, watching me and once more waiting for my answer. Damn it all. What is it about him? I’m a multi-published journalist, and can formulate complex paragraphs as easily as most draw stick figures, and yet Curran’s mere presence jumbles my thoughts like a roller coaster.
For a moment, all I can do is stare out of the wall of glass. Four levels down, pedestrians hustle through the busy Philly streets and aggressive drivers blare their horns in protest. Those scrambling below can see us, but are blind to my insecurities and deaf to my words. I shouldn’t be so nervous, and yet I am.
Curran intimidates the hell out of me—not because of his imposing presence, or that virtual arsenal clipped to his leather belt. Oh, no. He’s intimidated me since the first moment I met him—back when he wore a backward baseball cap and sweats, long before he’d carried a badge and gun. His easy smile and confidence brought women to t
heir knees…including me.
I lower my chin. Daunting physique aside, Curran scares me. He’s seen a side of me no one else has, one I want to keep hidden. After all, I did a lot more than bask in his glory while I was down on my knees.
“You didn’t answer me,” he says. “Why didn’t we head to court first?”
“I needed to shut down my computer,” I respond, wishing my voice held more conviction.
“That could have waited. You hauled serious ass out of Deck’s office. Don’t tell me it’s because you couldn’t wait to get back to numbnuts back there.”
“No, of course not.” I blink up at him. Curran’s as tall as I remember, but his athletic build has widened to resemble more of a boxer’s physique than the soccer player I knew. I suppose with his line of work he needs more bulk, and that his days of fun and games are long over. “I needed a moment,” I admit.
“Why?”
My brows knit tight. “What do you mean, ‘why’? Because, well, because of—” His grin causes me to trip over my words. If memory serves, I awoke somewhat intelligent this morning. I clear my throat, the flicker of amusement lighting his eyes making it clear he’s enjoying my torment. “Your presence caught me by surprise,” I manage.
“Believe me, I almost fell off that damn chair when I realized who you were,” he says, chuckling. “Which leads me to ask, why the hell are you so pissed?”
“I’m not pissed.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“I am not!”
“Then why are you yelling?” he asks, laughing harder.
“I’m not yelling,” I say, quieting. I glance around. “Listen to me, Officer O’Brien—”
“It’s Curran. But I think you remember that.” The edges of his mouth lift. “And my guess, based on how you’re acting, is you remember a lot more than that.”
My lips part and heat spreads along my body. “You…cad.”
“What?”
“I said you’re a cad!”
He removes his hat and sweeps a hand over his closely buzzed hair. “I heard what you said. I’ve just never heard anyone aside from Bugs Bunny use that word. You gonna call me a scoundrel next?” He holds up his hands in surrender when I all but stamp my feet. “Look, lighten up. I was just as shocked to find you here as you were to see me. But so what? What’s the big deal?”