Protecting What's His (3 page)

Chapter Five

Ginger used her trusty pink scissors to cut out the headline
Is Your Vagina Angry?
from a newly purchased women’s magazine, spread glue on the back, and pasted it over the picture of a nun looking thoughtful. She had a sick sense of humor. So sue her.

She stepped back and admired the decoupage nightstand she’d been working on all day.
Get Thee to a Nunnery
, she’d named this particular one. After a few finishing touches, it would be ready for a coat of lacquer.

Ginger smiled. Her hobby of decorating various pieces of furniture with interesting photographs and magazine cutouts might have started as a way to occupy her mind when living in Nashville, but somewhere along the line, she’d started doing it for fun. Since she purchased most of the furniture at donation centers, the expense was minimal, and creating something one-of-a-kind brought her a sense of accomplishment. Occasionally, she’d even sold pieces to students or visiting artists she met at Bobby’s Hideaway, although such a thing proved a rarity since the clientele didn’t have much interest in discussing furniture. Any money she’d made went into a college account for Willa. In a bank where Valerie couldn’t touch it.

She sighed into her half-empty wineglass, knowing her free time would be limited from here on out. While Willa attended her first day at the new high school, Ginger went out and found a job bartending at Sensation, a nightclub in the River North section of downtown Chicago.

Old habits die hard, she supposed. Bartending felt like a step backward after the progress she’d made leaving Nashville behind last week, but money came easy behind the bar. And if she knew how to accomplish one thing, it was getting people good and trashed. With the money she’d “borrowed,” Ginger probably didn’t need to work for quite a while, but apart from using some of the cash as their security deposit on the apartment, she didn’t plan to touch it unless absolutely necessary.

Ginger glided into the kitchen, taking a moment to appreciate the marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. She couldn’t get over living with such luxuries. Just last week she’d been reheating three-day-old leftovers over an ancient gas stove. Today, Willa would sit down to homemade pasta sauce and ravioli. The ravioli itself was store-bought, but hey, she’d never claimed to be a chef.

A door slammed out in the hallway and Ginger smirked, assuming the lieutenant must be home from work for the night. Not once had she thought about him since their exchange the other day. Unless you count that one time. And the fourteen other times he’d popped into her head, damn him.

Maybe Chicago boys just liked something a little different in a woman.

Like hell.

She couldn’t recall a time when a man had intentionally pushed her buttons so effectively. Apart from his initial head-to-toe appraisal, Derek genuinely hadn’t seemed all that interested. It shouldn’t bother her so much, but it did. Damn him, it did.

Their apartment door slammed next, making Ginger jump and splash marinara sauce onto the counter. She quickly wiped it up with a dish towel.

“Heck of an entrance, Wip.” It was the nickname she’d given Willa while she’d still been in diapers. Willa Ingrid Peet. Wip for short.

“I try.”

Ginger glanced over her shoulder, smiling at Willa’s black Misfits T-shirt and ripped stockings. Somehow Willa managed to pull off the look. “How’d it go? Did you refrain from setting the place on fire?”

“Just barely. I’m choosing my moment.”

“Well. Don’t forget your lighter fluid or it won’t take.”

“Noted.”

She gestured with her wineglass. “Go drop your stuff off in your room. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Ignoring Ginger’s instructions, Willa dropped her book bag on the floor and climbed onto the countertop behind Ginger, who merely shook her head. Willa did as Willa pleased. “This all feels freakishly normal. I don’t know if I like it yet.”

Ginger hummed in understanding but didn’t turn around. “I reckon we’ll get used to it,” she said quietly, spooning fragrant sauce into bowls on top of the cooked ravioli. “I got a job today. Starts tomorrow night at seven.”

“No shit. Doing what?”

Ginger paused, avoiding Willa’s eyes. “You know, the usual. Bartending.”

Watching Ginger closely, Willa took a bite. “You cool with that?”

“Yeah! This place is amazing. Real swanky.” She changed the subject, knowing Willa would be forced to follow suit. Her sister had always been too perceptive. “How’s the pasta?”

“Not bad for store-bought.”

“Oh, jump up my ass.”

Fifteen too-quiet minutes later, after they’d finished dinner and she’d helped with the cleanup, Willa disappeared into her room to begin working on her homework.

Ginger had always made a point, even in Nashville, to sit down and share a proper dinner with Willa. Even if the meal consisted of creamed corn and toast, their family meals were a constant. Something they both counted on to mark the passing of time. They weren’t required to speak about their day or remark on the weather, but Willa had been quieter than usual tonight.

Had she been wrong to bring Willa here? She knew her sister encountered bullies on occasion, but assumed tough-as-nails Willa let that type of thing roll off her back. Maybe she’d been wrong and Chicago was a new kind of animal her sister couldn’t handle.

The thought weighed heavily on her mind. Ginger resolved to pry the truth out of Willa tomorrow at dinner, whether it upset her or not.

After placing the final magazine cutout, a large pair of lips with legs, on the nightstand, Ginger coated the project with lacquer and made a mental note to seek out local flea markets in Chicago where she could purchase a vendor space to sell the pieces once she accumulated a decent stock. People had liked her designs in the past. The idea that she might make money by selling them wasn’t so far-fetched, right?

Ginger poured herself a second glass of wine, then glanced at the clock, surprised to see the early hour. At a loss over what to do with the rest of her night, the landlord’s mention of a roof garden on top of the building popped into her head. She called an invitation through Willa’s closed door, but got no response, so she wandered out of the apartment and up the staircase by herself. When she reached the top floor, Ginger pushed open the heavy metal door leading to the roof.

Wow.

From this vantage point, she could see the glittering lights of downtown Chicago and the bright beacon that was Wrigley Field. The night felt cool against her mostly bare skin, and she took a deep, fortifying breath, letting it out slowly. A jolt of surprise shot through her when she registered a familiar scent she couldn’t quite place. Sort of like leather and expensive coffee.

Her eyes flew open. Derek, arms crossed, leaned against the wall enclosing the rooftop. Watching her.

Damn, he looked just as good in jeans and a sweatshirt as he did in that navy blue uniform. And it annoyed the bejesus out of her. She couldn’t decide from his bored expression whether or not he appreciated her intrusion, and after a minute decided she didn’t give a damn. Derek didn’t own exclusive rights to the roof, even if his posture suggested he might.

The last thing he said to her yesterday about Gingers usually being redheads popped into her mind. Oh, he wouldn’t win this round. She’d make sure of it.

Smiling, Ginger put a little swagger in her step and approached him.

…

Derek struggled not to show a reaction to the feminine temptation walking—
sauntering,
really—in his direction. Before she’d caught sight of him, he’d watched, hypnotized, as she let her head tip up toward the sky and shook that hair back over her shoulders, sighing through those bee-stung lips.

He’d hardened painfully upon hearing the sound, capturing the sigh of contentment in his memory bank. She would sigh for him one day. But he’d only allow it after making her beg for—and then scream—her release.

Like a living thing, the swift and potent possessiveness she provoked in him stretched and vibrated in his belly. He’d wanted women before, but not like this. He wanted Ginger
immediately.
To do things to her he’d only ever fantasized about. If another man had happened to be present on the roof at that moment, Derek didn’t doubt he’d throw the unlucky bastard over the side before letting him get a glimpse of her lithe body.

Rein yourself in, Tyler.
The last time he’d seen the woman, she’d cursed him to eternal damnation. If he wanted to get anywhere near her, he needed to first make sure she could stand the sight of him.

Derek didn’t normally come up to the roof. Nothing to accomplish up here. But the thought of her less than ten yards away, cooking dinner and humming to herself, had driven him out of his own apartment to escape the torturous mental pictures. Ginger licking sauce off her fingers. Ginger bending over to take something out of the oven. He couldn’t take it one second longer.

Now, she’d followed him onto the roof, and if her seductive walk and determined expression were any indication, his suffering had only just begun.

Stopping within reaching distance, Ginger tilted her head and extended the wineglass she was holding. “Peace offering, Lieutenant?”

Fuck
. That accent made him want to put her over his knee just to hear the kinds of things she’d say as he spanked her exquisite ass.

Harder, darlin’.

Giving himself a mental shake, he eyed her outstretched hand. “Wine is a woman’s drink.”

“Humor me.”

He hesitated—he wouldn’t put it past her to poison him after their first encounter—but Derek finally took the glass and drank deeply, watching her over the glass rim, then handed it back.

“Well, now that we’ve ruled out wine, what exactly is your drink of choice, Derek?”

He liked her saying his name way too goddamn much. “Why do you want to know?”

She shrugged. “You can learn a lot about somebody by what they drink. Wine drinkers are usually sentimental and artistic. They like to tell stories. Light beer is for younger men and women on perpetual diets. Dark ales tend to attract the adventurous. Martinis are for women looking to feel sexy.” She sent him a feline smile. “So which one are you, Lieutenant?”

“Whiskey. Neat.”

Derek savored the pleasure of watching surprise spread across her face. “Really? Interesting.”

“What did you think it would be?”

“Milk.”

“Milk?”

“Mmm-hmm. Although, funny enough, some people do refer to whiskey as
mother’s milk
. So technically I was right.” She took a congratulatory sip of wine. “Whiskey drinkers are no-nonsense folks. They don’t take time to enjoy the process of getting drunk. It’s all about the end result for them.”

“I’d have to say that’s accurate.” He dragged his gaze up from her mouth. “Some things I like to take my time with, though.”

Her eyes widened a little, as if he’d caught her off guard with that comment. Derek decided he could really make a habit of shocking her. Rubbing her arms, she turned and walked away, stopping a short distance from him to look out at the city view. Derek recognized the perfect opportunity to excuse himself and go back to his apartment, but instead he found himself following Ginger across the roof.

“You have a lot of experience with alcohol,” he said from beside her.

Ginger confirmed with a distant nod. “Been bartending too long, I suppose.”

He could only imagine the way men fantasized about the possibility of taking her home with them as she poured and served their drinks. Especially considering the way Ginger tended to dress. Drunken assholes probably stood five deep at the bar just to get a glimpse of her passing by.

Unconsciously, his fist clenched at his side.

“Do you work in town?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained, and he watched her eyes narrow trying to interpret his tone.

“As a matter of fact, I just got hired this afternoon at Sensation up on West Kinzie.”

Derek didn’t recognize the name, but she sounded less than thrilled over her new employment. Judging by the location, the clientele would likely be young people looking to get laid. Everything about this situation annoyed him. “Where did you work before?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know it,” she said quickly, making his built-in avoidance detector chirp. She obviously didn’t want him knowing where she’d come from.

“With that accent, you’re obviously not from Chicago.”

Ginger took a sip of her wine without replying, although he supposed it hadn’t exactly been a question, more of a statement. Based on their interactions so far, Derek didn’t foresee her appeasing his curiosity any time soon. And yeah, he was curious as hell. But he needed to remember they weren’t sitting in an interrogation room. However, if they were, now would be the time to play “good cop” if he wanted to get anywhere with Ginger.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the other day. You caught me on a bad morning.”

Ginger cocked her hip and turned to face him fully, the wind plastering her tissue-thin dress against her curves. Light pink silk molded to her breasts like a second skin. He could even make out a distinct outline of the lacy bra she wore underneath and absently wondered how easily the material would rip in his hands.

“You mean, you don’t make a habit of antagonizing your neighbors? If you tell me you’re actually a member of the welcoming committee, I won’t believe you.”

He chuckled. “No, I don’t normally antagonize my neighbors. In fact, I barely speak to them at all.”

“Oh, so we just got lucky, then.”

“You have a funny way of accepting an apology.” He watched Ginger sip her wine. “I was on my way to a funeral. Colleague of mine. So, yeah. Bad morning.”

All traces of humor drained from her expression, the base of her wineglass clinking down on the concrete wall surrounding the roof. “I’m so sorry.”

Derek shrugged, surprised by the sincerity on her face. “Don’t be. I just wanted to explain.” Wanting to move past the seriousness of the moment, he added, “What about you? I seem to remember someone calling me a dickhead and telling me exactly where to go.”