by Dawn Altieri
He laughed as a devilish grin stretched across her face. “You’re serious.”
She gave him a long, slow nod. “Will you come?”
He opened the passenger side door and made a wry face. “I’ll think about it. Come on. Let’s get out of here before I have to give myself a parking ticket.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Let’s all come to a comfortable seated position,” the instructor said.
Emma folded one leg over the other, resting her upturned hands lightly on her knees as Jake observed from his very own yoga mat beside her. It had taken some convincing as he drove her home from the office, but he’d finally agreed to come to the class with her. She’d told him it would be good for them to let go of the stress they’d been under. And she knew if she insisted, he’d go along with it because he didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
He attempted to mimic her pose, but instead scrunched his face into an exaggerated grimace. He tensed his brows and dropped his jaw as if to say, “How the hell did you do that?”
The big, strong, handsome detective claimed to spend five or six hours a week at the gym, but he was about as flexible as a piece of uncooked spaghetti.
This was going to be fun.
The class began on the floor with a few breathing exercises and gentle stretches, and he seemed to be getting the hang of things. And then the instructor told them to stand up.
Jake found the sun salutation particularly amusing, and Emma sucked in her bottom lip to keep from chuckling along with him. They moved into a downward dog pose, but his legs were nowhere near straight as he folded over to touch the floor. When he laughed more loudly, she peeked under her right arm and shot him a warning look, even though she was now laughing, too.
Standing poses proved no easier for him. But at least he seemed to be enjoying himself. The class moved into warrior pose, and the instructor was not at all pleased with his interpretation. She approached him to make adjustments, sliding her hands outward across his biceps and telling him to lengthen his stance. The sight of another woman with her hands all over Jake might have otherwise flustered Emma, but she liked this instructor. Plus, she was an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a non-threatening, motherly air about her that put everyone at ease. She told Jake to tilt his pelvis forward, and his brows shot up high as she manhandled him into the correct position.
Somehow he managed to hold it together through a few more poses. By the time the instructor dimmed the lights and told them to lie down in the final relaxation pose of shavasana, Emma’s stomach hurt from all the laughter she’d been holding in. She couldn’t have been more relieved the class was almost over.
“Relax your arms and legs,” the instructor said as soft music played in the background. “Let them fall naturally away from your body. Relax your head, your neck, your shoulders…”
Emma soon began breathing more deeply, lulled into serenity at the sound of the instructor’s soothing voice. Jake’s outstretched hand touched her thumb, and he hooked his fingers around hers.
The instructor made her way around the room, offering blankets and yoga blocks to anyone who seemed uncomfortable in the position. She moved between Emma and Jake and knelt, placing her hands over where theirs were joined. It was a gesture Emma had seen used in the past—one meant to seal in energy. The instructor stayed there a moment before moving on to the next student.
Emma rolled her head toward Jake and found him gazing at her with a smile. The usual tingle of electricity came right through his fingers into her hand, and she smiled back at him before relaxing again.
Soon the class ended, and they rolled up their mats, gathered their things, and prepared to leave.
The instructor approached them with her hands clasped before her. “I hope to see you both in my class again soon. You two have a wonderful energy together.”
Jake beamed at Emma. “We do, don’t we?”
“Mm-hmm. Love’s funny that way.” The instructor patted them both on the shoulders and walked away.
Shock stuttered through Emma’s whole body.
Love?
She didn’t think so.
No, no, no. The woman was clearly out of her mind.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I’m telling you,” Jake said as they rode the elevator to Emma’s apartment, “if I’d known there’d be women grabbing my ass like that, I would’ve tried yoga years ago.”
Emma aimed a playful smack at his shoulder, but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her close until her free hand landed on his chest.
“Did you like it, though?” she asked. “Would you go again?”
“Sure, why not? Maybe once I know what the hell I’m doing, I’ll be as good at it as you are.”
“Cool.” Something had clicked between them in that yoga studio. It wasn’t love, but whatever it was, she was eager to feel the connection again. In class…or out. But what if he hadn’t felt it, too? Or even if he had…how many times would he need to tell her there could never be anything between them?
She pushed the doubts away, wanting to hang onto the carefree, playful mood they’d shared all evening. “Just so you know, Detective, I’ll grab your ass like that whenever you want.” She reached behind him and gave him a squeeze, and he wrapped his arm around her.
His eyes locked with hers. Her stomach fluttered with a nervous excitement that she fought to shut down as soon as she felt it. She broke away from him to step out of the elevator and into the hallway, but he held her arm and turned her to face him again.
He pinned her against his solid torso with one hand, gripped the nape of her neck with the other, and covered her mouth with his as the elevator doors closed behind him. His tongue parted her lips with no apology, probing mercilessly as he grasped the exposed area of her waist below the edge of her sports tank.
He leaned away suddenly, staring down at her with hunger in his eyes. “Do you know how much of a turn on it was watching you in action for the last ninety minutes?” He groaned as he devoured her mouth again, stepping her backward until her shoulders pressed against the grasscloth wallpaper. “And then there’s these snug little yoga pants that I’m dying to get you out of.” He slid his hand down her thigh, hiking her leg up to his waist, pulling an anguished whimper from her lips. “Make me stop, Emma. I don’t know if I can do it on my own.”
She dug her fingertips into his biceps to steady herself as he trailed kisses along her jaw, down her neck, below her ear. She didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him, even if it would all go absolutely nowhere. She’d expect nothing from him afterward. She’d told him before that was what she wanted, and she would tell him again if he asked. She could do this.
He brought his mouth back to hers. “Let’s get inside,” he murmured against her lips.
They stumbled in the direction of her apartment door until she broke away to reach into her bag for her keys. She turned to put the key in the lock and froze.
The door was already open.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Emma reached out to touch the doorknob, but Jake quickly grabbed her hand. His eyes were wildly alert, as she’d never seen them before. He held a finger to his lips to tell her to remain quiet, still breathing hard as he reached into his gym bag to pull out his gun.
“Stay here,” he mouthed sternly, pointing to the floor where they stood.
She nodded, her pulse thumping in her ears as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Minutes dragged by as she waited for him to come out, to give the all clear, to let her know whoever had broken in was no longer there and wouldn’t be giving him a reason to need his gun.
Jake’s voice emanated from beyond the door. He rejoined her in the hallway as he spoke into his cell phone, giving someone the address of her apartment building, asking for a team of officers, rattling off instructions quickly and efficiently. His voice only
served as a slight distraction as she glanced past him inside the apartment.
“Stay right here, Emma,” he said again between orders into his phone, and she froze in the doorway.
The painting in the foyer had been torn off the wall and slashed. The glass table beneath it where she usually dropped her purse had been upended and shattered into tiny pieces. In the living room, sofa cushions had been ripped and stuffing torn out, tables were flipped on their sides, the flat-screen television destroyed. The contents of the bookshelves had been thrown to the floor and photos were lying in the rubble, their frames cracked and mangled. She spotted the small framed print of her engagement photo—the one photo of Justin she’d left on display—and instinctively stepped forward to go pick it up.
“Emma, you can’t go in there,” Jake said quickly. “You can’t touch anything,”
She backed away from the door. Jake continued to speak on the phone, but his focus remained on her, making sure she didn’t move.
She wrung her hands together, fighting the urge to run inside and put everything back in its proper place, but she couldn’t do that. Her home was now a crime scene.
He finished his call, dropped his phone into his gym bag, and turned her to him. “You all right?” he asked softly.
She wasn’t.
Her tear-filled eyes met his, and he pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her head. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
Everything was far from okay, and he was in no position to promise it ever would be again. Nothing would be okay until whoever was doing this was caught. And though she knew how desperately Jake wanted to make that happen, each new incident lowered her confidence a little more that he would.
“What about the other rooms?” She tore herself from his embrace, glanced inside toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms, and froze. A trail of lilac petals ran down the center of the floor, leading straight into her bedroom.
Jake pressed himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her. “We have to wait until the team processes everything. You can’t go in there.”
She jumped as the elevator doors down the hall opened and two men stepped out. “Building management,” one of them announced.
“Did you send for them?” she asked Jake.
He nodded and took her hand in his once more. “Yeah. We need to get these locks changed and figure out how the bastard got in.”
…
Emma sat on a stool at the breakfast bar trying to get ahold of herself while Jake worked with the other officers who’d arrived, directing the collection of whatever evidence the forensics unit could find. But there’d been no sign of forced entry. Whoever had broken in had used her security code.
Even dressed in his T-shirt and sweats from the yoga class, Jake had clearly taken charge of the scene. He’d ordered copies of the security tapes from the building’s management, had the entire apartment dusted for fingerprints—even though he’d told her they probably wouldn’t find any—and barked orders at the two-man maintenance crew replacing the locking mechanism on the apartment’s front door.
The buzz of activity finally died down as the last of the officers left, and Jake tested the new lock. Satisfied, he came to her and wrapped her in his arms.
She settled in against his chest as the tears she’d been fighting welled up in her eyes. “I can’t stay here anymore,” she choked out.
“Oh, you’re not staying here,” he said, his tone sharp and determined. “Not until we figure out who did this.”
She pulled away to wipe the tears off her cheeks. “No, I mean I can’t stay here. I don’t want to live here anymore. I can’t. It’s just too much.”
The tears came forcefully, and he brought her to him again, stroking her hair. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’ll stay with me.”
She shook her head with a sniffle. That was not his decision to make. “No, Ja—”
“Listen to me, Emma.” He leaned back and lifted her chin. “Whenever I’m not with you, I’m a fucking wreck, worrying about whether or not you’re safe. It’s killing me. Until we catch this bastard, you’re staying with me. It’s not up for discussion.”
She stared down at his chest, her mind spinning. The closer the killer got, the more controlling Jake became, and her stomach twisted at the all too familiar sensation of someone making her decisions for her. She was certain he was genuinely concerned for her safety, not just worried about losing his star witness, but that didn’t make her hate the feeling any less.
“Okay,” she said, “but just for now. I need my own place.”
“When this is all over, we’ll find you your own place. But for now, I want you with me.” He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment before he took her hand in his. “Come on. Let’s pack some of your things and get out of here.”
She nodded, grateful for his protection despite her mixed emotions, knowing everything between them would likely change once the killer was caught and life went back to normal.
Whatever normal was.
Chapter Thirty-Five
An hour later, Emma fought a gasp as Jake ushered her into his apartment. “Wow,” she said, her voice filled with awe. “This is amazing.”
She took in the exposed brick and ductwork, the hard surfaces and rugged textures. Industrial artwork and eclectic furnishings suggested both style and comfort. The man had seriously good taste.
“I’m glad you like it.”
The apartment was smaller than hers, but it felt more spacious thanks to the high ceilings and a wall of windows with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge. She gazed around the space, ending at a spiral iron staircase leading up to the loft bedroom area. Somehow the open layout—and the lack of opportunity to hide much of anything—felt cozy and reassuring.
“Make yourself comfortable.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. This place is wired up like a fortress, so you’re safe here.”
She laid her purse on the island separating the kitchen from the dining space. “I’ll try.”
Her heart rate had finally returned to near normal, but she had a long way to go before she’d consider herself relaxed. She’d try to take her cue from him. His mood had lifted significantly after they left her place, like an enormous boulder had been hauled off his shoulders when she’d agreed to stay here with him.
He turned toward the wine rack built into the side of the island. “Red or white?”
“Whatever you have is fine.” Maybe the alcohol would help her calm down.
He twisted the bottles to see the labels before settling on a cabernet, brought two balloon-shaped glasses down from the open shelves above the sink, filled them, and handed one to her.
“Hey,” he whispered, dipping his head until their eyes met. “What did I promise you when this all started? I won’t let anything happen to you. Okay?”
She wanted to believe she was safe here with him. Needed to believe it, or she’d go crazy. She’d thought her own apartment was a fortress, too. Jake had even assured her as much.
“I’ll get dinner started.” He kissed her forehead, then switched on some music and rounded the island to the kitchen.
She sipped her wine and strolled toward the huge window, gazing out at the skyline surrounding the Brooklyn Bridge. Now that it was just the two of them in the privacy of his apartment, she’d lost all her earlier bravado and wasn’t sure how to act. There’d been no discussion about what her presence in his home would mean for the complicated state of their relationship, and to her knowledge, he hadn’t mentioned the arrangement to anyone at his precinct. It would be their secret—at least for now—and she’d keep quiet to avoid jeopardizing the investigation and his job.
An upbeat tempo filled the loft as he switched on the sound system, and he couldn’t seem to stand still as he gathered ingredients from the pantry and the refrigerator. Not quite a d
ance, more of a shimmy as he moved around the kitchen.
She took a seat at the island, resting her elbow on the butcher-block counter with her chin in her hand. When he turned to retrieve a cutting board from the island, he noticed her watching him.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked with a grin.
“Very much.” She smiled. She couldn’t help it. Despite the underlying tension she knew was still there, she relished this carefree side of him, one she’d only seen hints of before. And all it took to bring it out was agreeing to stay in his apartment.
“Good.” He made his way around to her and swept her into his arms, pulling her off the stool and twirling her. A soft laugh escaped her. “There it is. I was beginning to miss that sound.” He kissed her neck, then cupped her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers before he released her to pick up where he’d left off in the kitchen.
The loss of his touch brought an instant ache, and the deep breath she inhaled failed to shake it off. She’d grown tired of fighting it, the constant push and pull between them, the battle to keep her distance when all she wanted was to be in his arms. Wherever this went, however things turned out down the road…she’d figure all that out later. Right now, she needed the distraction only he could provide.
She joined him on the other side of the island, slid her arm across his back, and peeked around his shoulder. “Can I help?”
He kissed the top of her head before laying out some vegetables on the cutting board. “You, Ms. Sloane, are supposed to be relaxing.”
Another long, slow sip of cabernet warmed her from the inside, emboldening her. She placed the glass on the countertop and slid her other hand across his abdomen, her fingertips gliding over the waves of taut muscle through his T-shirt until her hands met on his opposite hip. “How am I supposed to relax with you dancing around all sexy-like?”
“All sexy-like, huh?” He glanced sideways at her with his crooked grin, then put down the knife he’d been holding and swung his arm around her. “I’ll show you sexy-like.”