She looked away. “He knows where to find me. If he’s that concerned, he come and see me for himself. If not? Then I’ll be just fine.” After a moment, she added, “No. Better than fine.”
Chapter Eight
He’d known where to find her.
If he was honest with himself, Boone would have to admit, he’d thought about stopping in to see Sloane Redding every single time he came within a few hours of Alabama. Ever since she’d sent that first card—a Christmas card. The first he’d ever received.
But he hadn’t let himself do it then.
Then, there’d been no reason, other than just to meet the younger sister of his two best friends.
Now he had a reason—it had been eight weeks since the wedding. He’d just gotten back from a brief job in Beirut. He had two choices—either take some time off or talk to the boss about a proposition that had been placed before him.
Boone didn’t do so well with time off, but before he left the country, possibly for months, he had to see her.
The condo where she lived was in a nice, upper-class neighborhood. Although he’d rented a decent car, he felt like an imposter, walking toward her door, unsure of what he’d say or what he’d do when he saw her.
What if—
No.
He wasn’t here on a what if—
He was here just to make sure. It was a responsibility thing, and only that. Once he walked away this time, it would be for good. It didn’t matter that he woke up, imagining the taste of her on his lips. Didn’t matter that he’d spent more time under a cold shower trying to freeze the heat out of him and it didn’t matter that more than once, he thought about how easy it had been to just…be with her.
Laying in a bed with a woman at his side had never been a restful, easy thing for him.
That sort of connection was for one thing and one thing only.
Sex.
But he could have held her forever.
If he was the kind of guy who could believe in what-ifs.
The sun had gilded everything gold as he came to a stop in front of her door. He knocked once and turned away, his hands in his pockets. There was no answer, so he knocked again.
“She’s not home yet.”
He saw a pair of bright eyes peering at him from around the corner. Coaxing his face into his version of a polite smile, he nodded as a diminutive older woman came toward him, pushing a walker in front of her.
“Ma’am.”
She cocked her head. Eyes, bird-bright, regarded him. “Are you Sloane’s young man?”
“Ah…” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “No, ma’am. A friend. I knew her brothers.”
“Oh.” She pursed her lips and then shrugged. “It’s Thursday. On Thursday, Sloane closes the library. She won’t be home for a few more hours. If you like, I can tell her you came by.”
“No. That’s not necessary.” He nodded at her. “I’ll just come back.”
Once she made her way down the hall, he eyed the door and then jogged down the steps. He only had the night here, so he supposed he’d just be waiting.
Then he thought about what the old lady had said.
Are you Sloane’s young man…
He had to bite back the urge to growl. Even at the thought.
She had a young man? What the—
Cutting the thought off, he studied the area around him, the busy street, the little coffee shop at the intersection. He’d grab a cup of coffee and wait for her.
And hope like hell she didn’t show up with her young man.
It had been a day.
A very bad day and all Sloane wanted to do was lay down and sleep for the next twelve hours.
That wasn’t an option because she had movers coming in at eight and she needed to spend the night getting everything ready.
It had been her last day on her job and thanks to her morning sickness from hell, she’d spent a good thirty minutes on her knees in front of the toilet.
She was used to that and had started getting up early just to let her belly settle, eat some crackers. She would have been fine, made it to work on time and everything.
If it hadn’t been the guy 124D.
124D had asked her out three times and each time he’d gotten a little pushier with it. Politely pushy, if such a thing could exist, but pushy all the same.
This morning as she’d been heading out the door, he’d fallen into step with her and offered her a breakfast sandwich he’d gotten from the coffeeshop.
Just the smell of the eggs had sent her rushing to the edge of the sidewalk where she’d emptied her stomach almost violently. She’d give the man credit. He’d tried to help, holding her shoulder, offering to help her sit down as she fought the urge to keep retching.
She’d told him to fuck off. Sloane was almost positive it was the first time she’d ever said that to anybody.
He’d just nodded and left. A few minutes later, a friendly cop had stopped to check on her.
She’d had to go back up to her apartment and brush her teeth and by the time she made it back to the street, she’d missed her bus.
That had set the rhythm for the entire day and today was one of those days where her stomach wouldn’t settle for anything.
If she could have just buried herself in bed from now until dawn, she’d be happy.
Gripping the bannister with one hand, she started up the steps to her apartment building, the bag on her shoulder feeling like it weighed fifty pounds. It had several gifts from friends, a few cards and the rest of the personal items—pictures, a book she’d been reading on her lunch break—or trying to read—for the past six months.
The weight of the bag dragged at her as she climbed the eight steps between her and the door. She was only three steps up when the door opened and 124D stepped out. He caught sight of her and winced, but to her surprise, he didn’t disappear back inside.
He jogged down the steps. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She took another two steps. The bag’s shoulder strap slid down her arm.
“Here.”
Frowning, she eyed the man in front of her as he tugged the strap off and swung the bright pink bag over his shoulder.
“Look,” she said, her voice weary. “I...appreciate the interest.”
“No, you don’t.” He gave her a smile and for the first time, she caught the charm in it. “I’m sorry. I’ve been…well. The first time I saw you, you almost knocked the air out of my lungs.”
Then his gaze drifted down, lingering on her belly. “I didn’t…how far along are you?”
“Ah…” Blinking, she just stared at him. Then, with a groan, she dropped down on the steps and sat down, staring back out over the street. It was crowded with the typical Friday evening traffic, people heading home from work—or going out for the evening. The scent of fall lay heavy in the air and she took a deep, slow breath. “Almost eight weeks.”
There was a pause and then he sat down beside her. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. I—”
“I don’t.”
“Oh.” He blew out a breath. “Sorry.”
“It’s not a problem.” She had to get used to this. Glancing over at him, she said, “You know, this is awful, but I can’t even remember your name.”
“Ouch.” He rolled his eyes and again, flashed that grin. “Grant. Grant Holden.”
The name tugged something loose inside her head. “Yeah. You’re a detective…I remember now. I’m sorry.”
“Seems you’ve got a lot going on.” He was quiet for a moment and then said, “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “It’s not you. I just…this isn’t the time for me to be getting involved with anybody.”
“Understandable.” He rested his elbows on his knees, looking out over the street the same way she was.
“Did you send that cop to check on me this morning?”
“Ah…” A flush settled on his cheeks. “Yeah. I just didn’t feel right leaving you standing th
ere.”
Turning her head, she studied him. “That was nice of you.” Reaching up to rub the back of her neck, she said, “I could have saved you some trouble if I’d puked the first time we met, I guess.”
“Talking to a beautiful woman is never any trouble.”
Blood rushed up to warm her cheeks. Linking her hands in lap, she focused on the leather of her boots, smoothed down the hem of her skirt where it ended a few inches above. “Yeah…well…”
“You’ve got somebody watching you.”
Jerking up her head, she stared at him. His face relaxed, his jawline darkened by a heavy growth of stubble. The wind teased his short, dark hair as he glanced her way. “Relax,” he said softly. “Try not look nervous or anything. But there’s a guy down at the coffee shop watching you.”
A chill raced down her spine. Struggling to keep her voice level, she glanced at him and then back out over the street. “What’s he look like?”
“Tall—he’s sitting down, but he looks pretty tall, heavy build. He has a baseball cap on and sunglasses.” A faint smile curved his mouth. “You seem sort of calm.”
“No.” She swallowed and twisted her fingers together. “No. Not calm. But my brothers…” She shrugged. “They are…well, both of them were in security.”
Now, she let herself glance down at the coffeeshop.
It wasn’t hard to locate the big, built baseball-cap wearer. Although he was no longer sitting down. Her hands went slick. “It’s okay,” she murmured as the cop next to her tensed. It was subtle, but her brothers had been cautious, protective—and thorough. “I know him.”
Grant gave her a narrow look. “Hmmm.”
“What’s that mean?” She looked up at him, painfully aware of the man approaching them. “That hmmmm.”
“Nothing. He’s crossed the street—looking our way now. And I get the feeling it’s a good idea you never agreed to go out with me.”
“What?” Unwittingly, she looked down the street, watching as Boone drew closer and closer.
“He looks like a man who would object to his woman dating another man.”
“I’m not his…”
A shiver raced down her spine and she looked up.
I’m not his.
Boone didn’t know what they’d been talking about—wanted to tell himself he didn’t care. But he did. He had a bad feeling they were talking about him and the way her voice faded away as she caught sight of him only added to that feeling.
I’m not his.
A curious tightening in his chest made it hard for him to speak but he forced the words out. “Sloane.”
The man at her side gave her a sidelong look.
“Hi, Boone.” Her response came out husky and low. She watched him through her lashes, a faint flush on her cheeks.
He could remember a look almost identical to that as he guided her body under his.
The memory made his muscles go tight, his blood go hot. Dragging his attention away from her, he stared at the other man. Tall and lean, with watchful eyes.
Cop.
They assessed each other for a taut moment and Boone could all but feel his hackles rising, a wave of possessiveness unlike anything he’d ever felt swamping him.
The cop crooked an eyebrow and glanced at Sloane.
Boone looked at her as well.
She looked tired, he thought.
Beautiful and tired, with shadows lying under her dark eyes like she wasn’t sleeping.
Was she…
With that swift mental kick in the ass, he reminded himself of why he was here.
“Can we talk?”
A ghost of a smile danced at her lips.
“Sure.” She stood. “Why not?”
The cop rose as well, holding her purse in one hand. His eyes lingered on Sloane for another moment before he looked at Boone. Mouth tight, he nodded and then held out the bright pink bag. Boone had seen him take it, had watched as Sloane all but dragged herself up the steps.
He moved forward to get the bag, but she’d already accepted it from the cop and hooked it over her shoulder.
“If you’re ready…?” She flicked him a look and then without waiting for a response, she turned and moved up the steps.
Although the cop continued to watch them, Boone kept his eyes on the back of her head as they moved inside. She started up the steps and he found his gaze wandering over her, the long legs encased in leather up to her knee, the dark hose that covered the skin in between. Her skirt was close fitting, ending a couple of inches shy of her knees and he was mesmerized by the sight of her hips swaying back and forth.
They climbed the first flight and he paused, but all she did was turn and continue up the next flight of steps. “Don’t they have an elevator here?” he asked, the question coming out harsher than he’d intended.
She just looked so tired…
“They do.” She shrugged as she mounted the last step and cast him a look. “I have…issues with closed-in spaces.”
A faint flush rose up over her cheeks. He came to a stop in front of her door.
This is it.
His heart skipped a beat, then started to pound in hard, heavy beats.
It didn’t take long enough for her to unlock the door, usher him inside. There was an alarm system chiming and he waited as she dealt with it, taking the time to study where she lived.
It was…charming. He supposed that was the word. Warm blue walls, pale curtains. A couch upholstered in a shade of blue just a few shades deeper than the walls. There was a clutter of pillows on the long, low couch and a chair tucked up under the window, angled to catch the light. The table next to it held a couple of books.
“Nice place,” he said.
“Thanks.” She put her purse down on the counter that ran between the kitchen and living room and he watched as she curled her hands over the edge, her fingers tightening.
When she sighed, her slim shoulders rose and fell.
Then she looked up at him. “What did you need, Boone?”
You.
It leaped into his mind, all but branded itself across his psyche.
Clearing his throat, he moved away from the door and paced the living room. He paused by the window and stared out. The cop was still there.
“Are you dating him?”
When she didn’t answer, he turned and looked at her. “Are you?”
“That’s your business how?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m just curious.” If she was seeing somebody…Thinking about it filled him with a mix of resignation and anger, something he didn’t entirely understand.
“He’s asked me out a few times,” she said, her voice neutral. Then she shrugged. “I’ve been busy lately.”
“Sta—” He snapped his jaw shut before the rest of his response could leave him. Stay busy.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” Scowling, he shoved his hands into his pockets and dragged his mind back to what needed to be done. “
“Look. I just—” The question froze in his throat and Boone let his eyes roam over her, lingering on her waist before he forced himself to look at her. “I have to head out on a job soon. Before I did, I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t…”
“A problem?” she offered, her voice caustic.
He shot a look at her face. “Is there?”
Sloane smiled, a beatific smile that made her look completely lovely—and completely bewitching. “There’s no problem here, Boone.” Then she turned away and moved into the kitchen. “I’ve had a rough day. Would you like some wine?”
Wine.
She was offering him wine.
Why in the hell did he feel so disappointed? He hadn’t…
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “Sure.”
He didn’t need wine and he didn’t need to linger, but he wasn’t ready to leave either.
A few minutes, he accepted the glass she offered and turned away as she poured her own.
&
nbsp; He took a sip and then hissed as the sugar hit his system. “Is this wine or just liquid sugar?”
“The only way I like it.”
He looked back at her as she took a small sip and then put the glass down and turned back to the fridge. “How long are you in town?”
He mumbled an answer that barely made sense—even to him—as his gaze slid down her back and locked on the curve of her ass.
Leave. You got what you came here for. There’s no reason to stay. That knowledge frustrated him, aggravated him.
“So there’s…”
She stiffened as he moved up behind her.
The scent of her rushed straight to his head. Without conscious thought, he reached out and rested a hand on her hip, waiting for her to pull away.
She was rigid, her spine a stiff line.
Slowly, he slid his hand around until he could press his palm to her belly and tug her back against him.
“Sloane…” he murmured her name and lowered his head.
She shivered.
“I already told you what you needed to know,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Had she?
Catching her chin in his hand, he tugged her face around to meet is. Their gazes connected for a long moment before he swept his across her face, let it linger on her lips.
“Did you?” he asked absently. He pressed his thumb to her lip. She sucked in a breath and he dragged his gaze up to meet hers. “I keep thinking about your mouth.”
My mouth…?
Sloane stared up at him and when he pressed down against her lower lip, she instinctively opened and caught the tip of his finger between her teeth.
A ragged groan rose out of him.
Then, as he stared into her eyes, he lowered his head, sealing his mouth over hers.
With her back pressed to his front, his arm holding her back against him, she could barely move. Desperate for another contact, a deeper one, she reached up and cupped her hand over the back of his neck.
He lifted his mouth just long enough to whisper, “Open for me, Sloane. Let me in.”
She couldn’t have denied him that—or anything else. When his tongue dipped inside her mouth, she whimpered and arched back against him.
Virgin's Night Out Page 6
