Easy With You

by Kristen Proby

“And what was up with you telling her about Leslie dying?”

  “It’ll be all over the news in about twenty minutes,” I reply softly. “There’s no reason to not tell her.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t tell her about the notes left on the scene too.”

  I scowl and throw the car out of gear before pulling out of the parking space and turning to Jordan.

  “Do you have something to say?”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “God, I sound like a jealous girlfriend. It’s just that the sexual tension in that room was off the charts, Ash. I’ve never seen you like that.”

  “We’ve been partners for six months, not years. There’s plenty you haven’t seen.”

  She nods and then grins at me. “Whatever happened between you two must have been off the hook.”

  You have no fucking idea.

  “Does your husband know that you have such a raging crush on me?” I put the car back in gear and pull out of the parking lot.

  “Whatever. Don’t flatter yourself. I have a hot man at home.”

  “If you say so.” I turn toward the precinct and toss her a glance.

  “Are you saying my husband isn’t hot?” she asks as though she’s offended.

  “I’m a dude. I’ll never say that another dude is hot.”

  “Well, I’m a woman, and I’m telling you he is.”

  “Right.” I laugh and shake my head. “Back to Lila.”

  “Yes, back to Lila.” She clears her throat, and I can tell she wants to ask questions, but instead, she just clears her throat again. “I guess you’ll be stuck to her like glue.”

  “In light of those notes left on the scenes, yes.” Rage fills me at the thought of anyone wanting to hurt Lila. And with the rage is a new emotion now that I know she’s the same sweet woman that I spent one unforgettable night with last summer: Fear.

  “We don’t know for sure that the threats are pointed at her,” Jordan says reasonably. “Her name isn’t mentioned. He could mean another teacher.”

  I shake my head, hoping she’s right, but knowing in my gut that she’s not. “I don’t think so. Each of the victims is from her study group. If they were just in one of her classes, I could agree that it might be a crazy coincidence. But this is too focused. All three were studying in that group minutes before they were attacked. And all three of the notes are angry. Very angry. He’s making her pay for something.”

  “I agree,” she says with a sigh. “I’ve seen murders before, Asher. This is New Orleans, after all. But I’ve never seen anything quite this…evil.”

  I nod.

  “Have you?” she asks.

  I nod again, slowly. “Once.”

  “In Seattle?”

  “Yes. We had a serial killer there about four years ago.” And the motherfucker destroyed my life. “He killed eight women before we caught him.”

  “What’s up with the serial killers in Seattle? Is it all the rain that sends people over the edge?” She bites her thumbnail and looks out the passenger window.

  “There are no more killers in Seattle than other parts of the country.”

  “Hello. Green River Killer. He killed, like, eight hundred women. That counts for a lot.”

  “Good point,” I mutter and think back on the man four years ago who made the Green River Killer look like a Boy Scout troop leader.

  There is no way in hell that anything like that will touch Lila.

  “So, you’re going to look out for Lila,” Jordan says, mirroring my thoughts.

  “Yes. I’m going to stick close to her. This fucker isn’t going to touch her.”

  I glance over to find Jordan watching me thoughtfully. “How well do you know Lila, Asher?”

  “Not well,” I reply truthfully.

  “You seem pretty passionate about keeping her safe for someone who doesn’t know her well.”

  I shrug a shoulder as we get stopped in traffic. “It’s my job to keep her safe.”

  “Right.” She nods once and is smart enough to not say any more.

  Lila.

  I cursed myself as an idiot for months after our night together for not getting her number, or at least her last name. I wanted to call her, to see her again, but she told me she lived in Denver, and God knows that trying to maintain a long distance relationship is next to impossible.

  But she lives here.

  Yes, I’ll be sticking very close to Lila, and not just because it’s my job. From the minute she fell into my lap on that airplane, my hands have itched to touch her. Running into her again in that bar was the best stroke of luck I’ve ever had, and that night with her was off the fucking charts.

  I can’t resist her. For the first time in years, I don’t want to resist her.

  I simply want her.

  * * * *

  “Daddy! My purple shirt is dirty!”

  I swear ripely as the toast pops up in the toaster, burnt to a damn crisp, and lean on the countertop, my head down, praying for patience.

  “You wore the purple shirt yesterday,” I remind her as she bounces into the kitchen of our small townhouse and wrinkles her adorable little freckle-covered nose.

  “You burned it again.”

  “I know.”

  “I like the purple shirt.”

  “You can’t wear it every day.” I kiss the top of her head and toss the black bread into the garbage, ready to start over. “Aren’t you going to be late for school?”

  “No, it’s Thursday.” She rolls her eyes, looking suddenly much older than her ten years, making me smile. “It’s late start day at school.”

  “Your favorite day of the week.” I pick her up off her feet and set her on the countertop where I can look her in her gorgeous green eyes. Eyes the same color as her mother’s. “How are you, bubba?”

  “Good.” She giggles and holds her fist up for a fist-bump, which she seems to suddenly think is the funnest thing ever. Especially the explosion part. “I need my purple shirt.”

  She sticks her lower lip out and bats her eyelashes at me.

  Damn it, she’s adorable.

  “That doesn’t work on me,” I lie.

  “Please?” She grips my cheeks in her small hands and pulls my face to hers, leaning her forehead against mine playfully. “I love you, Daddy.” She’s staring me in the eyes.

  “I love you too.” My lips twitch, and I want to laugh, but I’m very proud of myself for standing firm.

  “May I please wear my purple shirt?”

  “No.”

  “But Masie will be wearing purple, and I promised that I would wear purple too, and that’s the only purple shirt I have!”

  God, give me patience.

  “Enough.” I kiss her forehead and lift her onto her feet. “Find another shirt. Masie will not die of disappointment.”

  “No, but I might,” she says with a scowl.

  “Hello?” Franny calls out as she lets herself in the front door. “Sorry I’m running late. This morning sickness is ridiculous.”

  I smile at the pretty blonde woman my brother had the sense to marry and kiss her on the cheek.

  “You’re fine. It’s late start today, and I don’t have to be to work for a while yet. In fact, if you have things handled here, I’ll go for a run.”

  “Daddy won’t let me wear my purple shirt,” Casey says, ratting me out to her aunt.

  “You wore it yesterday,” Franny says, making me smile and Casey deflate in defeat. “Besides, he’s the boss. What he says goes.”

  “When do I get to be the boss?” Casey asks, folding her arms over her chest.

  “When you grow up and start paying your own bills,” I reply. “So, you okay here?”

  “Maybe.” Fran leans on the countertop and crosses her arms, studying me with pure calculation on her pretty features.

  “Okay.”

  “Does this run take you past Café du Monde?”

  “It can.”

  “Beignets!” Casey exclaims and claps, bouncing
on her feet, the purple shirt clearly forgotten. “Can we have some? Please?”

  “Maybe,” I reply with a laugh, but when I turn to walk away, Fran grips my arm in her small but surprisingly strong grasp.

  “You don’t understand. I’m pregnant, and this baby wants beignets. Today.” She points to her still flat belly, mutiny in her eyes. “Do we understand each other, Smith?”

  “You just assaulted an officer.”

  “I’m married to an officer. You don’t scare me.”

  “Beignets!” Casey shouts and high-fives Fran.

  “Well, I’d be a stupid man to try to come between a pregnant woman and food.”

  “And you’re not stupid, my friend,” she replies with a satisfied smile. “Plus, you’ll be the baby’s favorite uncle.”

  “I’m already the favorite uncle.”

  “Bring those beignets, and yes, you are.”

  I laugh as I jog upstairs to my bedroom, quickly change into a tank and shorts, lace my shoes, plug my earphones in my ears and set out.

  The French Quarter is a few miles from our townhouse, which is the perfect distance for a run. Fall Out Boy blasts in my ears as my feet pound on the concrete. The sidewalks are uneven, making me watch my step carefully. It’s a gorgeous early spring day, warm and sunny. The sunlight filters through the leaves of the massive oak trees that line the boulevards.

  This city is not only rich in history, but it’s just plain beautiful. Moving here last fall was the best thing for both Casey and myself. She made friends quickly in school, and with Fran and Mike so close by, I never have to worry about who is going to help out with her.

  And with a promotion from detective to lieutenant, I can’t complain a bit about my job. I enjoy the work here more than I ever have.

  The music in my ears stops as my phone begins to ring. Without breaking my stride, I answer while pulling my tank off and tucking it into my shorts at my waist, letting it hang over my hip.

  “Smith.”

  “Do not tell me you’re having sex,” Matt, my former partner from Seattle, says.

  “I’m running, asshole.” I grin as I cross Canal Street, over the tracks, into the French Quarter. “What’s up with you?”

  “I’m just checking on you. How are things in the Big Easy?”

  “Busy.”

  “It’s kind of weird to have you breathing heavy in my ear,” Matt complains, his voice completely serious, but I can just imagine him grinning.

  “We used to run together all the time.”

  “Yeah, but the heavy breathing wasn’t in my ear.”

  “How’s the family?” I ask. “How’s Nic?”

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  “I know that,” I reply. “I’m glad she finally made an honest man of you.”

  He chuckles. “We might come down there, spend a few days in a couple weeks.”

  “Look, man, I’m sorry I missed the wedding.” I grimace. “If this fucker hadn’t started killing these girls right before—”

  “I get it. It’s fine.” And I know he means it, but regret hangs heavily in my gut. I love Matt, as if he was my own brother, and Casey and I both adore Nic, his new wife, as well. I was looking forward to their wedding.

  But, duty called.

  Duty always calls.

  “So, what brings you to New Orleans?”

  “Neither of us has ever been. I want to get away for a few days and we don’t have time to go out of the country. With her bakery, and the force, we can’t take that much time off of work.”

  “Will she bring some cupcakes with her?” I ask with a smile. God, that woman can bake. “Casey would love it.”

  “Don’t bullshit me. You would love it.”

  “Tomato/tom-ah-to,” I reply.

  “I’ll mention it to her. What dates work?”

  “Nothing works. I’ll make it work, though. I’m in the middle of a serial case. Maybe I can bounce some ideas off you.”

  “The Tulane University case?” he asks with surprise.

  “You’ve heard of it?”

  “A serial killer makes the national news, partner.” I grin at the nickname. “Don’t worry about us. Just make time for dinner. We can show ourselves around.”

  “I’ll make time,” I reply as I approach the green and white awning of Café du Monde. Sitting at a table at the edge of the seating area is a pretty redhead and gorgeous brunette, and I smile widely as I slow down to a walk. “I have to go, partner. Just e-mail me the details. Looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Me too. See you soon.”

  I end the call and approach the wrought iron railing that the girls are sitting next to, their heads together, talking and nibbling on beignets.

  Lila licks her lips and my dick immediately stirs to life.

  I want to feel that tongue on me.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  They both look up in surprise. Kate smiles, and Lila’s mouth drops open as her eyes roam up and down my naked torso, making me chuckle.

  She likes what she sees.

  Which is damn convenient because she’s about to see a lot of me.

  Chapter Three

  ~Lila~

  “These should be illegal,” Kate says and takes a bite of her piping-hot, powdered sugar-covered nugget of deliciousness. I simply nod in agreement because my mouth is too full of my own nugget of deliciousness to speak.

  When I finally swallow and take a drink of my coffee, I lick my lips and smile at my friend. “Thanks for tearing yourself away from sexy Eli to have breakfast with me.”

  “I don’t have to be with him 24/7,” she says with a roll of the eyes. “Besides, he had to leave early for a morning meeting.”

  “So things are still going well?” I ask before taking another bite.

  “Yep,” she replies. “We have our moments when we want to strangle each other, which I assume is normal when you live with someone¸ but then we just have crazy awesome sex and all is better.”

  I laugh. “Well, here’s to crazy hot sex.” I salute her and take a sip of coffee. “Not that I remember.”

  “That’s your own fault,” Kate says. “You could so get laid.”

  “I’m not exactly the one-night stand type, and I don’t have time to date.”

  “Bullshit and bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You had a one-night stand with Asher, and you do have time to date, you just choose not to.”

  “My job takes up a lot of my time,” I insist and glance over at a man as he starts to play his saxophone not too far away. “And I don’t usually do the one-night stand thing. I’m way too responsible for that.”

  “Everyone’s job takes up a lot of time,” Kate says and waves me off as if I’m being ridiculous. “It’s all about priorities. If seeing someone is important, you’ll make room for him.” She tosses me her sly Cheshire cat grin and pulls another beignet apart before popping part of it in her mouth. “And now that Asher is back, you can make room for him.”

  “I knew you were going to start with this.”

  “What’s wrong with Asher?”

  “Nothing.” Not even one thing. I stop talking and can’t help the smile that slips on my lips. “God, nothing is wrong with him. You saw him.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “But just because we had one hot night together doesn’t mean I should start dating him. I don’t even know that he’s still single.” And if he’s taken, he should be ashamed of himself for the way he looked at me yesterday.

  “We don’t know that he’s not,” she reminds me. “God, you’re cynical when it comes to men.”

  “Hello, pot.”

  “I’m not cynical. I had reasons for my trust issues.”

  I cover Kate’s hand with mine, already sorry for my remark. “I know. And I have my reasons for being cynical.”

  “A deadbeat dad and an absent mom are not the best reasons to be cynical.”

  I bust out laughing at the ridiculousn
ess of that statement. “I think those are two very good reasons, actually.”

  “You aren’t your parents.”

  “You’re right. I’m not an alcoholic pothead or an irresponsible woman without a maternal bone in her body.”

  “No, you’re neither of those things. You’re so much better than that.” She takes another bite. “Look, you can’t stay celibate your whole life.”

  I frown at that thought.

  “It’s been so long since I had sex, I don’t even know if my vagina still works,” I admit in a whisper, making Kate laugh.

  “Trust me, it works.”

  “How do you know?”

  She simply continues to laugh.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  Our heads both whip up at the deep, sexy voice, and I’m suddenly staring at a very sweaty, very half-naked, Asher.

  Oh Jesus.

  “Good morning,” Kate says beside me, but I’m not paying attention to the words they’re saying. My mouth goes dry at the sight of Asher’s naked torso. He’s wearing running shorts, with his shirt tucked into the waist at his hip. He has earbuds in his ears, leading to his phone in his pocket.

  He’s panting from his run, and sweat is running down his forehead, his cheek.

  His fucking amazing chest.

  One drop of sweat slowly makes its way down his sternum to his chiseled abs, and it takes everything in me to not lean over and lick it off.

  Down, girl.

  “Lila?”

  “What?”

  Asher’s eyes are laughing as he props his hands on his hips, watching me. “How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine.”

  Kate snickers beside me, earning a kick to the shin from me.

  “You look amazing,” he replies and offers me that half-smile. The one that promises all kinds of amazing naughtiness and has kept me up many a night over the past nine months.

  “Thank you,” I murmur. Why am I so shy with him now? That night at the bar, I was confident. I knew exactly what I wanted, and that was him. I wasn’t shy. I didn’t hesitate.

  And now I feel tongue-tied and hot.

  Probably because now I know what he’s capable of.

  “I’m coming to your study group tonight,” he says as he pops the earbuds out of his ears.

  “Why?” I ask with surprise.