by Ranae Rose
“I don’t like this,” she said.
“Who would?”
“No one, of course – it’s awful. But I meant that I don’t like what this means for you specifically. You might have to go back out on the search again.”
“That’s my job.” Henry’s expression lightened a little, like he was actually looking forward to it.
Sasha bit her tongue before she could say anything stupid. Of course it was his job. Someone had to do it.
She didn’t have any right to a racing heart or a dry mouth, and there’d be no stopping him in any case. Still, she felt incredibly small and incredibly scared as she stood there staring at him, her memories of their night together warring with her worries about the future. She could almost feel the place in her heart where a hole would be left if something happened to him.
It’d been hard knowing he’d been part of the prison’s search team last time, and that’d been before they’d even gotten together. Now that they had, she could feel a connection between them, one she’d ached for every time she’d laid eyes on him. The thought of someone severing that was unbearable.
“You must be hungry,” she said, turning on her heel, forcing herself to tear her gaze from his face. “It’s dinnertime – past, almost. Why don’t you have a seat? I was just about to whip up something quick.”
He didn’t argue. Thankfully. Sasha got the impression that he was eager to resume searching for the prison escapee, and she wasn’t above tying him to a chair at her kitchen table. Actually…
The barest hint of heat sparked inside her, reminding her what it was like to feel something other than fear. Ever since he’d shown up at her door, she’d felt little else, and no matter how much lust he inspired, she couldn’t shake the dark cloud his news had left her under.
“I hope you like spaghetti,” she called over her shoulder, “because I—”
She froze with a box of pasta in her hand, and a few dry noodles fell out, bouncing on the linoleum.
Henry was right behind her, so close she could easily have reached out and laid hands on that fantastic body. She could even smell him: a heady combination of practical guy soap and a faint spice that might’ve been aftershave. And yes – there was a hint of sweat. Overall, it was a very masculine combination, and inhaling deeply rekindled the desire her anxiety had been repressing.
“I brought you flowers,” he said, lifting the bouquet he’d laid down on the counter when he’d first entered her apartment.
The scent of rose blossoms drifted through the air, swirling with his smell, threatening to make her dizzy.
“Thanks.” She took them, paying close attention to the bright red blossoms for the first time since he’d walked through the door. “They’re beautiful. And very red – very romantic.”
She didn’t have to force a smile, even if she was still worried about him.
Maybe it was crazy, given the circumstances and what they’d already done, but the classic gesture of a dozen red roses had butterflies bursting into flight inside her belly. Her panties were also faintly wet – no surprise there, given Henry’s incredible physique.
Incredible performance.
Incredible everything.
“They reminded me of you,” he said. “They’re the exact same color as your bikini.”
A rush of satisfaction swept through her. She’d been counting on catching Henry’s eye when she’d put on that particular swimsuit. Just the memory of him peeling it off her was enough to have her biting her inner lip, suppressing a moan.
“They’re gorgeous – let me find a vase.” She turned away, body on fire, and rummaged beneath the sink.
She made a show of arranging the flowers in a plain glass vase – not that they really needed the extra fussing. She liked feeling the silky-smooth petals against her skin though, was thrilled that Henry had thought to bring her roses. It was a simple gesture, and yet… Everything he did seemed like a big deal to her.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so head-over-heels for anyone. Sure, she had a healthy appreciation for the opposite sex, but she wasn’t usually one to get serious – quickly or at all.
Getting serious about someone meant anchoring yourself to the devastation that would come someday when you inevitably lost them. Sasha had never met anyone who made her want to risk that. She’d always figured that if there was someone she was really supposed to be with, she wouldn’t have much of a choice about it – the attraction would demand the sacrifice.
“Do you need help?” Henry was still startlingly close; his presence made her nerves buzz, made her spill a little more pasta.
“Absolutely not. I could make spaghetti in my sleep. Just have a seat.”
She tipped her head toward the table, a white-painted number she’d found at a flea market. It was set with blue placemats and sea glass candleholders; she liked to think of it as shabby chic. It provided a nice contrast to the chrome-and-silver practicality of the cooking implements that shone from every available surface in her apartment’s modest kitchen.
“I know you can cook,” he said. “Everyone in Riley County knows it. I guess what I meant was, would you like any help? I can stir – maybe even chop, if you’ll trust me with your knife.”
“I like cooking for people.” She especially liked to cook for sexy men in – or out – of uniform. It wasn’t exactly a hardship to make spaghetti for Henry. “If you really want to help though, you can rinse some lettuce and slice some vegetables for a salad.”
He agreed and accepted the head of romaine along with the fresh tomatoes and sweet peppers she presented him with. As he lapsed into his characteristic silence, she realized that they’d just had their longest conversation – by far – ever.
It figured that it had been a gristly murder, of all things, that’d finally gotten him talking. She couldn’t help but wonder what that meant. How badly had the discovery shaken him to draw him out of his strong and silent shell like that?
As she crushed a few garlic cloves, she glanced sidelong at him. He was busy dicing a tomato into tiny cubes. Not exactly how she would’ve cut one for a salad, but what did it matter? She looked away from his careful cutting, noting that he was still pale.
“I’ve been thinking,” he eventually said. “Your place of work is the best-known place in Riley County, besides the beaches. People come in and out of the Wisteria Plantation House’s grounds all day, and it’s far enough out of the way that it’d take the police a little while to get there, unlike anywhere in Cypress. It could be dangerous, especially if Levinson is looking for a public place to target. After his stunt with the warden, I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
So that was what he’d been brooding about for the past five minutes.
“I’m not going to work tomorrow,” she said.
“You’re not?”
“No. I’m going to visit my mom. She lives in a little town west of Raleigh, a couple hours from here.”
He stood at the counter with the knife still in his hand, tomato juice dripping from his fingers. “That’s probably for the best. When are you leaving?”
“In the morning.”
“Will you be staying long?”
She shook her head. “It’s just a day trip. I only took one day off work.”
He frowned. “Guess you’ll be getting back after dark?”
“Probably.” A pang of bittersweetness soared through her. Yes, she was looking forward to seeing her mother. But the occasion was one that never failed to remind her of what she’d lost – what they’d both lost.
They said that time healed all wounds, but it didn’t. It just made them a little easier to live with, enough so that you felt guilty, sometimes, because you were living.
“Maybe I could meet you here tomorrow night,” he said. “You could text me and let me know when you’re on your way – I could have dinner ready for you when you arrive.”
“Is that a date invitation, or are you offering to play bodyguard?”
“I—” He jerked, dropping the knife and holding his opposite hand aloft. “Shit!”
A drop of blood beaded on the end of his thumb, courtesy of the Shun that’d been sliding so easily through the ripe tomato.
Sasha grabbed a clean kitchen towel and pressed it against his hand.
“I keep fucking this up worse and worse,” he said, still grimacing. “When I got off work today, I was just planning to bring you flowers. Figured we could go from there. Then I found the warden. Now I’ve gotta think of a way to do things right and make sure you’re not unnecessarily endangered at the same time.”
Unnecessarily endangered. As if doing things like going to work or leaving her house weren’t necessary.
Sasha took one look at Henry’s uber-serious expression and bit back a flippant reply. After all, he’d just been the first to discover a murder scene – one where the victim was someone he knew. To say that he’d had a shitty day would’ve been one hell of an understatement.
Besides, when she thought of him out hunting down Randy Levinson, she broke out in a cold sweat. Did he really feel the same way about her?
The thought made her feel like her Shun had slipped right into her heart, opening her up as easily as it’d opened his skin. She lifted the towel, and even the sight of a drop of his blood made her feel a little faint.
She normally wasn’t such a wimp.
“Let me get you a bandage.” She hurried into the bathroom where she could take an especially deep, calming breath without him noticing.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror and decided to do something about the fear she saw reflected in her own eyes.
When she emerged, she moved toward him with purpose, a spring in her step. “I’ve decided something.”
He let her rinse his thumb beneath the kitchen faucet, then pat it dry before applying a Band-Aid. “What?”
“I’m worried about you,” she said frankly. “The thought of someone targeting officers from the prison creeps me out. I hate the thought of you staying alone tonight – if something happened, who would know? I’d feel better if you stayed here.”
Henry looked at her like he’d never seen her before. “You want to spend the night with me?”
She placed her hands on her hips, facing him squarely. “I’m insisting. Besides, I was planning to talk you into it anyway. I’ve been dying to get you back in bed again.”
His mouth dropped open a little. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he looked down at his hand.
“Hello Kitty was all I had,” she said, nodding toward the pink Band-Aid wrapped around his thumb. “Don’t worry – it looks good on you.”
CHAPTER 6
Henry couldn’t believe it’d been so easy to get Sasha to spend the night with him. He’d expected her to refuse his offer of protection, to stubbornly insist on staying alone in her first story apartment with her chef knife and frying pan at the ready. But once again, she’d had her own ideas.
Of course, she seemed to think she was protecting him somehow, which was laughable. In reality, she was sprawled on his couch petting Wolf, who was reveling in the attention.
Henry had talked her into coming back to his place instead of them both staying at hers. Wolf had been alone all day and Henry had needed to come home and make sure he had food and water. When he’d told Sasha that, she’d announced that she’d be coming with him.
They’d eaten dinner together at her apartment and afterward she’d packed an overnight bag, then they’d left for his place. Jeremy had arrived soon after they had, and Henry had spent a good half an hour answering a second round of questions about his discovery of the crime scene. Now it was late and he and Sasha were alone together again.
For a few seconds, Henry just watched her from the kitchen, waiting to see what she’d do next. Every time he made a plan, she derailed it with one of her own. So far, all of her ideas seemed better than his, so he couldn’t really complain, but…
What was he supposed to do now?
Keep her safe, sure. He was wary of any sign of danger, senses heightened, awareness sharpened. There was no getting what he’d seen earlier that day out of his head, and the memory served as an ever-present reminder of why he couldn’t let his guard down. Still, as long as she was there, there was no ignoring his perpetual hard-on for her.
It almost felt wrong, given the circumstances. Every time his mind flashed back to what he’d found at the edge of the road that day, bile rose in his throat. The memory was fresh, and layered on top of older ones. He was no stranger to death, but that didn’t make it any easier to see. Not really. And not a death like that, in any case.
When he really thought about it, maybe Sasha’s presence and his constant hard-on for her was a good thing. Lusting after her was a great distraction. If he could just indulge without getting stupid and forgetting about what was most important – protecting her – he’d be all right.
“Do you mind if I turn on the news?” she called out over her shoulder, from the couch.
An extra-strong surge of lust hit him like an arrow to the gut as her eyes met his.
“Go ahead,” he said automatically, reaching for the first thing he could lay hands on, then turning away and pretending to be busy as he fought to clear the fog of all-consuming desire from his mind. It was hard to focus on the present when memories of their night together ran rampant through his mind, threatening to cause his dick to bust his jeans’ zipper.
The object he’d grabbed was a bag of coffee grounds. He unwrapped the rubber band he’d closed it with and grabbed a spoon, then began heaping grounds into the coffee maker. Why not brew a pot? Between Sasha’s presence and knowing that a killer was at large, it wasn’t like he was going to get any sleep that night.
“How do you like your coffee?” he called, and was hit immediately by a pang of regret. If she hadn’t left before he’d woken up during their first night together, he already would’ve known how she liked it.
“Cream and a little sugar if you have it,” she replied. “If you don’t, black’s fine.”
He fixed her coffee the way she’d requested, glad she was there.
Even though the fact that she thought she needed to protect him was ridiculous, that she gave enough of a shit to spend the night at his place seemed like a good sign. He’d seen her slip her little kitchen knife – her Shun, she’d called it – into her overnight bag, too. In that moment, his perpetual hard-on had hardened a little more.
There was no way he’d let anyone dangerous get near her, but it was cute that she’d planned ahead like that. Did she plan to borrow one of his frying pans to use as a shield? The thought caused a grin to spread across his face. By the time the scent of brewing grounds rose from the coffee maker, his cheeks ached.
It’d be a good ten minutes before he could pour any. Reluctantly, he approached the couch. Although his body temperature seemed to rise by a degree or two as he got near Sasha, he didn’t really want to hear the news – didn’t want to think about what he’d seen.
Sure enough, the news anchor’s voice got under his skin, triggering an automatic response in his brain, one that had him rehashing memories from that afternoon over and over again.
The warden, dead. Mike – that was his name. Mike Lawrence. Not just the warden, but a guy with a life, albeit one that’d taken a shitty turn a couple years ago when he’d gotten divorced. He still had two grown kids though, and he hadn’t deserved to die. Henry felt bad for him, bad for the family that had to deal not only with the fact that he was dead, but with how he’d died.
And the fact that his killer was still on the loose.
A part of Henry itched with the desire to be called into work, to be put back on the search. Surely, the investigators in charge of the case would draw the obvious conclusion – that Randy Levinson had been behind this – soon, and the prison’s search efforts for the escaped convict would resume.
It’d been well over a month since the initial escape,
but Randy Levinson had escaped from the Riley Correctional Center’s custody. If he was back in the area, why wouldn’t the prison’s PERT officers be part of the manhunt?
“Hey, Henry.” Sasha turned, peering up at him from her seat on the couch. At first, there was a hint of apprehension in her brown eyes, but it was quickly obliterated by a smile that spread across her face, inviting and just a little bit sultry. “Are you going to have a seat while that coffee is brewing or what?”
He forced himself to smile back. “I think I’ve got some ice cream in the freezer. Want some?”
He retreated to the kitchen without waiting for her reply and started rummaging in the freezer. He wasn’t trying to give her the cold shoulder; he just couldn’t stand the thought of sitting through the news report.
“Chocolate with peanut butter cups,” he called out.
“Sounds great.”
He knew the store brand ice cream he had was crap compared to the things she could cook, but it was something. He took his time spooning it out into bowls, tiny ice crystals and all. Luckily, she sauntered over to join him in the kitchen.
They sat across from each other, and after a couple bites of ice cream he barely tasted, he rose to get the coffee he’d poured minutes ago. Hers had the telltale caramel color of coffee with cream and sugar, and he took his own black. He liked the bold flavor, untainted by sweetness. It helped clear his head.
Of course, all that clarity went to shit the second Sasha stood up and pushed back her seat. There was nothing particularly erotic about the movement, but her body always looked great, especially while in motion. Her breasts were big enough that any movement made them bounce a little, and he was always watching closely enough to notice.
“I’m going to use your restroom, if you don’t mind.”