Yours for the Night (17 page)

“We can talk about that later. Let the EMTs check you over now,” he said gently. “Then I’ll take you home.”

She did as he asked, letting the technicians poke and prod, thoroughly checking her out, but except for the remnants of discomfort from the spray, which were rapidly subsiding, she was fine. Arthur had taken a beating, though, the poor guy, and that had been hard to watch. She told Garrett about it, her voice cracking.

“I hope I never have to see anyone treat another person like that again. It was awful. I thought they were going to kill him right there,” she said as the EMT told her she was fine, gave her some advice for taking care of her eyes, and left. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this work after all.”

Garrett tipped her chin up, kissed her.

“You’re fantastic. You closed this case with a bang, sweetheart,” he said. “For your first case, this is pretty impressive stuff.”

“Yeah? Even though I pepper-sprayed myself and everyone around me?”

“Especially because of that. You thought on your feet, you kept everyone alive and took the bad guys down. Though I’d prefer you didn’t get so close to them if you can avoid it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, too. It was scary.”

“Good.”

“How so? I’m not supposed to be afraid. What kind of fraidy-cat P.I. am I going to be?”

“Fear keeps you safe. Makes you aware and helped you get out of this situation alive. Go with that.”

It was what she needed to hear, and the tears that poured out now were from everything bottled up inside as she wrapped her arms around his neck and let it all out.

“So I can cry like this and still be a P.I.?”

“Absolutely, but only with me,” he said gruffly, handing her another tissue from the stack the EMT left.

Tiffany didn’t know what to make of that, and didn’t want to ask here on the street, police and other personnel still all around them.

“I’d love to get cleaned up. And I’m starving. I have a ton of leftovers at the house—want to come share them with me?”

“I can’t think of a better Thanksgiving meal....” he said, and went to find their ride.

Tiffany’s head was swimming with the events of the night, the way it all ended, and most specifically, what Garrett had meant when he said he needed her. That he had gone looking for her.

Her heart was almost too afraid to hope, but after what she had gone through that evening, she knew she was at least going to take her chance to tell him how she felt. What she hoped for. If it was thrown back at her, well, those were the breaks.

They were quiet in the squad car on the way back to her apartment, except that Garrett didn’t stop touching her for a moment. Not for a second.

“Ramsey said they’d get your car and have it brought back here,” Garrett told her on their way up the stairs.

“That was nice of him,” she said, glad to be home. She was exhausted, sore and starving. Her eyes and skin felt almost normal, just a little irritation remained, and she sighed contentedly as she stepped back into her apartment.

She had to admit, it felt a whole lot better with Garrett here with her than being alone, as she had been earlier.

The look on his face told her they had to talk, but she took a deep breath, needing time to decompress.

“I have to get in the shower. If you want to heat up the leftovers, they’re in the fridge,” she said, not quite making eye contact as she busied herself with winding her fingers together.

“You take your time. I’ll handle the food,” he said, leaning in to tip his forehead against hers, their noses just touching, before he left to do just that.

Tiffany did take her time. She followed the EMTs instructions to a tee, and emerged cleaner, fresher and unable to stall for one more second.

All the time, she wondered what Garrett wanted to say. She knew what she wanted to tell him, but suspected that what he was going to say was going to hurt a lot more than the pepper spray.

At least he was going to be honest with her, she told herself, and she respected that.

Right.

Putting on her most comfortable yoga pants and a soft sweatshirt and fuzzy slippers, she didn’t figure she needed to dress up for leftovers and being let down gently at four in the morning.

Padding out to the front room, she blinked in surprise.

The coffee table in front of her big leather couch was set with a pretty linen that she recognized as her grandmother’s—Garrett must have looked for it in the kitchen cupboards. There were candles, plates and wine glasses with a bottle of chilled champagne that she had been given last New Year’s as a gift, but had never opened. She’d almost forgotten it was in the refrigerator, as she hadn’t had anything to celebrate in a while.

Garrett came in, carrying two plates heaped with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy and cranberry sauce, and her mother’s secret recipe butternut squash.

Tiffany’s mouth watered for the food, and for the man carrying it. He looked delicious as well, his button-up shirt casually undone at the top, his jeans fitting just right as she let her eyes travel the length of him down to his bare feet. Even the man’s feet were sexy, she thought.

“Hungry?”

“Definitely,” she said, willing to put food before any conversation for the moment. Back at the scene at the bar, she’d felt far braver about telling Garrett that she was falling for him. Now, she just shoveled in the Thanksgiving goodies and watched as he poured the champagne.

Garrett Berringer sure knew how to break up with someone in style, she thought.

He handed her a glass. “To the conclusion of your first big case, and to many future ones,” he said.

She smiled, accepting the praise. “Thanks. Though no more pepper spray, ever.”

He laughed, and they finished their plates, talking about nothing more than how wonderful the food was, and in truth, after her close call, Tiffany thought it was probably the best food she had ever had in her life. She’d be sure to tell her mother tomorrow, but would leave out the bit about the close call.

“You okay?”

“Yes, thank you. Much better.”

“Pie?”

While she welcomed the chance to delay the inevitable a bit longer through food consumption, it was probably better to get this over with. Then she’d have the pie to herself. Comfort pie.

“No, I’m full. That was even better than when we had it at dinner earlier,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“It was. Being captured by bad guys will kick up the appetite,” he said with a smile. “Among other things.”

She blinked as he took her hand, wrapping it in both of his. He was so warm and strong; she loved when he touched her.

“Like what?” she asked, holding her breath.

“Like getting your head on straight. When I left you earlier, I know things were…awkward.”

She sighed. “I know the score, Garrett. I know that—”

“You don’t know how crazy I was when I couldn’t get to you tonight, or how my heart almost stopped when I heard those gunshots,” he interrupted. The look in his eyes robbed her of any doubts.

“I can guess. I know how hard it must be, given what you’ve been through, and reliving everything from before,” she started, her heart squeezing. She wasn’t sure she could bring herself to think about how much he still loved his late wife.

“No, that wasn’t it. That might have been the case when I dropped you off. I was worried if I could do it again, if I could risk losing someone again…especially given your work. I told myself I couldn’t, that it would be a mistake to set myself up for that kind of pain again,” he admitted, breaking her heart a little more, but she was determined to do the right thing.

“I know. I understand. I can only imagine how awful—”

“But then I was pacing around my hotel room, alone. Lonely. I’ve been lonely a lot, and I thought I had gotten used to it, until I met you. You made me feel alive again,” he said, tightening his hold on her hand.

She heard the past tense, and braced herself for what was coming next.

“And I realized that while I could lose you, or you could lose me, it was a stupid reason to not be together right now. I was miserable thinking about being without you, and no matter what the future holds, I want to have every single moment with you that we can have.”

She blinked, unsure she’d heard what she thought she heard. “You mean, for the rest of your vacation?”

He shook his head. “No, for the rest of my life, if it works out that way. I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on you, but I’m so in love with you, Tiffany, it hurts,” he said roughly, and Tiffany stared, unbelieving.

Had she come home, fallen into bed, now dreaming? Was she in a hospital somewhere, unconscious, imagining this?

“You love me?”

“Totally and utterly. I know it’s only been a week, but I know. I know what I feel, and I know I’d be miserable without you. And whatever time you need to make up your mind, that’s fine, I just needed to tell you—”

“I love you, too,” she said on a gulp of breath. “Totally and utterly.”

It was his turn to stare, clearly astounded, and she laughed out loud, pushing up onto her feet to fall forward, tackling him, bunny slippers and all.

“I love you, Garrett. I want every exciting second together we can have. Family, crime-fighting, whatever… All of it. With you,” she said, making sure he understood.

“Oh, honey, that and more. Much, much more,” he said, his tone a promise as he wrapped strong arms around her and took her mouth in a kiss so consuming her entire body felt on fire for the second time that evening, though this time was a lot better than before.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live in a place that has real winter,” she mused as he worked his strong hands under her shirt. “Maybe I’ll get to find out in time for Christmas.”

He pulled back, looking at her closely. “Are you sure? You want to uproot away from here, come back east?”

“Do you think Berringer Bodyguards might be able to hook me up with some cases? Have some connections you could ask for a few favors for a new P.I. in the area?” she angled with a smile, undoing his buttons as well.

“Absolutely. But I can stay here for as long as you like, so you could be sure.”

“I’m sure. Christmas in Philadelphia sounds wonderful,” she said, unsnapping his jeans with a naughty wink.

“And this is the best Thanksgiving ever,” he said, sliding the shirt up over her head.

As Tiffany explored him with her hands and her lips, thoughts of their future together swirling around in her mind, she was very, very grateful indeed.

Epilogue

E
LY
B
ERRINGER
HELD
his breath, slicing forward through the strong current of the Caribbean waters as he pushed through his twenty-fifth lap along the beach where he was staying. One of his buddies still enlisted in the U.S. Marines was on a long tour in Iraq, and had offered the small, remote beach house in Antigua to his friends whenever they needed it.

Ely had needed it. Away from the touristy areas, the small house had few amenities, no close neighbors and challenging waters right outside the door. It was perfect.

Completing ten more laps, he finally started to feel the loose-limbed, warm exhaustion in his muscles that he sought every morning. He'd run later, after he did some fishing. He liked to catch his own dinner.

He'd followed that routine for the last ten days, without fail, and finally some of the restlessness that had sent him here in the first place was starting to ease. He'd slept through the night before, a rare luxury.

Emerging from the water, he paused, surprised to find a few bikini-clad women standing on the beach—his beach—watching in admiration.

“You ladies lost?” he asked as he grabbed a towel from a branch, wiping the salty water from his face.

“We saw the truck and thought Adam might be here,” one said, stepping forward and holding out a hand. She was gorgeous—perfectly tanned, curvy in all the right places, and nearly spilling out of the scant bikini she wore. “We have an open invitation.”

“Sorry, he's lending me the place for a while. He won't be back around for at least another six months.”

“Don't apologize,” she said, smiling as she took him in. “We're not at all disappointed.”

Ely smiled faintly; the offer was clear in her tone.

But he wasn't interested. Burned by love, sex—or whatever else you wanted to call it—twice inside of one month, he needed time to think, to get his head straight.

“Sorry, I have plans already. But I'll tell him you came by,” he said with a nod, turning his back and heading to the house before they could say anything else.

He was here to avoid distractions, and those ladies were born to distract. When he'd come home from Afghanistan a few years earlier, he thought he knew what he wanted. To be back with his family, and hopefully to find someone, get married and to start a family of his own. That was what he was supposed to want, right?

Finding out that the woman he thought he could have that with was already engaged—after she slept with him—had been the first error. Ely had never cheated on anyone—anything—in his entire life, and nothing had made him feel lower than finding another man's ring in the desk drawer after he climbed out of bed with the woman who was supposed to be wearing it.

Falling into bed with the next woman who crossed his path had been the second error. A bigger one, since she was also the best friend of his new sister-in-law, Tessa. Lydia Hamilton was the goth, tattooed temptress who ran the business next door to Tessa's. Ely had fallen into her bed within hours of meeting her and lost himself there in ways that he had never done before.

Ways that included satin ropes, handcuffs and letting Lydia see a part of himself that
he
hadn't even known existed. He had liked it, but he'd also been…exposed. Made vulnerable in ways that he hadn't ever done before. And unable to get it out of his head, until he'd figured out why.

He'd been thinking about things all wrong. Looking at relationships as long-term commitments, possibly getting married, settling down.

Why was he so eager to tie himself down? Lydia was a free agent, living her life that way, and that's what had really affected him. So, he was turning over a new leaf, leading his life the way he wanted. Just as soon as he could figure out what that was.

But the one thing he knew was that he wasn't getting involved in any long-term commitments anymore. Not until he was good and ready—ideally many years down the road.

Pulling on shorts and a shirt, he grabbed his fishing gear when his cell phone chimed—unusual, as he didn't often have enough signal for calls here. It was Tessa. He clicked in, immediately concerned—Tessa would have no reason to call him unless Jonas wasn't able to for some reason. Though his brother had gotten his sight back a few months ago, and was hale and hardy as far as they knew, they all worried about a relapse, though the doctors said it wasn't likely. Still, brain injuries were unpredictable.

“Tessa, what's wrong?” he answered.

The connection was scratchy. He could hear her speaking, somewhat, and roamed the house, stepping outside onto the patio hoping for more reception.

“Tessa, I can't make everything out.... Give me the key words,” he said, agitated that he couldn't hear her. For the first time, his self-imposed isolation didn't seem like such a great idea.

“Something wrong…worried…your
help
.”

Ely growled at the phone, the message so broken up that was all he could get, but he hoped Tessa could hear him even if he couldn't make out all of her words. He had enough to know he was needed back home.

“I'll be on a plane tonight,” he said, and cut the connection.

Putting his fishing gear back, he dressed, packed his bag and headed toward town to the airport. Vacation time was over.

* * * * *