Could it be?
I jog over, trying to catch up with the man. As I get closer, I reach out a hand. Before I can touch him, he turns, his face pinched in annoyance.
“Can I help you?” he says.
My mouth opens. “Ah. Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you were…I thought you were someone else.”
The man’s expression softens. “Fine, no problem,” he says as he turns and walks on.
I feel sick. I sincerely thought he might be Vincent. I’m both relieved and sad that he wasn’t.
As I start to run again, I feel a cramp in my calf. I rub it a bit and then jog in short spurts the remaining miles home. I feel a little stupid for thinking I could go so far on my first time back out in a while. Feeling stupid is just par for the course in my life lately, though I am not a stupid person. Regret is like my new middle name, mainly the ones that have pulled me away from the activities and people I loved most before all of this mayhem.
I get home and limp for the bath, starting the water and tossing some bath salts in. As the hot water rises, I undress and slide in, sighing as the water hits my skin, soothing my aching body.
Lying back, my eyes close. This is the worst part–the quiet moments where there are no distractions. I replay over and over again the events of the last year, analyzing, and overthinking. This is what made me, excuse me, makes me, a great forensic scientist. I was careful. I paid attention. I looked over crime scenes again and again, looking for that one thing that no one else saw.
In my personal life, though? When it’s my own mistakes I’m analyzing? Agonizing. Full of what-ifs and lost opportunities.
I must drift off because suddenly, a big body sloshes into the water with me. I open my eyes to find Damon grinning at me.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” I say sleepily.
“A trained hunter better be light on his feet, don’t you think?” he asks. “It’s good to see you out of bed.”
I nod. “I went for a run.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Outside?”
“Calm down,” I say. “I can practically hear your wheels turning. I ran a familiar route. I had no issues, apart from the fact that I’m really out of shape and probably put on too many miles right off the bat.”
“Did you feel okay? I mean, physically? Other than the regular running stuff?”
I nod. “I did. I shouldn’t have, probably. But I did.”
The look he gives me says he agrees that I shouldn’t have felt good running. Not yet. What I went through would have put anyone else in the hospital for a month.
“How was your interview?” I ask quickly changing the subject.
“Good I think,” he says with a shrug. “Weird to have to try to tell a stranger all about yourself when you can’t really tell them very much about yourself. I can’t just say ‘Hi, I’m Damon and I’ve been killing supernatural creatures my whole life,’ right?”
I laugh lightly. “No, I suppose you can’t. What did you say?”
“I said I grew up in Portland and came to LA on a security assignment that recently ended,” he says. “Not too far off the truth, I suppose. They asked me about weapons training and physical fitness. I thought it was all fine. I’m supposed to hear from them soon.”
“I’m sure you’ll get it,” I say.
“You know what else I want to get?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
I splash water at him. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“Might be,” he says. “But I did come home to my hot girlfriend naked in my tub, so it’s not my fault where my mind went.”
I push forward, adjusting myself on top of him, water sloshing out of the tub. I look at him, biting my lip. “I could use the distraction.”
He nods, running a thumb across my cheek.
Our lips meet and he bites my lower lip. “You keep biting that lip. I need to know if it tastes good.”
“You already know what my lips taste like,” I say.
“Fair enough,” he says, kissing along my jawline, then along my neck. “Then I’ll taste these other parts.”
I sigh. This part’s always been easy for Damon and me. We just fit, and he relentlessly pursued me from our first date. He was overtly flirtatious, his comments full of innuendo. There was no doubt that we would end up in bed together and when we were, it was supremely satisfying.
Now, as his fingers caress my breasts, teasing my nipples into hard nubs, I lean in and allow him to distract me. I force myself into this moment, with this man–the man I am supposed to be in love with.
I reach between us, finding him hard and ready. I slide my hand over the shaft, silky and smooth in the soapy water, and his eyes darken with desire.
We kiss–me running my tongue over his bottom lip, him meeting it, welcoming it inside. I move my hips, pushing his erection over my most-sensitive button, feeling the pull of desire intensify.
Finally, I raise my hips, allowing him access, allowing him inside. I ride him there, tub water moving like an angry ocean as I focus on the feeling. Only this feeling of ache and desire, this building of sensation.
He puts his hands on my cheeks, pulls me to him, forces eye contact as we make love. I feel everything, my nipples rubbing against his broad chest, the water on our skin, his sex, and my sex joined.
When I climax, our foreheads meet and my eyes close. I ride the wave and he groans, his own release right behind mine.
As the feeling subsides, I crawl backward, emptying myself of him, sitting back against the tub wall, eyelids heavy.
He sits forward and gives me a soft smile. “That was nice.”
“I agree,” I answer.
His fingers play at my thighs, then higher, finding my folds once more. He rubs me there, slowly, gently, and then slips a finger inside.
I spread my legs as far as I can, watching him. He says, “It’s lunchtime and I’m still hungry.”
I purse my lips playfully at the innuendo. “Me too.”
At that exact moment, my stomach growls loudly. Too loudly to be ignored. Damon’s eyes go wide and he lets out a loud laugh, withdrawing his fingers and standing up.
“Well, that couldn’t have been a stronger sign that it’s time to eat some actual food. I didn’t have breakfast and I gather you didn’t either.”
He steps out of the tub, grabs a towel and says, “I’ll go make us some sandwiches. Take your time.”
With that, I’m alone again. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my body–nearly broken not long ago. Alone with my ghosts and regrets.
Chapter 2
The buzzing of my alarm clock sounds like a jackhammer.
I fumble around, cursing as I try to find the snooze button. I am generally pretty anal retentive about getting up right when the alarm goes off. I’ve always believed that consistency of habit is the best way to be productive. I get up at the same time each morning. I would walk my dog. I would work out. I would watch the news and wait for the call to come to an investigation, or I would go straight to the lab.
Snooze is not a word in my vocabulary. Or, at least, it wasn’t.
“Dammit,” I mutter as the incessant hammering assaults my sleepy senses.
“Gonna get up this morning?” Damon murmurs from his spot beneath the covers.
I finally shut the whole thing off, but immediately reset the alarm for half an hour from now. I’m awake, though, after all that fiddling.
“I am,” I say with a big yawn and stretch. “I thought I might sleep in a little but I’m not that good at it. Obviously.”
“Well, if you have a few extra minutes, I can think of ways to help you ease into your day.” His voice is thick with sleep. He usually sleeps all day after working all night.
“I’m surprised you’re even awake,” I comment.
“I can be persuaded to stay in bed a little longer,” he says, pulling me closer, spooning his big body around me, his hand sneaking to find my breast.
“I should get up,” I say with a groan,
throwing my arm over my face.
“Just a little longer?” Damon asks, kissing my shoulder.
I roll to my back and Damon’s mouth immediately meets my nipple. I may be confused about my emotions, but my body knows just what it wants. I arch into him and he chuckles.
“Greedy this morning,” he grins, pulling away. “But I don’t want you to be late on your first day back to work.”
“Don’t tease,” I say, reaching out to stroke him, already hard and ready. “Maybe it’s okay if I’m a little late…”
He shakes his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he moves down my body, his lips on my stomach first, but moving quickly down below the blanket. When his tongue meets that top-secret spot between my legs, I let out a sigh of pleasure, my hands finding his hair, pulling him closer. He pushes me close, so close, and chuckles before moving back up my body, his lips finding mine, my scent and taste all over him. He pushes, hard, into me, not breaking the kiss. I suck in a breath, shocked and titillated by the suddenness of it. When he moves, the familiar friction is so good I begin to again feel the build-up immediately.
I reach back to grab the slats on the headboard, my breasts jutting for his mouth to devour. He moves fluidly, his body perfectly fit to mine as I push my hips to meet his thrusts.
We’re both sweating by the time we find our release, and Damon makes a comment about missing my morning workout.
“How many calories do you think I just burned?” I ask.
“Enough,” he says, slapping my butt as I head for the bathroom to clean up.
Indeed.
* * *
Fashion has never been my strong suit, so it will surprise no one when I show up to work in a slightly wrinkly but kind of pretty blue sweater and the same black dress pants I wear every other day, in between the same pair in khaki. It just doesn’t seem important how I look when I’m out investigating crime scenes and dead bodies.
Still, I feel less put-together than usual as I run out the door, pulling my shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, the heels of my boots clacking against the tile. I have twenty minutes to make the forty-five-minute commute. Great, Rick isn’t going to be impressed.
Just as I push the elevator button, Damon pops out the door and asks, “Why don’t I drive you?”
I hit the down button a few more times, impatient. “It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t want you to have to pick me up.”
He shrugs. “I’m ok with that. I can get you there a little faster and you won’t have to waste time finding parking and walking. You’ll only be a little late instead of a lot late. Plus…it was kind of my fault you’re running late in the first place.”
Part of me relishes the fact that he is offering. First, this is not a normal time for him to be up and about. Second, the offer to drive me into work is so…normal. It’s such a sweet, couples gesture from a man who was not supposed to allow himself to have attachments like this.
The other part of me needs time away from him, time to think. I’ve found myself distracted by our sexual chemistry, which is nice, but I’m still unsure of my feelings. And it’s not fair of me to let him make all of these life changes for me if I am not completely committed to being with him.
As the elevator doors open, he awaits my answer, so I nod and he steps into the elevator beside me, taking my hand.
I bristle a little at his touch, not so much because I don’t want him touching me, but because it makes me feel guilty. Hunters are not supposed to have attachments. And here I am, luring Damon away from what he was born to do.
I’ve never been a believer in monogamy. I’ve had relationships, of course, but they’ve never worked out and I’ve always been realistic about that. I’m not sure I ever believed that two people could fall in love and stay in love until the end of time. It seems impossible, and I know that the data backs up my opinion.
So add those two things together–my guilt over Damon’s choice to leave his hunter brotherhood and my general feelings about the impracticality of long-term relationships–and you have a recipe for drama. And as Amy is usually a “No Drama Llama,” I am feeling itchy about this odd feeling of love limbo I am in right now.
I chew on my lip as we ride the elevator down and then make our way out to Damon’s old, white pickup truck. He opens the door for me and lifts me up into the seat, the action unexpected, making me giggle.
“You know I can get into the truck on my own. Done it a couple of times,” I say playfully.
“Just helping out my girl,” he says with a shrug as he starts the engine. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”
“I’m good,” I say. “I swear.”
He puts his hand on my knee as we drive. “I can’t help but worry,” he says. “You lost a ton of blood. And I felt helpless knowing you’d gone through that and that I hadn’t been there to help you. You saved me once, I wish I could have been there to save you, too.”
I reach for his hand and squeeze. “First, this isn’t a competition,” I say. “Second, there’s no clause in our relationship that says you have to fight my battles for me.”
“I know, but supporting each other is part of a healthy relationship,” he argues.
“Not when it comes to monsters,” I reply. “Supporting someone going back to school or starting a new career is normal for a relationship. Running into the fray with a bunch of monsters is above and beyond the call of relationship duty.”
“Not when one half of the relationship is a Hunter,” he says. “Our relationship is different. You shouldn’t have gone without me.”
“Maybe not,” I concede. “What I did was impulsive, but I thought I could save two lives and I acted. I work on the police force, protect and serve is our motto. I wasn’t just going to let Cara be bait for vampires.”
“And Vincent,” he says. “You went for him, too.”
I’m quiet for a moment, looking out the window.
“I did,” I say quietly.
“And you didn’t trust me enough to ask for help?” he asks.
“I didn’t trust you not to kill him. Or her, depending on what state she was in. You’ve made your opinions clear on how you feel about vampires. They are all the same to you.”
“Well, that’s on me, then,” he says, shaking his head. “My prejudices put you in danger.”
“Don’t martyr yourself like that,” I say. “I made my own choice.”
“I don’t love that you risked yourself for a vampire,” he answers, “but I understand why you did. I just want to get to a point where you trust me enough to ask for help when you need it.”
“I’ve never been good at asking for help,” I admit. “I’ve been on my own a long time.”
“We both have some learning to do,” he says. He takes a moment to think. “He did do the right thing, I guess. He brought you back to me. I guess I didn’t realize that you genuinely cared for him.”
I scan his face to see if there is hurt there. He seems more thoughtful, though.
“I do care for him,” I say. “I won’t lie about it. But I love you. And I know you want to keep me safe. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I was a jealous asshole,” he says. “Let me make it right?”
“There’s nothing to make right,” I say. “I think we are both learning, here.”
I scoot over on the bench seat and rest my head on his shoulder until we turn a familiar corner and pull in front of my office building. As he parks, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his big body, kissing my forehead.
“You aren’t allowed to park here,” I comment.
“Always with the rules,” he grins. “You’re such a goody two shoes.”
“I just don’t want you to get a ticket,” I say, giving him a look of faux-annoyance. “Seriously, they’ll ticket you while you sit in the car. They don’t care.”
“And so stubborn.” He leans in for a quick kiss. “But fine. You need to get in there before you’re late. Getting you here on time was
the whole point of me driving.”
I scoot away, opening the door and hopping out. Giving a little wave, I say, “Thank you. See you tonight.”
“I love you,” he says. “Good luck today.”
“I love you too,” I say automatically, flushing a bit at the sentiment.
As I make my way into the building, it occurs to me how nervous I feel. Which is stupid, because I literally just spent a week in hell, nearly losing my life. Going back to my routine and my job should be easy, right? I am passionate about my work and I’m damn good at it, too, so this should be a piece of cake. It’s laughable to think that I would be more afraid of my boss than I was of a bunch of murderous vampires.
As I make my way to the front desk, I expect to see the familiar face of Michelle, but she isn’t there. I find myself frowning as I approach, not liking to see a change right off the bat.
The new receptionist is on the young side, with short, curly, dark hair and big brown eyes. She’s very cute, smiling genuinely as she asks, “Can I help you?”
“I’m Amy,” I say, more tersely than I mean, “I work here.”
She hops up from her seat and holds out her hand to shake. “Oh, Amy, nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Well that makes me nervous,” I say.
“Silly,” she says with a wave of her hand. “People here love you. I heard you’ve had some health issues lately. Hopefully, you’re all better now?”
“Fit as a fiddle,” I say.
“Oh, good,” she says. “Well, let me know if you need anything today. I’m Vivianne.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” I say. “Just curious–where’s Michelle today?”
“She had a family emergency,” she says. “I usually work shifts at the second precinct so they asked me to fill in for her today.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay. She hardly ever misses work, so it was jarring not to see her face this morning.”
“Oh I bet,” she says. “But hopefully I’ll do the job justice.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” I say. “I’m the one worried I won’t get right back into the swing of things.”
Fatal Allure Collection Page 33
