by LJ Garland
“We’ll need to take her statement, too.” The tall officer rubbed his chin.
His partner wrote stuff down and took a couple of pictures. “So, what is this about? Angry ex wanting her back?”
“Um, not exactly.”
The tall officer headed toward the house. Dawson started to follow, but the other guy stopped him.
“You’ll need to stay here, let me take your statement.”
“I’m not sure what to tell you….” He glanced at the name tag on the man’s uniform. “Officer Chavis. We were at Pat’s Irish Pub about an hour ago, and when we came out to the car”—he pointed—“that was on it.” He looked toward his house where the tall officer knocked on the front door.
“Does your girlfriend…?” The officer looked up from his pad. “What’s her name?”
“Sophie.”
The door opened, and she peeked out. The sound of the officer’s deep timbre filtered to him, but he couldn’t understand what was being said. She pulled the door wider.
“Sophie what?” The officer drew his focus.
He frowned. “Er, I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure, or you don’t know?”
“I don’t know.” God he sounded like an idiot.
Chavis eyed him. “So, she’s your girlfriend, but you don’t know her last name?”
“No. We met yesterday.”
“And she’s already your girlfriend?” His question dripped with sarcasm. “Does she know this?”
“Okay, maybe girlfriend is a bit strong in the traditional sense.” Man, this is spiraling out of control.
The front door slammed, and the other officer headed his way.
“Listen, Officer, someone is stalking her. She received a threatening video. Someone has been sending roses to her workplace. She’s been staying here to break up her routine, you know, to get off his radar.”
Grim lipped, Chavis nodded. “Has she filed a report?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She…couldn’t.” He doesn’t believe me. And I can’t say I blame him. “Just look.” He pointed at the damage to his car. “There’s proof right there someone is stalking her.”
Heavy footsteps drew Dawson’s attention. The other officer approached, and he didn’t look happy.
“We’re done here.” His clipped words rattled off like rifle fire.
Chavis frowned. “What’s up, Rob?”
Rob jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Sophie O’Neill, that’s what.”
“Soph—” Chavis’s gaze slid to Dawson, his brow drew down, and the tops of his ears pinkened. “Son of a bitch.”
Rob stalked toward him, one hand on his gun, the other jabbing his finger into Dawson’s face. “I should haul your ass in. Lock you up.”
“He probably did this damage himself.” Chavis added fuel to Rob’s fire.
This is bullshit. He straightened, taking a quick check of the officer’s name tag. “Officer Carson, I swear I didn’t do—”
“That woman is insane.” Rob punctuated each word with a stab of his finger.
Dawson held up his hands. There was no arguing with these guys. To say they carried a grudge would be an understatement. “Listen, I’m telling you the truth. Sophie is being stalked.”
Officer Carson barked a laugh. “Right. Truth be told, she’s cooked up another one of her Baltimore PD social experiments.”
“Seriously.” It didn’t matter what they said about Sophie, he believed her. “Just check the video feeds from the parking lot at Pat’s Irish Pub. You’ll see.”
Officer Chavis snorted and opened the squad car’s passenger door. “Yeah. We’ll get right on that. Don’t you worry.” He climbed inside.
Officer Carson narrowed his eyes on Dawson, waves of anger rolling off him. He turned and stalked to the car.
Dawson stood there staring as the squad car backed out of his driveway. What the hell just happened?
Sophie let the curtain fall from where she’d been watching the nightmare out front. She couldn’t stand it. Having the police talk down to her was one thing, but Dawson? He’d done nothing but tried to protect her. And now I’ve dragged him into my mess.
Well, she could fix that.
She hurried to the guest room and stuffed all her clothes into the gym bag. She wouldn’t stay here. No. She just couldn’t do that to such a wonderful guy.
New cell phone in hand, she headed toward the front door. Seeing how her life had impacted his both angered her and broke her heart. She’d call a taxi then wait outside until it arrived. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t stand to see the hurt in his eyes, couldn’t—
The door opened, and Dawson entered then closed it behind him, turning the deadbolt. His gaze landed on the bag in her hand then returned to her face.
“Your last name is O’Neill?”
She frowned. “What?”
“Sophie O’Neill.”
“Uh-huh.”
“A MacKay and an O’Neill, huh? A Scotsman with an Irish lass. Interesting.”
She squared her shoulders. “Not anymore. I’m leaving, so you don’t have to worry about any cultural clashes.”
She tried to slip past him, but he grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her against his wonderfully hard chest. “No, you’re not.”
How dare he try to stop her! She lifted her chin and glared up at him. “Let me go.”
“Not until you stop this foolishness,” he rumbled.
She struggled to get free. “Let me go!”
In a quick move, he swept down and captured her lips in a hard kiss. His tongue jabbed at the seam of her lips, but she kept them firmly pressed together. Surely he would get the message and let her leave.
Instead, he growled and left her lips. He peppered hungry kisses along her jaw and up to her ear where he sucked and nipped her earlobe.
Oh my God. Heat flashed through her, tightening her nipples to painful peaks.
“Don’t go, Sophie.” His lust-roughened voice sent tingles dancing over her skin. He moved her backward until the wall stopped her then dragged his tongue along the side of her neck. “Kiss me.”
He returned to her mouth. Light kisses. His hold on her arms eased. He cupped her breast and squeezed then swept his thumb over the tip. She moaned.
Taking advantage of her parted lips, he swept his tongue inside, caressing hers. Tasting. Teasing. Tempting.
She dropped the gym bag, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. “I have to go.”
“No.” He eased back just enough to catch the hem of her shirt and pulled it off over her head. Peering down at her breasts, her nipples poking the olive satin fabric covering them, he licked his lips. “Beautiful.”
Her face heated while her body tingled. “I can’t stay.”
“You can.” He rubbed his lips over hers in a slow fiery kiss that set her heart to thumping like mad. Breaking away, he set his forehead to hers. “Don’t you feel it? This connection between us? Tell me you don’t and I’ll let you go, but I think you feel it, too.” Sliding his hands from her hips up to her breasts, he set about torturing her nipples. Unable to stop herself, she arched her back, offering him what he wanted. “Your body does.”
Dipping his head, he grazed his lips over the tops of her mounds, the light stubble lining his jaws creating an erotic scratching sensation. He moved lower, sucking the satin-covered tight point into his mouth. He licked and sucked and nipped the sensitive tip while his fingers remained busy plucking the other one. Sliding her hands into his hair, she anchored him to her while delicious shocks of pleasure raced from her breasts to her core. Heat swirled low in her tummy, and she moaned. Oh God. So good. If her panties hadn’t been wet before, well, they were soaked now.
He broke away from her. The slight chill left behind had her opening her eyes. When did I close them? She couldn’t remember.
She lifter her hand to stroke her fingers along his jaw as she gazed up into his handsome fac
e. But he dodged her attempt.
“Tell me, Sophie. Tell me you feel the connection between us.” He stared at her, his icy-blues holding so many different emotions. Lust. Hope. Anticipation and…fear? “Tell me I’m not the only one in this…whatever this is.
I feel it. The words stuck in her throat. Why can’t I say it?
Not the type to jump into the sack this soon, she was struck with the realization she wanted to do exactly that.
Would that make her like her mother who jumped from one marriage to the next the second the bloom of new love wilted?
No. I’m not her. Sophie didn’t sleep around. Heck, she could count the number of sexual relationships she’d been in on one hand. Dawson was different from any man she’d ever met. Everything about him drew her, pulled her toward him. And before she realized what she was doing, she reached for him.
He stepped back. “I get it. It’s too fast.”
“No.” She moved toward him. “It’s not that.”
“What, then? The MINI? I can get that buffed out and repainted.”
She shook her head, guilt dampening the heat filling her moments before. “I never meant to drag you into my drama.”
“I know. But you need to understand—none of this is your fault. You didn’t ask for a stalker. I knew what the risks were. And there is something about you. I don’t know.” He skimmed his palms down her arms then took both her hands in his. “I think…destiny brought us together.”
A smile pushed to her lips. “Destiny? Seriously?”
He chuckled. “I know. Corny, right? And if you’d told me a week ago I’d be holding a gorgeous woman, spouting romantic clichés, I would’ve called you a liar.” He tugged her against his wonderfully hard body and wrapped his arms around her. “But here you are, in my arms, and I’m telling you…. Destiny brought us together.”
Oh my God. He’s smart, sexy, thoughtful…and a romantic. How did I get so lucky?
Who cares? He wants you. Go for it!
“Well, we can’t argue with destiny.” She rose onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips over his. “And in the spirit of honesty, I sense something special about you, too. I don’t know what this is between us either. But I’d like to find out.”
“Me, too.” He set his hands on her waist then lowered his head, his lips touching hers—
Riiiing-riiiing. Riiiing-riiiing.
Sophie jumped then patted her pocket. “Hold that thought.”
Stepping back, she slipped from his embrace and dug in her pocket, pulling out her new cell phone. She checked the screen then answered. “Jackson?”
“You’re engaged?” he growled over the line. “And I’m finding this out through Hugh?”
She bent and retrieved her shirt from the floor, oddly embarrassed as though her dad had found her in this compromising position—not that she’d know what that felt like, seeing as she’d never had a “real” dad. But the weird feelings of guilt fluttering through her chest seemed a lot like what her friends had described to her.
“I-I’m not. It was just a joke on Hugh.” She paused to tug her shirt on, her face flaming hot. Awk-ward!
“What do you mean a joke?” Jackson railed. “Is there or is there not a ring on your finger?”
“There is, but—”
“Then there’s nothing to joke about. I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me first.”
She sighed then looked at Dawson and shrugged an apology. Into the phone, she said, “If you’ll let me speak, I’ll explain.”
Sophie turned and walked to the living room where she plopped down on the couch. Forty-five long minutes later, she ended her call with her boss.
Dawson wandered into the living room from the back of the house. “That guy is thorough.”
She gave him a sheepish grin. “Yeah. It’s what makes him good at what he does. And now he wants the story…. Tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m used to pulling all-nighters getting my MBA, so this shouldn’t be a problem.” He backtracked down the hallway and, a few moments later, returned with a laptop in his hands. “Figured you might need this.” He set it on the coffee table, plugged in the power supply, then opened the computer and tapped the power button. “You’re good to go.”
She gazed up at him. “You’re not upset that we didn’t get to finish what we….”
His lips twisted into a crooked, shy smile. “Well, yeah. I’d be a liar if I told you I wasn’t disappointed. But I’ve had my share of deadlines, so I get it.”
“I’ll type fast.”
“Good. I’ll go make coffee.” His smile widened then he headed for the kitchen. “And don’t hold me accountable if I try to lead you astray.”
She giggled. After talking with Jackson and explaining about the ring, it felt good to laugh. Dawson always makes me feel good…in so many ways. With his kisses, his hands, his body against mine—
Focus, Sophie! You’ve got a deadline on this wedding story and less than twenty-four hours to come up with an angle that works.
I’ll get it finished. I’m sure Dawson will help me come up with— Sophie couldn’t help but watch him walk away, his tight buns flexing beneath the sweats he’d put on sometime during her phone call. Something.
She opened a new document, but her gaze strayed toward the kitchen.
Hmm. I can’t wait to see how he tries to distract me.
Chapter Twelve
Light filtered over his eyelids, and Dawson snuggled closer to something warm and soft lying next to him. Not something. Someone.
Sophie. He inhaled. And she smells amazing. Tightening his arm around her, he nuzzled his nose into her silky hair. He could lie there, cuddled on the couch, all day.
Longing to see the woman he was falling for—hard and way the hell too fast—he opened his eyes. Her gorgeous green gaze met his, so close he could easily spot the amber flecks there. With him on his back and her intimately hugging his side—an arm draped across his chest, one leg snugged over his thigh—all he needed to do was move a scant inch and his lips would touch hers.
He did.
Warmth invaded him as his lips rubbed over hers. And she returned his break-of-day greeting.
“Morning,” he rumbled.
She smiled. “Morning yourself.”
“Seems we’re making it a habit of waking up on the couch together.”
“Are we?” She sat up. “Does twice make it a habit?” She drummed her fingers on her thigh. “Wouldn’t it take, I don’t know, a dozen times? Maybe twenty-five times?”
“I have no idea. We can google it.” He reached for her hand, stilling her fingers. “Point is, I like you. A lot.”
She looked at him, her eyebrows quirked in something between disbelief and surprise. “Pft.”
“Yeah.” He got up. “Too early to solve world problems. Coffee and toast first.”
In no time, he sat across from her at the dining room table, steaming mugs and plates of crispy toast for each of them. Butter and strawberry jam on the side.
Sophie bit into her toast. “Mmm. This jam is wonderful.”
He nodded and slathered his bread. “The jam comes from a nursery my cousin, James MacKay, owns. Seems his wife, Sarabeth, has a knack at making jams.”
She took another bite. “I’d say so. She could sell this stuff.”
“Well, if they do decide to put it on the market, James is a wiz with money. Probably how he made billions with his nursery.”
Her eyes widened. “A billionaire?”
He chuckled and licked some jam off his lower lip. “Yes. But you’d never know it. He’s one of the most down-to-earth people I know. Good guy. And Sarabeth is a doll. I met her at my cousins’ weddings that I told you about.”
She nodded. “The double wedding with your other cousins…Gigot and Kit?”
“Brigit and Kat. Crazy girls.” He eyed her. “They’d love you. But, as far as this strawberry jam goes, it’s not for sale. You can only find it in Cedar Valley, and only if you’re famil
y. Lucky for me, I have a brother who ships me several jars every month.” He took a slug of coffee and let the heat and caffeine infuse him. “How far did you get on your story last night?”
“I got a rough draft finished.” She finished off her piece of toast and reached for another. “I think I know where I want it to go, but it will take some work.”
“It’s due today, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to finish it in time?”
She gave him an apologetic grimace. “Yes, but writing it will take pretty much all day. Thankfully, Hugh downloaded the pictures on my old phone to my new one. Otherwise, I don’t know, the story might’ve looked a little blah on the site. I think the pictures add to the feel of the piece.”
“Do what you need. But you need to send it in by four.”
“Why?”
“I’m getting a rental. No way am I driving to work tonight with my MINI scratched up like that.” He leveled his gaze on her over the rim of his mug. “And you’re going with me.”
She lifted her chin, and he prepared for an argument.
“Well, I guess I better get to it, then.” Picking up her plate, she carried it and her mug to the kitchen. After refilling her coffee, she headed to the couch. Within a few minutes, the sound of her fingers clicking on the keys filled the living room.
Somehow, the rhythmic noise made him happy.
You’re falling for her, Dawson.
He set his mug in the Keurig and tapped the brew button then cleaned off the table. Falling? I have no clue how, but this…. He wiped down the kitchen counter while he watched her work in the living room, her head bowed, rich auburn locks cascading over her shoulders, eyes laser focused on the computer, fingers typing a mile a second. His heart gave a hard thump. She’s the one.
Wait, wait. You haven’t even had sex with her! How do you know she’s the one?
I know.
He grabbed his mug and cell phone and headed to the back of the house, letting her work in peace.
But…it’s been less than a week.
Doesn’t matter. I’m going to marry that girl.
