Wrong Bed, Right Girl

by Rebecca Brooks

  “A simple no would suffice.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll take it black.”

  “No milk at all?”

  “Not before six hours of rehearsal.” She made a face.

  “Thanks for the image.”

  She shrugged. “You asked.”

  She poured their coffees—at least that was something she couldn’t screw up—and went to get dressed.

  “Oh!” she called before she got to the bedroom.

  “What is it?”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “What?”

  “That’s it. Just…thanks.”

  She turned and closed the door. By the time she was dressed and ready to go, he was gone, his keys with a note by the door.

  She tried not to feel a little pinprick of disappointment that they weren’t eating together. But he’d left her a plate full of food, with perfect sunny-side up eggs and golden toast.

  She almost didn’t want it to taste as good as it did. Because now she was going to want more of it—and to see him again.

  Chapter Five

  To Reed’s surprise, they managed to survive the rest of the week without Talia scaring him away, burning anything, or starting any other disasters.

  Work, however, was another story. Twice Aaron had snapped his fingers and asked what planet Reed was on. Then he missed a meeting with his supervisor and completely blanked on the evidence he had to write up. The Jonnie West case should have taken all his attention, yet he couldn’t concentrate on a thing.

  He’d always been the steady one, focused and disciplined, stepping up to take the lead after his father died. But this woman who danced in his kitchen and left her tights hanging by his towel had him flailing.

  Obviously, he hadn’t told Aaron she was staying with him. He hadn’t told anyone. It was no one’s business, he reasoned. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  People were starting to talk, though, wondering where his head had gone. Thank God it was Friday, and he could take the weekend to pull himself together.

  But as soon as he walked into his apartment, he nearly dropped the grocery bag he was holding, along with his keys.

  There was an ass staring at him. A round, full, cuppable ass encased in some kind of stretchy black fabric that clung so tightly, it could in no way be accurately called “clothing.”

  If only that were it. Just an ass, and maybe he could handle it.

  But it wasn’t just the ass in the air. There was also the matter of her thighs.

  Beneath the curve of her ass, the strong, feminine line of her leg sloped down, accentuated by those tights that frankly should have been illegal, they were so obscene.

  Sure, they covered her. Sure, he’d seen millions of women walk around wearing leggings like that every day. Sure, he’d never thought much about it before.

  But then she put them on, and he thought he was going to fall over right in the middle of his doorway. Cut down in his prime, not by a drug dealer, someone in Jonnie West’s gang. But by this woman and her fucking so-called pants.

  No wonder he’d been out of his mind all week. Look what he was dealing with in his very own home.

  The fabric stopped right above her calf, highlighting the pop of muscle before her legs narrowed down to her ankles and then her bare feet. They were arched at an impossible angle, elegant but for—or maybe because of—the glimpse of reality of a dancer’s life, with each toe wrapped in bandages, barely concealing the bruising of her nails. Ouch. It wasn’t like he never hit the gym. But this girl was tough like he’d never seen.

  He flashed to a sudden image of her flushed, sweaty, her legs split open in a perfect part, her thighs wrapping tight around him… And that time, he really did drop the grocery bag and his keys with a clatter.

  She looked up with a start.

  “You’re home late,” she said.

  “Work.” He couldn’t say any more. His voice was temporarily out of commission.

  It wasn’t like he’d forgotten Talia would be there. She spent so much time at rehearsal, and he spent so much time at work, but they still managed to see each other in passing.

  He just hadn’t expected here to be so…there. Literally upside down in his living room with her butt sticking up in the air. The apartment wasn’t a matchbox like Stacey’s, but this was still New York. If he took another step closer, he’d walk right into her.

  Or rather, his crotch would. He’d be standing right with the front of his jeans pressed against the round of her ass, and goddamn if he didn’t wish that thought had never crossed his mind, because now he could never un-see it.

  He coughed. “Uh, did you join the circus while I was gone?”

  “I’m stretching.” She was wearing a loose tank top as devilish in its draping as the pants were in their cling. Because she was upside down, it gaped open, exposing the plane of her stomach and a purple sports bra with crisscrossed straps so elaborate they’d take a doctorate in applied mathematics to untangle.

  “Is that what that’s called?” he asked, crouching to pick up the dropped keys and bag and in return getting an even better view up her legs.

  She caught his eye from upside down, in between her hands. “You’ve never heard of downward dog before?”

  Not when it looks like that.

  “I had no idea anyone could be so…bendy.”

  He straightened, tilting his head around to try to figure out how the hell she’d gotten into that position. But the next thing he knew, she’d stuck her butt down so she was in the inverse position, with her back arched, her head thrown back, and her ass somehow no less delectable looking as it pressed toward the ground.

  Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, loose strands falling from her ponytail. All week he’d been worried about Talia having no place to go. Turns out he should have been worried about himself and the blood loss he was experiencing as it all flooded straight to his dick.

  “You should try it,” she said, as she reversed whatever she’d just done and went back into the upside-down position again.

  He snorted. “My legs don’t do that.”

  She dropped onto her knees and sat up, flashing a grin. “Not with that attitude they don’t.”

  Next time he was tempted to help someone out by letting them into his space, he needed to remember that no was a complete sentence.

  Talia sat upright. Good, he thought. The torture was over. But then she lifted one leg, bent it over the other, hooked her arm around her thigh, and hugged her body into a ball that somehow still managed to have her ass right in front of him.

  Was it possible to pass out from trying not to have a hard-on? What would happen if the answer was yes, and he crashed to the ground?

  “Sorry my feet are so gross. This week has been murder,” she said, making a face like she expected him to say something snarky and was beating him to it.

  He shook his head. That wasn’t what he’d been thinking. “It’s impressive, actually.”

  The face changed. “Most people hate when they see it.”

  “Most people are idiots.”

  She laughed. “Can I quote you to the next date I have who gets freaked out?”

  The thought of Talia on a date made his fingers curl into fists. The thought of her on a date with some dudebro who made her feel less than had him ready to start swinging.

  But it was the reminder he needed that she’d soon be out there and looking for other guys—not him. Talia was staying with him because of the case. That was it.

  “I finally got word about your girl today,” he said, squeezing by her to get to the kitchen and urging his dick to calm down.

  “My girl?” Talia unfolded herself, bounced nimbly to her feet, and followed. He swore he got a whiff of lavender as she walked by.

  How did she do that? How did she rehearse for hours, do yoga in his living room, and still wind up smelling good?

  He cleared his throat unnecessarily, to give himself time to pull it together. Lavender? Had it been so long
that now even face soap made him think of sex?

  “Stacey,” he said firmly, trying to make every cell in his body stop rebelling against him. “We got a lead on where she is.”

  Talia looked at him sharply. “Where?”

  “Can’t tell you. The less you know, the better.”

  She threw up her hands. “This has been a helpful conversation, thanks for bringing it up.”

  “The point is that she’s somewhere safe. It’s still not okay to go home, but I didn’t want you to be worried.”

  He wasn’t trying to be difficult. It was better for her not to have any details. He hated to think about why that was. But if something happened to Talia, if he couldn’t keep her safe and away from that whole world, then she needed to be able to deny knowing anything.

  Talia said what came into her mind. Her eyes showed laughter when she was happy, tears when she wasn’t. There was no way she’d be able to lie under pressure if asked where Stacey had gone. Hell, he wouldn’t dream of putting her in that position anyway.

  But he hated the withering look she gave him as she snatched up the grocery bag.

  “My brother found a lead and is following up on it,” he said, even though he knew he didn’t owe her any more explanation. He just didn’t want her to murder the bananas in her frustration.

  She placed the defenseless fruit on the counter and cocked her head at him. “You have a brother?”

  “Three of them, actually. The youngest, Aaron, is my partner in the agency.”

  “You work with your brother?” Her face broke into a grin. “That’s so sweet!”

  Reed was aware of every muscle contracting under his shirt, making the waves of the sea surge. Sweet?

  People did not call him sweet. No reasonable person who saw his muscles, his tats, his badge, the gun, the hard expression he could hold on his face through anything, would take a look at him and decide, Wow, what a nice guy that is.

  He pulled his gun out of its holster, unloaded it, and rested both the pistol and the ammo on the counter, next to the bananas. See how sweet she thought he was now.

  But she barely blinked. She was too busy pulling out the next item in the grocery bag, her face splitting into the biggest grin he’d ever seen.

  “See? I knew it.” She gave the container of almond milk a shake in his face, doing some ridiculous dance on her toes like she couldn’t stop moving.

  “Knew what?” he asked warily.

  “You pretend to be this big, old asshole. But I know the truth about you.”

  “I’m a big, young asshole?”

  The grin got even wider. “You’re nice.”

  She pronounced the word with relish. He couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him or being serious. Or both.

  “Don’t get your hopes up.” He tried to sound as sour as possible. But he had a feeling it didn’t quite work.

  “You are.” She put the almond milk in the fridge and took a triumphant step toward him. “Only someone nice would do this.”

  “Get you something called milk that comes from nuts that, last time I checked, have zero mammalian glands? That sounds like what someone who doesn’t like you very much would make you drink.”

  He took a step forward, too, to show this was still his kitchen after all. But then he was way too close, she was right there in front of him, leaning in instead of away, and he didn’t know what to do.

  She got a finger up in his face. “You noticed I was running out of the carton I’d bought, so you got me another one. You can’t get out of it now. That was nice.”

  The finger wagged, and he grabbed her hand, telling her not to get used to it. He didn’t realize what he’d done until it was too late. Electricity shot through him where they touched.

  He dropped her hand and stepped back. He could have kissed her then. He could have run his fingers through her hair. He could have done all sorts of things he shouldn’t.

  He had to get a hold of himself.

  “I’ve got to go back to the office,” he blurted.

  “On a Friday night?”

  “Paperwork.” Talia stared. So he had to keep talking. “It has to get done if I want to make lieutenant. I told Aaron I’d finish so he could go home to his wife. See?” he added. “He’s the one who’s nice—married, with a kid on the way. I just came to drop these off, then I’ve got to go out.”

  I’m not nice, and you shouldn’t forget it.

  “Well, I’m going out with friends tonight,” she said. “Not like you asked.”

  He cleared his throat, trying to remember what things were supposed to be like. How he was supposed to be with her. “Don’t cook anything while I’m gone. On second thought, the whole kitchen is off-limits without supervision. This whole half of the apartment.” He gestured with his hands. “The last thing I need is my weekend ruined because I have to take you to the emergency room.”

  She frowned. “You’re losing your nice points.”

  He tried not to laugh. Laughing was dangerous. Laughing was comfortable. He wasn’t supposed to be comfortable with her here. This was his kitchen, his space. He’d rented it so he could be alone.

  “Gee, how will I live?” he asked, then picked up the gun, his keys, and headed back out.

  Not like he had to get all that paperwork done right this second. But it wasn’t a lie. He had his priorities, and they had nothing to do with smelling hints of lavender all night.

  He needed to work the case, not this woman. He needed to not forget who he was. A guy who worked hard and looked out for his family. A guy who lived his life alone.

  Chapter Six

  Talia spent every second she was home the next day hiding in Reed’s room.

  No, not hiding, she told herself firmly. Hanging out. Resting her overworked muscles. Listening to the music from Giselle. Reviewing the choreography and corrections she had to cram into her brain.

  And maybe also texting her friends.

  They’d all gone out last night to the bar where her brother Shawn worked to try his newest beers, and naturally the conversation had turned to “Talia’s very special special agent,” as Amanda put it.

  No matter how much she insisted that he wasn’t “special,” he wasn’t “hers,” and she was completely focused on Giselle, it was hard not to think about an impossible, unsmiling, square, gruff jaw. Lightning bolt eyes. The way Reed got so deliciously uncomfortable when she dared to call him out for being nice, or sweet, or caring.

  Like no one was supposed to know he was more than the tough guy he claimed to be. Even though he didn’t hide it nearly as well as he thought.

  She’d gone to sleep last night before Reed got home, which was good. But when she got up that morning, there he was, hanging out in sweatpants so low on his hips she could see the top of his boxers. It made her think about what else she might have seen had she gotten up early enough to catch him still sleeping, and she had to run to the bedroom, hoping he’d put on some goddamn clothes so she could stop staring.

  There was no way she was going into the living room now to see what he was up to. She could stay all night, all weekend, in here. Food? Water? She’d forego all necessities if it meant not having to see Reed lounge around in those sweatpants, having a nap on the couch.

  She knew what she ought to do was practice. Go into the living room and step through the routine instead of looking at her notes. It didn’t matter how much her muscles ached. She had to get the movements into her body until it was second nature, until she could turn and leap without a single thought.

  But if Reed’s eyes had bugged out that wide when she was in downward dog, she wasn’t sure she wanted “gave healthy, robust man a heart attack in his living room from doing raised leg splits” on her conscience.

  No, they were both safer if she stayed in here.

  At least they were, until he knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” she called, scrambling to sit up and put on a face that said I’m working.

  But then she sa
w him, and her mouth went dry.

  “Hi,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else, and because Holy. Fucking. Shitballs seemed mildly inappropriate.

  “Hi,” he said, casual as could be. “Mind if I grab some things before I shower?”

  “Not at all!” She said it way too fast. Climbed off his bed way too fast. His enormous, solid body took up the whole doorway, and she almost collided with him in her effort to get out.

  She hadn’t heard him leave the apartment. Hadn’t known he’d finally changed out of those sweats. But it wasn’t like what he’d changed into was any better. Shorts. A T-shirt damp with sweat and clinging to his pecs.

  He’d clearly gone to the gym, or for a run—whatever guys like him did to wind up looking like guys like him. Something she suddenly very much wanted to find out. His chest rose and fell, his face visibly flushed, his muscles outlined in the V of sweat down his shirt.

  And his legs—oh, mercy. The cut of his calves. The cut of his thighs. She spent all her time around dancers’ bodies. She knew plenty about men and their thighs.

  But she’d never seen him in shorts before, and his legs were something else altogether. Not the lean muscle of the men she danced with but thick and solid, graspable and strong. All she could think about were her hands wrapping around them while she was on her knees.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “Whoa. Everything okay?” Reed asked as she catapulted herself out the door.

  “Yep!” she practically squeaked. “I’ll wait out here, take your time.”

  “You don’t have to go anywhere, I’m just getting a change of clothes.”

  Breathe, breathe, breathe.

  She sat on the couch, her back to the bathroom so she couldn’t be tempted to stare at him as he headed into the shower. It wasn’t until she heard the door close and the water come on that she finally let her spine relax.

  But only a little. There was still the thought of him in there, totally naked now, soaping his body, water running over his head and down his shoulders and his back and his ass and those thighs…

  She clutched her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white.