Icing on the Cake (Close to Home) (17 page)

Insane, that’s what she was. Certifiable. No other reason existed for following Curtis to his condo. She could bail at the next corner. Hit the accelerator hard, double back to her apartment and lock the deadbolt he didn’t deem safe enough. Only he had her stuff in his trunk.

“I’ll take that,” he’d said, plucking the duffel bag from her hands the moment she closed the zipper. “Insurance that you don’t ‘get lost’ on the way to my place.”

She could wear other clothes and replace the toiletries easily enough. Not the laptop, one of her two valuable possessions.

She clutched the steering wheel of the second thing she treasured and focused on the road. The rain had lightened up some, but the asphalt was slick and her tires were as bald as a Brazilian wax job. The tires were another expense she’d have to squeeze into her budget somehow. Before the snow hit, four short months from now.

Except she’d have to delay tire shopping if she planned to move. Socking away first and last months’ rent wasn’t going to be easy. One of the reasons she’d taken her current apartment was the fact she hadn’t needed a deposit. Her building—and neighborhood—catered to the severely down-on-your-luck crowd. God, she was sick and fucking tired of being in that demographic. Things needed to change. Somehow.

Curtis led her up Charles Street and across Francis Street. She didn’t need to follow him—she’d known where to go as soon as he’d told her he lived in the Kaufman Lofts. Kind of surprising that a city cop would choose to live near the heart of downtown, rather than put some distance between himself and the people he probably arrested on a daily basis. But that was Curtis—surprising her at every turn.

The more she pushed him away, the more determined he seemed to pull her in. Maybe that was the answer. If he was interested in her for the thrill of the chase and challenge she presented, she’d be the opposite—clingy and smothering. Needy. This ought to be a trip.

She followed him into the lot. He used the Mustang’s turn signal to direct her to a parking spot, then continued on to another. Rather than get out of the car and meet him, she turned off the engine and waited. Let the game begin.

“Everything okay?” he asked while opening her door.

“Now that you’re here to save me from dangers lurking in the dark, yes.”

He grunted and shook his head. “Let’s go, smartass.”

Okay, so solid fail on her first attempt at playing the frightened damsel. She’d just have to step it up a notch. By the time morning rolled around, Curtis would regret going alpha hero on her and bullying her back to his condo. She’d be free to go back to her normal life without a cop looking over her shoulder.

She lifted his free arm and tucked herself underneath. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” A one-word answer to go with the shock on his face. Excellent.

She dialed it up a level, circling her arms around his waist and snuggling into his side as they walked to the building. A total
girlfriend
move, something she never did. But she could see the appeal. Especially when the big, solid man she was trying to scare away wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Kissed the top of her head while they moved together in comfortable silence. Another fail in her plan, on several levels.

By the time they arrived at his door on the second-floor, Curtis’ chuckling was vibrating beneath her ear. Apparently he found her continued clinginess amusing, not annoying.

Fine. She’d dig deeper.

“After you,” he said, pushing the condo door open with his non-occupied hand. When she failed to disengage and walk through the single-wide entry, choosing to hug tighter instead, he snorted and shook his head. “Point made, troublemaker.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to be close to you. That horrible trauma at my apartment caught up with me on the way over here. Now I’m in a cuddling mood. Do you have Netflix? We can spoon on your couch and watch
The Notebook
.”

Forget chuckling, he burst out laughing. So hard, she thought he might actually strain those very hard abdominal muscles of his.

Shit. Maybe she’d dug a little
too
deep that time.

“I see how it is.” He’d barely gained control of his laugh factory, yet he scooped her into his arms, honeymoon-style, and carried her inside. “This what you wanted—to play? I told you I don’t role-play, but maybe tonight, I’ll make an exception.”

“Ooh, what should we play? Virgin bride and impatient groom? Angry landlord collects his rent in sexual favors?”

He moved through the unit, head shaking with every step. “Your brain is a busy place.”

“You have no idea, lawman.”

“You should write them down.”

“What? Like a how-to sex-fantasy guide?”

He snorted. “No. Like a story. My sister has stacks of romances at her place. She’d buy it, for sure.”

“Oh yeah, Lindsay would be my biggest supporter.” She copied his snort, though for reasons other than Lindsay’s obvious lack of friendly feelings toward her. In a million years, she wouldn’t have expected Curtis to randomly touch on the one thing she dreamed of doing, if ever she worked up the nerve. Seriously, what were the odds?

“Lindsay’s a good person. You’re actually a lot alike.”

“Right. I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that last one.”

He set her bag on a side chair. A soft, taupe couch sat in front of a thirteen-foot-high wall of windows, and in one smooth move, he’d stretched out on it with her tucked alongside. He didn’t hold her hard or tight, she could move away if she wanted. Moving would be the smart thing. But he smelled so good. Felt so good with his warmth and solidity pressed against her.

Screw being smart. It’s not as if she’d ever had much luck in that department anyway.

She wrapped her arm over his waist, one leg over his thigh, and wiggled higher onto his chest. This time it wasn’t an act. He didn’t laugh or joke either, just ran his fingertips up and down her spine. At the top of each pass he slid his fingers into her hair, lifting it and letting it slowly fall away, the ends of the strands tickling the bare skin not covered by her dress.

“You’ve got great hands,” she said.

“They like touching you.”

She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest so she could look up at his face. He hadn’t turned on any lights when they came in, nor did he need to. The cityscape beyond the glass cast an easy glow over the room. His eyes had a silvery tone in this lighting, adding to his handsome-with-a-side-of-dangerous good looks.

“So, now that you’ve dragged me here against my will…” She slid her hand to his fly and squeezed the thick, hard ridge beneath. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Anything you want.”

“Even if I wasn’t kidding about
The Notebook
?”

“Even that, princess.”

The nickname brought the damn butterflies to life in her chest. She couldn’t stay here long. Not in his home and not in his arms. He made it too easy. Made her feel things she couldn’t afford to feel.

“Well, you’re safe, I hate chick flicks.”

“It’s not a bad movie.”

“You’ve seen it?” Her shocked exclamation caused her chin to dig into his chest, eliciting a grunt from her victim in the process. “Should I be concerned about you going soft on me?”

His eyebrows rose. He cupped her hand and moved it up and down his denim-covered cock. “What do you think?”

She found the zipper pull and eased it down. “I think we shouldn’t take chances.”

He groaned when her hand snuck inside the opening and connected with skin. Again when she shimmied down his body, unfastened his belt and button, and sucked his cock into her mouth. “Babe, we just found something else we agree on.”

Getting along really wasn’t such a bad thing.

*

Sara slid her arm across the bed—and connected with nothing. She lifted her head enough to read the time on Curtis’ digital clock. Eleven o’clock—holy shit, how had that happened? She never slept late, or as soundly as she had. No wonder she had the bed to herself.

Though, maybe he was like her, in that he avoided awkward morning-after moments by sneaking out of bed. She’d done that after their first night together in the hotel. This time, Curtis had been the one to slip quietly from the sheets.

Probably for the best. After he’d properly introduced her to his couch, the windowsill overlooking downtown, and finally, his bed, she’d fallen asleep in his arms. She didn’t do the snuggle-after-sex thing. But as with every other damn thing Curtis wanted, he hadn’t taken no for an answer. He’d dragged her half on top of him and wrapped his arms around her. And it had felt so, so good.

But that was last night, and this was now. Reality shone brightest in the daytime hours. Her reality didn’t include getting cozy—
cozier
—with Curtis. Or with anybody.

People couldn’t be trusted to stay in your life. Even if they wanted and intended to love you forever, shit happened to rip them away. Like faulty wiring that caused house fires on Christmas Eve. Run-ins with weapon-wielding drunks. Chainsaws that kicked back, practically cutting the user’s leg off. That one, at least, hadn’t stolen Peter from his family. From her.

Thinking about those days made her want to pull the blanket over her head and disappear to the safety of sleep. She couldn’t control what happened in dreamland any more than she could her waking life, but it was easier being there. Everything had a softer focus. Nobody died, because the people she dreamed of were already dead.

The security of unconsciousness would have to wait until much later. Priority one now that she was awake—deal with the crap at her apartment. That meant hunting down the building superintendent, a man whose existence mimicked smoke in the wind. If the building wasn’t such a pit, Sara would believe he had the place wired with hidden surveillance, because she could never find him when her apartment required even the most basic maintenance. But if she had rent money to give him—magically, he appeared.

She might as well stop at a hardware store on her way over there. It’d be easier to buy paint thinner and scrub the door herself. Hell, maybe she’d just paint over the stupid red instead. Even better—she’d paint the whole damn door red. That could be a fun experiment. See how long it took the lazy super to notice.

She also had the matter of the older-than-dirt deadbolt to solve. Curtis wouldn’t let her go back to the apartment until she had it changed, and that job exceeded her capabilities on the handiest of days. Hiring a locksmith wasn’t in her budget. She could call Conn to do it—her brother-in-law was technically a carpenter, and there wasn’t much renovation-type stuff the guy hadn’t mastered. The trouble with that plan…Conn would want to know why she needed her lock changed after living with the old one for four months. That can of worms needed to stay shut. Apparently she’d have to go superintendent hunting after all.

Even if she found him, though, and managed to get her lock changed and door de-vandalized, Curtis still wouldn’t want her to go back. The idiots who’d painted the message were still at large. And would stay that way. Odds were, nobody had seen them decorating her door, and anybody who might have wouldn’t waste breath telling the cops about it. The officer who’d answered the call last night had probably already filed the incident under “nobody truly gives a shit.”

Except Curtis did give a shit. Not just about the spray paint, but about her. He’d told her so in exactly those words. Even when she’d thrown them back in his face, he’d hung around. Proven he meant what he’d said.

She didn’t deserve Curtis’ concern. Not when she knew why those jerks had insinuated she was a prostitute. She had their visit to Lucky’s to deal with later too. Maybe they wouldn’t make good on the threat and she’d be off the hook for that, at least. She’d obviously been lying in Curtis’ big, comfy bed too long, because that kind of wishful thinking belonged to princesses in fairytales. She definitely wasn’t one of those.

No more procrastinating. She sighed and tossed the covers off. The large mirror on the wall reflected her naked body, including the tattoo above her right hip.

Fall down seven times, Stand up eight.

If any of those losers from her neighborhood showed up at Lucky’s thinking they could intimidate her, she’d show them how wrong they were. And she’d do it entirely on her own.

But first, breakfast. Replenish the energy she’d expended screwing Curtis into the wee hours. She grabbed his white shirt from the floor and slid it on. He wore a subtle amount of cologne, but it lingered on the fabric, along with his natural, masculine scent. She pulled the front edges together and hugged herself. Maybe she’d tuck this shirt away in her bag and take it home. A memento of their fun times together. Something to help her miss him less when the fun ended once and for all.

Shit, she’d become one of those psycho chicks. She really needed to put some distance between her and the owner of this shirt.

“Curtains would be good,” she grumbled while sliding the bedroom’s pocket doors open.

“I have some. I like to keep them open.”

She shaded her eyes, blinking rapidly to bring the room, and the voice’s owner, into focus. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I went out for a run earlier. I’ve been trying to keep quiet so I wouldn’t disturb you. But if I’d known you’d come out of the room wearing nothing but my shirt and those wicked nipple rings, I would’ve rattled some pots and pans an hour ago.”

“That would’ve suited me fine.” Having sex beat thinking any day. “Speaking of suits…wow. Are you going undercover as a corporate billionaire or something?” She’d thought he looked amazing in the tux at the wedding, but the steel-blue suit he wore now might be even better. Forget that, it
was
better.

The only thing wrong with the picture-perfect hunk leaning on the kitchen counter was the expression on his face. The straight line of his lips didn’t match his suggestive statement. This was not a man who looked happy to see her emerge from his bedroom. Maybe the reality of what he’d done last night had hit him.