by RC Boldt
For me, it stopped being about work the moment we stepped foot in this place.
“Look.” Resting the fork on the dessert plate, I plant my forearms on the table. “You deserve to indulge a little. You’ve been working hard.” I lean back in my seat and pat my stomach. “I plan to run my allotted ten miles on the treadmill tomorrow to make up for this.”
She takes a sip of wine, the barest twitch at the corners of her lips.
I study her, slowly turning my wineglass by the stem. “It’s rude to make me eat that chocolate torte alone.”
Her lips purse before she lets out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll have at least one small bite.”
I pick up the forkful of dessert and raise it to her mouth, my other hand cupped beneath it.
Her eyes flit between the fork and me, arching one perfect eyebrow. Sarcasm practically spills off her in waves.
I smirk. “Just go with it.”
She reaches out and wraps her fingers around my wrist, guiding the fork to her mouth, and I nearly laugh out loud. That’s Kennedy through and through. She has to be in charge.
Lips wrapped around the forkful of dessert, when she slides them off the tines, my dick hardens like a motherfucker. Damn if it doesn’t have me thinking about her lips wrapped tight around my cock.
Christ. I shift in my seat and clear my throat. “Good?”
Her eyes appear darker, and her tongue darts out to where a little chocolate lingers on her bottom lip. “It’s good.” Motherfucker. My dick is practically saluting right now, just thinking about her tongue joining the mix.
I set her fork down and reach for my own, desperate to get myself under control. Taking a forkful of chocolate, I shovel it in my mouth and nearly moan at how good it is.
Kennedy watches me with amusement shining in her eyes. “Worth the miles you’ll run tomorrow?”
I swallow and take a sip of wine. “Absolutely.” I can’t say what drives me to say it, but I lean in and ask, “What about this—celebrating for the first time? Was it worth not going straight home like usual?”
A flicker of something indecipherable crosses her face before her features soften, her lips curving up the slightest fraction at the edges.
“Absolutely.”
Chapter 37
Kennedy
“I already know how you order a coffee.” He makes a face. “Black without any sweetener. You eat a salad for lunch most days, whether it’s fruit or with mixed greens.”
He arches a brow with a smirk tugging at his lips. “And you forget to eat that same lunch when you lose yourself in your work, and I have to remind you about it.”
That damn smirk shouldn’t be so appealing. Not only that, but there’s no reason for him to commit these sorts of things to memory.
“Now, I know you enjoy spicy shrimp pasta.” His eyes crinkle at the edges. “And you like chocolate torte more than you let on but won’t admit it because it would mean that I was right about something.”
I shake my head while he digs into the remainder of the dessert. It was so rich that I couldn’t stand more than three small forkfuls. As I watch him, it dawns on me that I now know just as much about him.
I know that he eats a peanut butter protein bar for a snack. Almonds are his second snack because he’s like one of those hobbit guys in whichever of the three movies, where they’re constantly talking about “second breakfasts.”
He prefers a sandwich for lunch, consisting of either chicken breast or turkey breast from the deli nearby the library. A protein smoothie is what he insists on needing at around two in the afternoon, and he runs on a treadmill most mornings. I only know the latter because he keeps track of his mileage each day in his electronic planner.
But now I know that he still carries guilt over his father’s death. When his expression had become haunted, my hand had shot out to cover his on the table.
It was unplanned and out of character for me, but the instant his gaze lifted to mine, surprise evident in it, I couldn’t consider retracting my hand. It felt as if he needed my touch somehow to stay grounded.
A small part of me felt as if I, too, needed the contact. The tiny hairs on the back of his hand rasped against my palm, and I’d wondered for an instant what it might feel like if he turned over his large hand and linked his fingers with mine. What it would be like to have those callused fingertips graze across mine.
An odd sort of instinctive wanting ensnares me in its invisible lasso, cinching tight and reeling me in closer to Lattimer. A wanting that’s both carnal and emotional. The former I understand, and it doesn’t frighten me, but the latter terrifies me.
I never form emotional ties. It’s pointless with the life I lead. Not only that, but I also have nothing to offer.
Even if Lattimer’s somehow clean and hasn’t been compromised by these filthy fuckers around here, it still doesn’t change a damn thing.
His groan rumbles up from deep in his throat as he slides the fork from his mouth, cleaning it of any remnant of chocolate. The sound mingled with the softening of his expression sends heady need coursing through me. My nipples tighten, and I wonder if he’d fasten his lips around them and suck them similarly to how he did the chocolate from his fork.
My pulse quickens, and it’s both from lust and fear because I’ve never reacted so viscerally to a man before. I may have had an itch to scratch with Tim, but my need for a man’s touch has never been so tangible.
It was years before I garnered enough trust and bravery to partake in sex. Then I discovered that I regained my power by taking control of the situation and initiating intimacy. It stifled my demons and allowed me to enjoy the act of intimacy.
I’m skilled at compartmentalizing, so I know I can indulge in this attraction without compromising my part of the investigation. As long as it happens outside of our designated work hours, it doesn’t hurt anyone.
Excitement swirls in the pit of my stomach, and my panties grow damp at the prospect of having him inside me, of taking his cock deep.
Lattimer sets his fork on the plate, and when his eyes lift to mine and hold, he must sense my intentions because his gaze darkens.
Banked heat swirls in the depths, and for some reason, my nerves get the best of me, causing my voice to tremble. “I think it’s time to call it a night.”
Chapter 38
Kennedy
Moments later, Lattimer ushers me outside the restaurant and toward the Metro station. We simply walk in companionable silence.
Then I see him. Again.
“Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne!”
Bundled up in his battered tweed coat and fingerless gloves, he stands perched on the wide crate, proclaiming this to anyone walking past. His boots are scuffed, and his hair is the same halo of tight silver curls. One hand clutching his old Bible, he fists his other in the air as he repeats his proclamation.
And just as an animal senses a predator in the wild, he turns, and his eyes lock on me. They track my movements as Lattimer and I venture closer to pass him on our way to the Metro station. Once I’m a mere four feet away, he announces, “Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne,” while never breaking eye contact.
I dig into my pocket where I’d shoved some spare change and a few extra dollars, hurriedly dropping them into the bin he placed on the ground beside him. He doesn’t blink or thank me but holds my stare until I look away.
Prickles of unease assault me, and I sense his attention still rests on me. When we turn the corner, Lattimer glances at me, a frown marring his face. “That was really odd. I’ve never known him to venture out this way or to interact with anyone like that before.”
He falls quiet for a beat. “He’s normally pretty chill, in his own world, popping up on whatever street he chooses.”
I’m saved from commenting because we enter the station and rush down to board and grab our seats. I purposely shove that strange interaction aside because I have enough to worry about. I can�
�t afford for nonsense to take up real estate in my mind.
Our subway car is empty aside from two men at the opposite end who’ve evidently pulled a late night, looking weary in their expensive but wrinkled suits.
Evidently preparing for the nearly thirty-minute ride, Lattimer stretches his arm out along the top of the seat behind me. I raise my eyebrows, and he smirks. “Just stretching.”
As if to prove his point, as we speed toward Arlington, he extends his long legs in front of him. Pulling out his phone, he checks his emails. I pull my own from my briefcase and tilt it away from him while I scroll through Instagram, but I’m not really paying attention.
My eyes drift from my phone to his legs. His firm, muscled thighs can’t be disguised beneath those suit pants. As my gaze skims higher, my breath catches in my throat at the slight bulge in his pants.
“Kennedy.”
My eyes snap to his in alarm. His expression is somber, a muscle in his jaw flexing. He lowers his voice, and its husky tone drifts over me like a caress. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll be the one getting arrested for public indecency.”
A breathy wisp of a laugh escapes me, and I immediately clamp my lips together in horror. What the hell was that? I can’t afford to laugh, least of all in front of him.
Brown eyes rake over me in a tangible touch, settling on my lips. He swallows hard before lifting his gaze. The arm behind me shifts, and he reaches out to skim his thumb along the side of my mouth.
“You looked like you almost smiled again,” he murmurs in a low rasp, his eyes following the path of his finger. “Almost sounded like a laugh, too.” Meeting my eyes, he adds softly, “Damn if I don’t want to try to make it happen again.”
Terror surges through me, because my laughter would be the one surefire way I’d be discovered.
My mother would mention it any time she’d catch me watching a funny YouTube video. The pathetic thing is, the video probably wasn’t even that funny. I was that starved for any semblance of joy or happiness. Normalcy. Desperate for a distraction from the horror show that my life had become.
With pinched features, she’d say, “Your laugh sounds like a birdsong, darling,” and we both knew she didn’t mean it in a complimentary way. It was clear that she was implying that my laughter was annoying.
I’d never felt embarrassed by it until after Grandma Mabelle passed away, and my mother began whittling away at my self-esteem.
Just like they’d battered away at every part of me.
“Never be embarrassed by your laugh, sweetheart. It’s like a melodic musical all its own.” Grandma Mabelle had always told me this in years past. Her smile would grow wider, her wrinkles deepening in delight whenever I’d laugh.
Anguish gnashes its razor-sharp teeth in me, and a visceral pain sweeps over my body as I realize the memory of her face isn’t quite as distinctive.
I’d give anything to have another moment with her. To ask her for advice. To see what she might say about Lattimer.
She’d like him. While that certainty bombards me, what I don’t know for sure is whether she’d be proud of me. Of what I’ve become.
Would she be ashamed of what I do? Of the killer I am now? Or would she understand why I do this?
Deep down, I know that’s why I haven’t been able to bring myself to go and see where she’s laid to rest. Because I’m terrified that even in death, she’d somehow show me a sign that I’ve disappointed her.
That she’s horrified at what a fuckup I’ve become.
Voice threaded with concern, Lattimer rasps my name. “Kennedy?”
I blink away the dregs of my past and drag in a shallow breath. “Sorry.” Glancing away, I stare out the dark windows of the subway, unseeing. “I suppose the day’s catching up with me.”
“It’s a good thing you’ve got me to escort you home, then. Can’t have you sleepy and not alert in case someone tries to mug you.”
A derisive sound falls past my lips. If only he knew that I’d beat the shit out of them if they tried. “I can handle myself.”
“Not saying you can’t.” His tone is easy but not placating. “Just that it’s a safety-in-numbers kind of thing.”
I lean my head back against the cool glass window and tip my head to peer at him. Why can’t he be a straight-up asshole? It would be so much easier to brush him off. Instead, I get the man who intrigues me to no end. One who’s too damn handsome for his own good.
He dips his head a fraction closer, tiny lines fanning out at the corners of his eyes. Voice deep and husky, those lips form that damn smirk of his I’ve come to recognize. “In reality, it’s because I’m the one who needs protection from the muggers.” His mouth curves up even more, eyes sparkling. “I’m a delicate flower, Doc.”
I feel it happen, and it’s out of my control—which is horrifying because control is everything to me. The fatal combination of his words and that smirk, the intermingling humor and affection in his voice, have me doing it.
Watching his features and the way he lights up when it happens makes me feel like an innocent child who believes in the magic of hopes and dreams and fairy tales.
One who still believes that good always conquers evil.
Even though the sensation feels foreign, as if my face might crack and crumble from the motion, Lattimer’s reaction to my smile makes it seem like I’m gifting him with the world.
Deep down, a small part of me wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s giving me a little bit of my world back, too.
Chapter 39
Landon
“Are you under the impression that because you’re walking me home, I’ll be inviting you inside?” She poses the question in that prim and proper way, and fuck if it doesn’t get me hard as granite.
With mock indignation, I snort derisively. “Of course not. We can’t be left unattended on a date. That would be too scandalous.”
She slides me a sharp look. “But this wasn’t a date, remember?”
“Wasn’t it?” I stifle my smirk and focus on the sidewalk, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
Even if she doesn’t want to call it an actual date, it was one of the best nights I’ve had in a while. Maybe the wine and the atmosphere helped because Kennedy actually seemed to open up a little.
Well…emphasis on little because of the cagey way she avoided talking about herself and her family. It reminds me of how the kids who Mom takes in react. Kennedy may have had a rough childhood, but if that’s the case, then how far she’s come impresses me even more.
The one topic she spoke of freely was her internship and how she assists law enforcement agencies. I’m not sure if she realizes it, but her eyes light up when she talks about the successful investigations she’s consulted on.
But the best part of the night was when I got her to smile a little on that subway. At first, it seemed like the motion was so foreign to her that she half expected her face to crack into pieces. She must’ve noticed something in my face because the tension seemed to ease in her features.
If I hadn’t been awestruck by the sight of it, I would’ve pumped my fist in the air in triumph. Kennedy Alexandre is beautiful as it is, but when she smiles…she’s fucking breathtaking.
And I want to see more of this Kennedy. I want her to smile more often. Fuck…I want to be the reason she smiles more often.
Once we arrive at her building, she punches in the door code and I pull the door open for her. Without even a glance at the elevator, she leads me up multiple flights of stairs until we arrive on her floor.
“Well, this is me.” Kennedy stops at a door labeled as unit 602.
“Nice.” I survey the plain door. Then I lean in a fraction to mock whisper, “Maybe you can unlock it so I can make sure no one dangerous lurks inside.”
A trace of amusement flickers in her eyes when she rolls them, but she wordlessly unlocks the door and steps inside. Carefully, she sets her bag down, leaning it against the legs of a small table she drops her keys onto
.
Turning to survey me, she stands with the entryway wall at her back.
I press the door closed behind me and lean against it, easing my briefcase to my feet. “Can I be honest?”
Kennedy eyes me with suspicion and draws out the word, “Okay…”
“I just wanted an excuse to have another minute with you.”
Chapter 40
Kennedy
“I just wanted an excuse to have another minute with you.”
His words strike me directly in my solar plexus. Brown eyes study me intently, heat flaring in the depths.
I can do this. I can let this play out and see if he’s trustworthy.
An inner voice taunts me. Don’t pretend there isn’t more to it.
My reply is hushed. “I…wanted that, too.”
His eyes flash in shock before darkening, practically singeing me with carnal longing. His words are torn from deep in his throat, sounding rough and huskier. “We’re working together.”
I nod. “Yes, we are.”
When he slowly reaches out to wrap his fingers around my arm and gently tugs me closer, my stomach pitches. “We have to tread carefully. Keep things professional when we’re working.”
He ducks his head closer, his mouth close to mine. The scent of the mints we were given after dinner lingers on his breath. Turning slightly, he skims the tip of his nose along my cheek and jawline before easing back a fraction. “It’d probably be a bad idea to kiss you.”
Eyes locked on his lips, I’m overwhelmed by a foreign impulse I’ve never had. But I can’t give in because this isn’t real. It’s not legitimate in any way—not until I’ve determined his true motives.
