“We’ve left a message for his parole officer. We’ll contact you as soon as we have confirmation.” Fallon’s reassuring smile fell splat on the floor, and she resisted the need to cling to Taylor’s side.
She slid an arm around his waist as they left the squad room. “I’m sorry you came all the way down here.”
“I’m not.”
The rain had let up since she’d been inside, and she let go of him to navigate the puddles dotting the sidewalk. “Sam isn’t your problem, Taylor.” She wobbled and her foot came down in a small lake of water. Fantastic. This day was getting better and better.
He held out a hand for her car keys, and she passed them over. He was right; she shouldn’t be driving. He waited until she was seated in the passenger seat and fumbling with her seatbelt. Tipping her chin up, his lips claimed hers, the heat of them curling her toes. “You’re wrong. He is my problem.”
The drive through downtown Portland sped by much too fast. She scowled at the cars in the garage as Taylor rolled down the rows, searching for a parking spot. “Coffee? Please?” She batted her eyelashes after he’d maneuvered into a spot.
His mouth quirked in that half-smile she loved, and her heart stuttered.
She’d gone and fallen in love with Taylor Smith.
This was such a bad idea. A horrible idea. Falling in love was not supposed to happen now. And not with him. She stared at him, a vague hope that if she did for long enough she’d trick herself out of it. Concern clouded his gaze. “You all right?”
And everything changed. She was better than all right. She was fantastic. She kissed him softly. “I love you,” she blurted.
He stared back at her, stunned. Imagine that, she’d managed to shock Taylor Smith. She waited a moment, her heart beating with a heavy, dull thud. No response, and the longer she waited, the more she realized it didn’t matter. She loved Taylor, and she trusted him; he might not love her, but she knew he cared for her. She undid her seatbelt and climbed out. Shutting the car door, she walked around to the other side and pulled open the driver’s door, leaning in to kiss a mute Taylor one last time before she headed out of the garage.
Despite the scare from that morning, she stopped into Stumptown and picked up a cup of coffee, determined to prove to whoever might be watching that she wasn’t going to hide anymore. From anything.
Coffee in hand, she was smiling when she swung into her office. She dropped her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, set her coffee down, and darted out to the restroom to wash her hands.
Jeremy was storming down the hall to his office as she made her way back to her office. “You.” His voice was low and harsh. “You fucking bitch.” He covered the remaining feet between them and shoved her into the wall, his hands clamped down on her shoulders. His mouth twisted in a snarl, the feral noise emanating from his throat sparking panic in her belly.
When he brought his face to hers, she reacted on instinct. One knee came up and connected with his groin, her fist plowing into his stomach as she ducked under his arm. The ass collapsed in a howl of pain, curling into a ball. “Fuck,” he squeaked. “What the fuck did you do that for?”
“Hind brain reaction. It didn’t take too well to being threatened.” She bent down, reveling in the power surging through her blood. She’d done it. She hadn’t frozen like a scared little bunny. Jeremy’s blue eyes were shiny with tears and hate, narrowing to slits as she leaned in. “Don’t you fucking touch me again.” Straightening, she noticed Larry standing open mouthed at the end of the hallway. He stayed that way for long minutes, until she shrugged and walked around Jeremy’s prone form.
“Sara—”
“What?” she demanded, planting her feet, prepared for another round. “He shoved me into the wall. I protected myself.”
Larry’s mouth snapped shut and he shook his head. “Nothing,” he muttered. She covered the final feet to her office in calm, even strides and shut the door. She probably needed to go to HR, but she was too pissed to think straight. Her lovely high had evaporated with Jeremy’s stunt in the hallway. What had he been coming at her for, anyway?
She kicked her shoes across her office and stalked over to her desk, snatching up her coffee. The first sip burned her tongue. She sipped again, heedless of the hot liquid rushing over her tongue.
Her door opened and shut in one quick, quiet move. Taylor. He was the only one she knew who could manipulate objects in the same manner he manipulated his own body. “I’m fine. Really.” She kept her back to him.
“I know. Jeremy’s been fired. Seems that’s why he came at you.” He came around and plucked the coffee cup from her hands. Backing up, he sat on the edge of her desk and pulled her into his arms. “You love me.”
She sighed. “Yup. I have no idea why, since you’re not too keen on talking and shit, but hey, it’s working for me. Yes. I love you. And,” she touched a finger to his lips, “I know you care for me. That’s enough.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m happy about it,” she said quietly. “If this had happened years ago, with someone else, I would have over-thought it and clammed up and run in the other direction. But it’s you, and I’m not.” The stiff cotton of his shirt warmed under her cheek. “We cool?”
His laugh rumbled through her. “One question. Any other surprises?”
She tipped her head back and grinned. “Maybe. Best be on your guard. I’ll attack when you least expect it.”
“Why guard against it?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Then it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”
“No,” she whispered back, “no, it wouldn’t.”
Chapter Twenty
Taylor gave the paint a dubious glance. “You sure about this?”
Deep red spread over dingy white. “Positive. I wanted something outrageous, and this is perfect. Plus, Krista will love it.” Sara’s hips twitched to the beat of the music pouring from the speakers she’d set up outside the door. Paint roller forgotten, he watched her wiggle her ass, raising a brow when she got particularly enthusiastic during the chorus. “I know you’re staring at my ass.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The room isn’t going to get done very fast if you don’t start using the roller.”
The handle on the roller bit into his palm. She’d decreed no touching until the room was painted. He’d agreed before she’d started dancing around the room. Now all he could think about was peeling those jeans down her legs.
She loved him.
Her declaration had come out of nowhere, and it socked him in the gut every time he thought of it. She hadn’t repeated it since she told him two days ago, and she wasn’t acting like she was waiting for him to say it back. He was certain that made her the most amazing woman who ever lived.
It was safer if he didn’t say it back. He needed more distance from her. His mother was in hysterics, and his dad had finally broken down and called, begging him to do something. Jamie and Matt were no help. He was the oldest, and he’d been the one to run with the Pretty Boys. Getting out of the mess Tony had dragged him into was Taylor’s responsibility.
He’d thought about giving in and doing what Tony asked. It would be more difficult now than when he’d been in the neighborhood, but not impossible.
Doing one last job for Tony would never be enough. There would always be “one last job” for Tony, until the day Tony ended up in prison or the ground. And with Tony’s luck and slippery ways, Taylor was betting on a long, long life on this side of the bars for the man.
“Taylor?”
Big brown eyes held a hint of concern, her mouth tipped up in a rueful smile. “You can go. I can take care of this.”
He stared at her a moment, confused. Oh. She probably thought he was worried about his parents. He was just as worried about her, too, though. Detective Fallon notified her the same day Jeremy was fired that Sam was exactly where he was supposed to be. Sara tried to brush off the tripped alarm and obvious footsteps as a nosy neighbor, but he knew her. She was scared. And she
was fighting. No, he was right where he belonged.
Setting the roller down, he crossed the room and took her chin in his hand, kissing her softly. “It’ll be faster with two of us. I’ll stay.”
He dipped the roller in the paint tray on his side of the room and smeared the paint on the wall. Sara had chosen the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo soundtrack as her painting music, and the eerie notes floated between them. He’d taken a look at her mp3 player one day, and found it bursting with angry music: Rage Against the Machine, Mission of Burma, Atticus, Ra. If he hadn’t known her as well as he did, he’d have wondered if he’d picked up someone else’s player by mistake.
They worked steadily, the music changing to Horse Feathers. Sara’s voice was quiet and tentative as she sang along. He’d never heard her sing before. He liked it.
Red covered white, the thick scent of paint sending her giggling from the room. He took care of the last few feet, red slick and shining dully in the grey afternoon light. Standing in the middle of the room, he inspected the walls. She’d opted to leave the ceiling white. “You’d feel like you were in a Chinese box or something if I painted the whole room,” she’d said. It would take another coat, but he could see it. It suited her, that unexpected punch.
He found her on the front porch, hands on her hips, sucking in big lungfuls of air. “Shit.” Her breath wheezed out. “The damn paint boy didn’t tell me how potent that stuff is. I can feel new holes developing in my brain.”
“You failed to tell me of your previous career as a huffer.” He wrapped her ponytail around his hand and tugged. “You said something about a bed?”
She nodded. “If I’m going to be an adult and own a house, I ought to complete the whole adulthood transition and buy actual furniture from an actual store instead of picking it up from the side of the road.” The hem of her shirt rode up as she stretched. “I hate furniture stores, though. It’s like my own little slice of Hell. I’d rather spend my money in a hardware store on things like cabinet handles. Hence, my house has no furniture. It does, however, make it easier to paint.”
“You also said something about built in shelves?”
“Yes…” She eyed him warily.
He took her hand, startled all over again at how small it felt in his. She followed him into the house and into the center of the living room. The setup was odd; there was no fireplace. One wall was taken up by windows, facing the street. A wood stove stood in the corner where the front wall met the wall running along the side, connecting to the dining room. Sara had mounted her flat-screen TV on the wall, a spindly-legged table underneath holding her DVR. Another wall ran half the length of the front wall, boxing in the kitchen. Boxes lined the wall in the dining area. Her books. “Where were you thinking?”
She studied the room, lower lip bunched under her teeth as she spun in a slow circle. The slump of her shoulders was almost comical. “It’s not going to work. Not unless I move the TV over there,” and she pointed at the dividing wall, “and that’s so not where I want it, because I don’t want the sofa against the windows.” She walked over to the dividing wall and slapped it.
“Any reason you can’t put them there?” It looked big enough to him. Then again, there were a lot of boxes.
She shook her head. “I doubt it’s big enough. I could put some here, but I’d need more shelves. And that doesn’t take into account all the new ones I’ll buy.”
He thumped on the wall himself. He knew jack shit about building. But he wanted to build them for her. He could figure it out. The wall seemed sturdy enough. A stud finder would ensure the shelves stayed in place. “How come you don’t own one of those e-readers?”
“I should. I love books, though. Actual books. Paper books with ink I can page through. Plus I’m pretty sure an e-reader would completely drain my bank account. Ooh, that one sounds good! Click. I buy it. Done.” She pulled off the bandana she’d wrapped around her hair. “I’m going to change out of my painting clothes. I want to get this bed-buying business over with.” The teasing glance she sent him shot straight to his dick. “Of course, I’m willing to put it off. For a good reason.”
He wasn’t stupid. He swung her up over his shoulder, grinning as she tried to wriggle free, then tossed her on the bed. Peeling her jeans off was more satisfying than he’d imagined.
* * *
The squeaky pop music was driving him nuts. At least the sales staff gave him a wide berth. Sara had wandered off, lost amongst the bedroom sets, and he turned around to start searching for her when he saw it.
Sturdy iron bars ran in vertical lines across the head and foot of the bed, the frame itself squared off. It was missing most of the flourishes and decorations most of the other frames had, and from the little furniture Sara had in her house and the tables she’d been discreetly ogling, it would go well.
He could see her slim fingers wrapped around those bars, laid out before him like a banquet, her curves bared and begging for his hands.
“What did you find?” She walked up and slid an arm around his waist, her gaze following the direction of his hand when he waved it wordlessly at the bed. His arm curved over her back, settling his hand at her hip as she frowned. “It could work.”
Leaning down, he brushed his lips over the shell of her ear, absorbing the shudder running through her body. “I think you should get this bed. Today. It should go in you room, not the guest room, and then I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name.”
Her head turned toward him in slow motion, and the sight of her glassy brown eyes, crazy with lust, made his decision for him. If she wasn’t buying the bed, he would. He’d pay extra to have it delivered and assembled today if he had to. “I really love you,” she said breathlessly.
Later, she cried out those three words again, her hands wrapped tight around the bars as her body went taut. And when his own release broke over him, he almost ground them out himself.
* * *
He stared up at the ceiling, Sara curled into his side, her hand loosely fisted on his chest. She’d taken him for everything he had, and then some. More, she’d given everything back to him tenfold and never asked him for anything. He couldn’t forget the expression on her face the first time she’d told him I love you. Freedom. She’d found it, and she reveled in it.
Loving Sara put her in danger. His mounting problems with the Pretty Boys proved that and did a damn good job of convincing him he was the worst candidate for Sara’s heart. But the thought of letting her go, of her sharing her smile with someone else, of her saying those words to another man, made him want to grab onto her and squeeze tight. Maybe never let her go.
She’d said Sam had done that to her, and here he was, wanting to do the same. More evidence he had to walk away. Sooner rather than later.
He wanted to be different for her. He wanted to be around long enough to see her house come together like she’d hoped, wanted to take her back to Boston someday to catch a Red Sox game. He wanted to turn her loose in Powell’s and buy her every book she set her hands on, and then build her a room to put them all in.
Fuck. He wanted everything from her, and with her. His parents would love her. Jamie would probably hit on her. Hell, maybe she’d be the hammer that broke the ice with Matt.
The house creaked as it settled around them, and she snuffled in her sleep, inching closer. So strong, and so vulnerable before him, her body trusting him even in sleep. Maybe they could do this. Make this work. Maybe Tony would stay on the other side of the country where he belonged, and leave his parents alone.
Pop was coming around. He figured Ma would only move if she could be near one of her sons, except Ma wouldn’t be happy in South Boston, and Matt wouldn’t want them anywhere near him. He liked his space. Which left him. If relocating his parents meant getting Tony off their ass, he’d gladly suffer having his mother bombard him constantly about giving her grandbabies to dote on.
Did Sara want kids?
He could see her with kids. Bouncy, wid
e-eyed little girls with round cheeks and big grins, just like their mother.
Time to put the brakes on that thought train.
She stirred against him, shifting and stretching. He combed his fingers through her hair as she lifted her head, sleep dazed eyes meeting his. “Babe?” she mumbled.
“Go back to sleep.” His hands stroked down, screaming with glee at her naked curves. “Here. Turn over.” She made an unintelligible noise in the back of her throat, then did as he asked, rolling onto her other side and facing away from him. Her long, soft exhalation as he spooned her loosed his tongue. “I love you.” The words whispered out, more a hint of sound than anything else.
She melted into him, sleep dragging her limbs down. Draping an arm around her waist, he buried his face in her hair, drawing in the scent of her. He could hold onto her for a while yet.
Chapter Twenty One
She was going to be late. She’d sworn she had enough time to fill out the silly online job application and tweak her cover letter before she needed to pick Krista up at the airport. If her internet connection hadn’t decided it wanted to move at a snail’s pace, she’d have left fifteen minutes ago.
Sara set the alarm and hurried out of the house, dropping her keys on the porch in her haste. Swearing, she locked the door and dashed down the steps to her car.
The sound of an engine turning over distracted her momentarily, and she glanced up. A dark green sedan sat at the curb in front of her house, the driver’s side window rolled down. She froze as the driver’s gaze latched on to hers.
She’d managed to convince herself, and Taylor, that she was fine. The sensor incident over a week ago was probably a kid looking for a shortcut through her yard. She hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, and so far nothing had come of Taylor’s assumption that one of Tony’s men would track her down.
The man was obviously watching her.
The first tremors of fear shivered up her spine as she unlocked the car and slid behind the wheel. Was this it? Was this what Taylor had warned her about? She drew in a breath, let it out, forcing herself to think. The threats Tony had lobbed at Taylor’s family were stressing him out. Add in threats against her and it might be the weight that broke him.
Hidden Scars Page 16
