“Why am I only finding this out now?” She got out the easiest question to ask. Easier maybe because it was the one screaming most loudly in her head at the moment.
“Because I hadn’t realized that being your friend was so important to me before now.”
She stared. Openmouthed again. Like some dimwitted donkey who couldn’t hold an intelligible conversation.
“As a detective, investigating a case, my past, or any part of my personal life, wasn’t important.”
He wanted to be her friend. In her life. On a personal level. She could hardly take it in. Wanted to laugh out loud. Throw herself in his arms and hang on tight.
She wanted to tell Lila. And Wynne.
She sat there, wrapping her arms around herself again. “You told me about your parents,” she pointed out inanely. Looking for the lies. For the things she couldn’t see when she entered into personal relationships. Those things that would smack you upside the head when you least expected them, which made you most vulnerable to them.
Heidi’s attack that evening... That would be nothing compared to the possibility of having Greg turn on her. And not just because of his mammoth size, which didn’t scare her at all.
“I needed you to talk to me.”
“You told me about your parents because you needed me to talk to you?”
“Put people at ease, make it a give and take, and it’s easier for them to talk.” He dropped his gaze, and she had a sudden clear moment. An insight. And blurted out before she could question it.
“How many people have you told?” She held his gaze fiercely.
“In recent years?” He didn’t look away.
Clasping her hands together in her lap, she didn’t relent. “In your adult life.”
“One.”
“Me.” He said nothing, did nothing, in response. “You told me because you wanted me to know,” she replied. “Maybe it was the other, too, but you wanted me to know.”
Would have been nice if he’d told her he was a lawyer, too. He’d know even more about helping her and Josh wade through the issues facing them in Josh’s case. But then, he had a job to do. Giving legal advice wasn’t it. And...he’d told her about his parents, even before he’d known he wanted to be friends with her. That mattered.
Rising, Jasmine went to join him back on the couch.
* * *
He’d known telling her was important. That he stood to lose her trust if he didn’t tell her about his past. But now, with the prosecutor thing out there and her sitting so close and still somewhat vulnerable from her recent attack, Greg wondered if maybe he’d said enough.
“What kind of law did you practice?” The first words out of her mouth told him he’d called that one wrong.
Taking a breath, much like he used to do when dealing with Liv, he dived in. “I was a prosecutor. In Santa Barbara. William and I used to sound cases off each other. We partnered with each other a time or two, as well.” He’d been the lead. William had been his second.
And he didn’t regret, at all, the current status of their professional partnership—him working at William’s pleasure.
Her shock shone from her eyes. She didn’t leave the couch. He saw that as a good sign. And knew, deep down, that he’d had to tell her. Now that he had to be her friend.
To help her through when Josh was convicted.
Because no matter what his ex had or had not done, Josh Taylor had committed a crime.
“You and William worked together? You were... You...”
He could almost feel the turbulent wave of thoughts speeding through her mind. And waited for whatever outcome she reached. He could be playing her to help his friend and peer of many years. It wouldn’t be illegal for him to be doing so.
Immoral, maybe, but the court didn’t care. Unethical behavior could be a problem. But there was a very clear line, and he hadn’t crossed that, either. And wouldn’t be if he was using her to get William the information he needed.
He wasn’t using her, actually. But he wouldn’t blame her for thinking he was. In the beginning, the possibility had been there, on his list.
In truth, he couldn’t even tell her when he’d eliminated that option. He just knew it had left the scene.
She was quiet for so long he considered getting up and leaving. Thinking maybe that would be the kindest thing.
But his reason for offering his friendship to begin with—other than the fact that she was in for a huge upheaval when her brother was convicted—kept him sitting there.
“You’re going to have to decide.” He dropped the statement into the room when he’d reached his limit of doing nothing. “You trust me or you don’t.”
She looked at him then, and the pleading in her gaze got to him. Deep. “Can I ask a few more questions first?”
So unexpected. A calm, rational request he could grant. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why did I come to talk to you in the first place? Why didn’t I tell you I was a prosecutor?”
“Why did you quit being one? And why did you become a detective?”
He wasn’t going to get off easy. Nothing about this woman was turning out to be easy. And yet, facing her, the words came much easier than he’d ever have expected.
“As an attorney, I’m bound to present only the evidence that makes it past all of the laws that protect perpetrators. I was not only stifled, but I was oftentimes dependent on the detectives who investigated my cases to find admissible evidence that would allow me to do my job in a way that sat well with me. As I grew more and more frustrated, it became clear to me that I’d be happier doing the investigating and making damned sure that I brought every conceivable angle to the prosecutor so that he could be happy doing his job well.”
That was the more generic answer. One he’d repeated ad nauseam when his decision had first become public knowledge. Before that, actually. It had started with his parents.
“I’m guessing there were specific cases that prompted the frustration?”
He sat back, enjoying the largeness of her sectional. Of the room. Not sure what to do about her, though. In all of the times he’d talked about his most recent career choice, all of the times he’d given the same basic answer, not once had anyone delved deeper. Or seen beyond. At least not out loud.
Not even Liv.
“There was one,” he told her. “A drug dealer, a higher-up, not one of the street hoods. We’d known about him for years. Law enforcement longer than that. They wanted him bad. His lawyer got phone records thrown out, there’d been a piece of physical evidence compromised and a star witness refused to testify. The guy walked when I and everyone else in that room knew he was guilty.”
“He’ll make a mistake. They always do, right? At least that’s what they say on TV.”
If only real life emulated the life Hollywood created—or better put, if only Hollywood told the full story. Ever.
“He did,” he said, feeling the rock in his gut with as much discomfort then as when he’d first heard the news. “He raped a woman and is serving fifteen years.”
Greg had been unable to get the man off the streets, and he’d gone on to rape a woman. Not Liv. But like Liv, he’d broken into that woman’s home and irrevocably changed her life forever.
Liv had explained that part to him. About the joy she’d lost. And he’d never forgotten.
The day he’d won that man’s conviction, after spending weeks with the victim’s testimony, living over and over the grisly details of the case, the pain and suffering that should never have happened, Greg had handed in his resignation.
He wasn’t going to get them all as a detective, either. There would still be inadmissible evidence. Even mistakes made. But now he had the freedom to spend every working minute of every day doing nothing but going after them...
His thoughts
were interrupted by the touch of a soft hand, sliding on top of his. “I’ve made my decision.”
He couldn’t believe how hard his heart was pounding as he looked over at her.
“I’ve decided to let myself trust you,” she said softly, her makeup-less, red-rimmed eyes wide and bright and beautiful. “And I want to be your friend.”
CHAPTER 16
She thought he might kiss her. Hoped he would.
He didn’t.
Instead he told her about a woman, Liv, who sounded an awful lot like Heidi, minus the physical brutality. A woman who was emotionally scarred to the point that she struggled at times not to wallow in the drama of it all.
“Not that you and I are...like, dating, or in that kind of relationship...” Her heart sank to the cold porcelain floor beneath her feet as he spoke. “Not yet, anyway.” Her heart flew up to the clouds. “But I need you to know, from the outset, what you’re getting into,” he told her while she managed to sit calmly a foot or so away from him, listening.
“I’m not good with the drama,” he told her. “It makes me feel helpless, which irritates me.”
She nodded, couldn’t think of a guy offhand who was into it.
“I’m serious,” he told her. “I can be an unsympathetic ass at times.”
“Like when I called tonight and you rushed right over here?”
He was looking at her, and she wished she could tell what he was thinking. Wouldn’t change what she’d said. Or might say. She couldn’t play games. There were too many real minefields to cross in life without creating more. None of which negated her desire to know his mind.
“I’m serious,” he told her, effectively brushing off what she’d said as though his jumping in his car and heading to her immediately was inconsequential. “I’m not good with emotional breakdowns. I’m detached. I tend to come across as cold and retreat to my gym at the soonest possible moment.”
“You have a gym?” She was learning more about him in ten minutes than she’d learned in two weeks. Facts only, but she’d been gathering her opinions about the character of the man all along.
“A bedroom with a full wall of mirrors, free weights and a home gym. There’s a treadmill in there, too,” he added, “but I’m not much into running as a form of exercise.”
Neither was she—into running. She liked inline skating, though.
With a sideways glance at her, he quirked an eyebrow. “I’m getting the impression you aren’t taking me seriously here.”
“I’m not finding anything to take,” she told him. “You’re going on like you’re some kind of freak man or something.”
“Liv suffered from my inability to sit through the tough moments, or hours, with her. I’ve had a victim or two over the years who was negatively impacted by my lack of empathy. I tend to prefer to stick to the facts.”
“Okay.” She didn’t know what else to say. “If you’re expecting me to convince you otherwise, to tell you that I’m sure you’ll come through if I need you to, or something, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Or if you’re expecting me to find you lacking...same response.” She’d never had anyone give a friendship precursor before. Or had one come with warnings.
He looked at her. She looked back. “You’ve had your share of being blindsided by the people you let into your life,” he said. “I don’t want to be one of those people.”
In that moment, she fell in love.
* * *
He needed to kiss her. To take her into his arms and not let go for at least the rest of the night. They’d agreed to become friends, not lovers.
He touched her sweet face, hating that she’d once again been physically attacked that night. Hating more that she’d come through it, taken it, as though it wasn’t all that big of a deal.
Said far too much about the life she’d lived.
And explained even more clearly why she championed her brother so much.
Her fingers reached up, and while he was thinking she was going to pull his hand away, she touched his face, instead. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the first time you showed up at my door,” she told him. And then, leaning forward, she pressed her lips against his.
It was just a light touch. Nothing at all come-hither. Maybe even just a thank-you. His body reacted as though he’d been prepped for liftoff, though. Immediate and intense, the response shocked him. Embarrassed him a little.
He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her closer, supporting her head as he pressed harder against her, opening his mouth over hers, ready to coax her to do the same.
Her tongue met his without any need of teasing. Tempting him further. Urging him to pull her body closer, then to lean over, laying them both back on the couch with him half on top of her, half beside her.
He lifted his free hand, maybe heading toward her face again, but it was shaking so hard he let it drop at her waist. Held on. And continued to explore the taste of her. Her lips moved with his, opening, accepting, giving back. She didn’t quite suckle him, but they did this thing, this kind of moving against him, it was like they held his lips, caressed them—all in a kiss.
And her tongue...it slow danced, teased, like none other.
What the hell? Kissing was kissing. The get-through-it-to-get-to-it part.
He didn’t rush to it. Wanted to linger right where he was. Aware of every second. He was going to make love to her. He had no doubt about that now.
But...
When his body was perilously close to exploding from the pleasure of her—and he hadn’t yet even touched her breasts—Greg sat up, pulling her with him.
“I want you so badly it hurts,” he said, not quite evenly—and breathing a little hard. With one downward glance, she’d know the state he was in. His jeans were pinching him. There was no point in trying to deny the fact. “But when we make love, I want it to be something we do because we’re both eager to get there before we actually do get there.”
So he was a frickin’ poet now? A bad one? “I don’t want it to be in the heat of the moment,” he clarified. And then shook his head. His brain was definitely all in his pants at the moment. “I want it to be a decision we’ve reached before we get to the heat of the moment.” At least the third time was still the charm. In some world.
“You want to give me time to make sure I know what I’m doing,” Jasmine said, no longer touching him, but smiling as she faced the black television screen.
With a sideways shrug, he nodded. Probably. He couldn’t be completely sure. He’d had the thought, knew that’s why he’d stopped. On the surface.
It was the deeper crap. Stuff lurking there, bugging him, too. Not only was this friendship with Jasmine Taylor new territory for him—what had just happened, the kissing, that all had been pretty much different, too.
He couldn’t remember a time, ever, in his entire life, when he’d struggled to stay on the surface. The surface was the only life he was capable of living. Right up top there with facts, body parts and explosive orgasms.
She probably only had orgasms when she was emotionally involved. Monogamously, emotionally involved. Sex, for her, was likely the seal on a deal. The one intimacy no one else got...
He probably needed to get home and work out.
But didn’t want to get up.
Or leave her. He leaned over and kissed her again. Deeply.
And his phone rang.
The Santa Barbara police had just picked up Heidi, less than a mile from Josh’s home. Another squad stopped by Josh’s house to check on him and found him asleep in his bed.
He hadn’t been expecting Heidi.
But she’d clearly been heading for him.
* * *
Jasmine went in to check on Bella while Greg took his phone call. It was close to midnight. Jasmine was generally in bed asleep by then and wouldn’t be checking on her
niece, but she went anyway. She needed to reassure herself that the toddler was right there, sleeping peacefully. Content. Secure.
A peek in her door was all it took. A glimpse of those small cheeks and the covers moving up and down in the regular rhythm she’d grown used to seeing.
She stopped to refresh herself, got a look at her face in the mirror and pulled out her makeup drawer, before sliding it closed without reaching inside.
He was probably getting ready to head out. Might even be waiting for her by the front door. She didn’t blame him. It was late.
She was off the next day but had no idea if prosecutors-turned-detectives worked Saturdays.
And didn’t want him to leave.
Her heart skipped ahead a beat. Oh my God! Before that phone call, she’d made out with Greg Johnson. And had been so turned on she couldn’t think about it without a resurge of that heat.
Far better than that...they’d made a formal declaration of personal friendship.
It sounded so high school.
And felt so adult. So real life. Her life.
Pausing when the front door came into view and he wasn’t there, she also paused in her chain of thoughts. They’d said “friendship.”
The kind that came with benefits, obviously. That much was pretty clear now. But...
He was sitting right where she’d left him. Her gaze went of its own accord to the fly of his jeans. Like that was somehow the reason he hadn’t moved. Which was ridiculous. Guys might have a hard time moving when they were kicked in certain places, but a guy could walk with a hard-on.
“She still asleep?” he asked, watching as she curled up not too far away from him, tucking her feet up beside her.
“Yep. Amazing how so much can happen and little ones sleep blissfully through it,” she said. Thinking of the violence—not what came after—at the moment. How many years had her mom suffered while she and Josh slept, unaware of the man their father really was? How many years before they’d caught on?
And become his victims, too.
But no more. Her father couldn’t hurt her anymore with his blows and taunts and lashing out. And he wasn’t going to infiltrate her home in any other way, either.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense July 2021 Box Set Page 78