by Lauren Layne
“Well aren’t you all, big strong men, being all manly,” she said in a mocking macho voice, making a Popeye-like gesture.
“We are, aren’t we?” Sawyer said. “Do you want to see me flex?”
Luc groaned. “Go home, Lopez.”
“And leave you two to wallow in all this sexual tension? Never.”
Ava froze, her eyes flying to Sawyer’s, but he merely gave her a friendly wink.
Then she turned to Luc and glared. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t tell him shit.”
Sawyer pounced. “There’s something to tell?”
Just a kiss that forever ruined all future kisses with its sheer perfection.
“No,” Ava said, turning back around to face Sawyer, her face composed. “There is nothing to tell.”
Luc laughed. “You are a terrible liar.”
“I am an excellent liar,” she shot back.
“Not really,” Sawyer said, giving her an apologetic pat on the hand. “So. Who wants to tell me? Are we talking accidental boob brush?”
Ava gave him a glare.
Sawyer’s eyebrow lifted. “Full-on cop-a-feel? Duuude.” He reached over to fist-bump Luc, who batted his hand out of the way.
Luc’s partner grinned and drained his beer. “This is nice. Me, Superman, Lois Lane, and unfulfilled lust.”
“It’s not…” Ava made a huffing noise and did what any skilled conversationalist knew how to do.
She changed the subject.
“So, I can’t believe I haven’t asked this before, but how long have you two fine officers been involved in your bromance here?”
“’Bout a year,” Lopez said. “I was doing the Brooklyn thing for a while, but got sick of looking at all the hipsters. There was a spot in Luc’s precinct, so…”
“Only a year?” Ava asked, genuinely surprised. She’d assumed that they’d been together since the police academy, not only because of their easy relationship, but because Luc had never mentioned having any other partner.
“Who was your partner before this?” she asked Luc.
If she thought she’d seen Luc Moretti’s emotional shutters slam down before, it was nothing like the ice-cold shutdown she was witnessing now. His eyes went cold and dead before he pushed his chair back. “I’ll get us another round.”
“Oh God,” Ava said, horror flooding her as she put the pieces together.
She turned to Sawyer.
“When you said a spot in Luc’s precinct opened up, you meant that…”
“Mike Jensen,” Lopez said, his face uncharacteristically somber. “I didn’t know him, but he and Luc were solid partners, you know? Luc knew his wife and kid and everything.”
For a second, Ava’s mind caught on the name, because Mike Jensen sounded familiar for some reason, but that thought was flooded by the horribleness of the reality as she put the pieces together.
Luc’s former partner had died.
“What happened?” she asked quietly.
Sawyer opened his mouth but hesitated, his eyes searching her face as though looking for something and finding her lacking. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“He doesn’t exactly look like he wants to talk about it,” she said, her eyes finding Luc’s broad back at the bar as he waited to get the bartender’s attention.
Only after Luc had returned to the table and let Sawyer coax him into a good-natured argument on Mets (Sawyer) vs. Yankees (Luc) did Ava realize why the name Mike Jensen was so familiar.
It was the name of the officer killed in the Shayna Johnson case.
The one whose death had gotten the barest mention in the media coverage, as though the newsperson on duty had been reporting the weather instead of an officer who’d died in the line of fire.
There was no doubt that Luc Moretti was very, very wrapped up in the Shayna Johnson case, and she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to talk about it.
But the question was…
Why was it nobody else seemed to have talked about it either?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I still don’t understand how the hell you got her phone number,” Luc said, pushing his fingers to his temples and trying to assess whether the urge to yell at his own grandmother was a first-class ticket to hell or not.
“You’re scowling, Luca,” Nonna said, patting his shoulder before starting to unroll her yoga mat.
“Damn straight I’m scowling!”
“Here, why don’t we do some nice yoga together; it will improve your demeanor,” she said.
“You know what else would improve my demeanor? You undoing your handiwork.”
“I know not to what you refer,” she said before standing on one leg and crossing her other foot over her knee with rather remarkable balance for an eighty-something woman.
“You know damn well to what I refer. The fact that Sims just texted me and said they were running thirty minutes late but should be here within the hour.”
“Sims?” his grandmother said, her dark brown eyes all cloudy confusion.
“Ava,” he ground out.
Nonna’s responding smirk told him she’d known all along what Ava’s last name was and had just wanted to call the wily reporter by her first name.
She dropped into a yoga pose and Luc growled before going to the fridge for a beer. It was only two o’clock, but he had the day off and he was sure as hell going to need it when the cavalry arrived with cameras to his house.
“I thought the home was supposed to be a sacred thing, Nonna,” he said, leaning against the counter. “Isn’t that like an old Italian proverb or something?”
“If it is, I’ve never heard of that damn-fool nonsense. But you know what is an Italian proverb? A good lay with a pretty brunette will make you less irritable.”
“That’s not a fucking proverb,” he muttered.
It was true though.
Very true.
It had been over a week since he’d kissed Ava at her apartment, and although things between them had been friendly enough, it was harder than ever to be around her without touching her.
Even Lopez had noticed.
Not only had he sent Luc a variety of links on cures for blue balls, but he had also backed off his own flirting with Ava, along with a solemn “dicks before chicks” proclamation, which had just sounded plain wrong.
His grandmother rolled out of an awkward crab-like position and looked him over. “You should change.”
Luc glanced down at his jeans and white T-shirt. “Into what?”
“Your uniform.”
“Hell no. It’s my day off. The only day where I don’t have to let polyester anywhere near my skin.”
“Well at least wear your badge.”
“Nope.”
“But you’re carrying, right? Let her see your bulge.”
He gave her a look. “Nonna.”
She heaved out a sigh and glanced at the clock behind his head. “Fine. Doesn’t matter anyway. Anthony should be here any minute, and he’ll be in uniform. Your Ava can fawn over him.”
“She’s not my Ava,” he said, tipping the beer bottle back.
He sure wanted her to be, though.
As though he’d heard his name, Luc’s older brother trudged through the front door, taking in the yoga mat and the beer in Luc’s hand before nodding his chin toward the fridge.
Luc was one step ahead of him, already pulling the cap off the beer as Anthony went to the safe where they locked their weapons when off duty.
“You may want to stay armed,” Luc said, handing his brother the beer. “Your grandmother has invited the CBC sharks into our home to film how cops live, or some shit.”
“I heard,” Anthony said, taking a long pull on the beer.
“And you still came home?”
His brother grunted. “Turns out the family interference? Not limited to our lovely grandmother. Also, Nonna, please stop…I’m not taking you to urgent care for a pulled groin again. Anyway, Nonna got the parents in on this. Da
d called in some favors, got me the afternoon off so I could be here for the, quote, family affair.”
“Jesus,” Luc muttered. “Do you think we should get matching sweaters and pose in front of the mantel?”
Nonna clamped her hands together in delight. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I wish I would have known, I used to knit…”
“Oh, that’s right. You finished a coaster once, didn’t you?”
His grandmother was already rolling up her yoga mat. “What color lipstick do you think I should wear? Classic red or shocking orange. I’m thinking orange. Also, have either of you seen my push-up bra? I’m worried I left it at Ned’s house.”
Neither brother responded, and Anthony very slowly turned his head to look at Luc. “She belongs in a home. One with bars on the window.”
“I’m beginning to think the Manhattan zip code isn’t worth this,” Luc muttered.
“Nothing is worth this,” Anthony said, watching in horror as Nonna made a puckering motion in the mirror and applied coral lipstick before trying to plump her nonexistent cleavage.
A knock at the door ended Nonna’s primping, but it launched Luc into a whole other kind of hell. One where the woman he wanted so much it hurt would be in his bedroom.
And not in the kind of way that would end with her on her back on the bed. Or on her knees. Or, hell, he’d take Ava Sims just about any way he could get her.
The sight on the other side of the door reminded him of every reason why he couldn’t back her against the wall and inch up her tight skirt.
It wasn’t just Ava.
It was Ava and two men with hefty cameras on their shoulders.
Luc nodded at Mihail. The other guy wasn’t familiar, but he stuck out a hand with a curt, “Tom.”
Finally Luc let himself look at Ava, but she’d already scooted past him and was laughing like crazy at something his brother had said.
Damn it.
Maybe Nonna was right; he should have put on his uniform.
For all of Ava’s posturing about how men in uniform didn’t do it for her, she was certainly doing an awful lot of simpering over his older brother.
As though reading his thoughts, Nonna caught his eye and made a pistol gesture with her fingers, mouthing get your gun, before doing some Wild West twirl thing and tucking it into her belt.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Thanks so much for inviting us to your home, Mrs. Moretti,” Ava was saying to a gloating Nonna.
“It was Luca’s idea,” his grandmother said, eyes all wide and innocent. “I just asked since he’s so shy.”
Anthony snorted and Ava arched a dark eyebrow. “Shy?”
“Luca, why don’t you show Ava your bedroom?”
“Sure. Nonna. Did you leave the condoms on the nightstand like I asked?”
“Luc!” Ava looked scandalized, but his grandmother hooted.
“I can show you my bedroom,” Anthony said, giving Ava a wink.
A wink.
Anthony was fucking winking now.
Luc dropped his chin to his chest in defeat. “Hey, Mihail?”
“Yeah?” The spindly cameraman paused in the process of setting up his equipment, looking surprised to be addressed.
“If I tell you where my gun is and how to get to it, do you think we could have a safe word, and if this keeps up, you put me out of my misery?”
Mihail reached into his pocket, fished out a yellow gummy worm, and chewed thoughtfully. The man actually looked serious.
“No guns,” Ava said in her bossy voice. “Anthony, stop flirting, Nonna quit interfering, Luc, remove stick from ass—”
“I don’t—”
Ava charged again, refusing to be interrupted. “For the next thirty minutes, I’m in charge, and you’re all going to be damn glad for that because I can get us out of this quickly. Okay?”
She looked expectedly around the room, waiting for someone to argue, but nobody did.
Luc wanted to argue, but he’d gotten kind of distracted by wondering if she was that bossy in bed, and how he would feel about it if she were.
Her eyes collided with his, and Luc decided. He would feel good about it. Very good.
She gave him a narrow-eyed look before clapping her hands together and starting to point every which way and shouting out orders.
Luc dimly listened as she began barking out commands, some of which were probably to him, but mostly he just watched her.
Her hair was pulled back into another of those high ponytails she seemed to favor, and her skirt was a bright poppy red that made her butt look pert and perfect. The white blouse would have been demure had it not hugged her small waist perfectly.
The shoes, though…those shoes just about undid him. Tall and the same color as her skirt, the high heels practically screamed at him to bend her over the counter and take her from behind.
Luc ran a hand over his face. Had he really thought the worst part of this whole CBC story was going to be having his privacy destroyed?
Because the sexual frustration was much, much worse.
Ava shooed all of the Morettis into the kitchen. “We’ll do a couple off-the-cuff interviews next, sort of let people see you in your natural habitat, but first I want to just get the home. It has a great old-school charm, and viewers will love that there’ve been three generations of cops to come out of here.”
She and the camera guys started talking techy, and once again Luc resumed watching her, noticing for the first time how tiny her earlobes were. Cute. The woman had cute earlobes.
“Told ya,” he heard Nonna stage-whisper to Anthony.
“I’m appalled to admit it, but I think you’re right.” Anthony’s voice was thoughtful.
Luc cut them a look. “Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?”
“Just that I can’t wait to be an uncle,” Anthony said.
“It doesn’t even matter that she’s not Italian,” Nonna said in a hushed voice. “She has dark hair and dark eyes so we’ll just lie. We can change her last name. I know someone.”
Luc tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling.
“Try to talk her into it tonight, Luca. Oh, and find out if she’s Catholic, would you? I suppose we could lie about that too, although I don’t know how Jesus would feel about that…”
“He’ll probably feel okay about it, but you should light a few extra candles just in case. As soon as possible,” Anthony said, patting his grandmother on the shoulder.
Ava was positioning herself in the doorway, and Luc could tell by the straight set of her shoulders that they were about to start filming.
Luc held up a finger and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Hold on. Nonna, what did you mean talk her into it tonight? Our place isn’t that big. This should take an hour, tops.”
For the first time, his grandmother looked guilty, and if Nonna looked guilty, it meant she’d pushed waaaay past the limits of appropriate.
“I may have suggested that she join us for a family get-together at Lombardi’s,” Nonna said.
Anthony frowned. “This is the first I’m hearing of it. Why does nobody tell me anything?”
Luc gave his brother a withering look, and Anthony’s mouth dropped open for a second before giving an understanding nod. “There is no family dinner, is there?”
Nonna held up her hands in an innocent gesture. “Everyone else was busy.”
“Oh, so if I text Vincent and Mom and Dad and Elena, they’ll all confirm they knew about this?” Luc asked innocently, pulling his cell phone out of his back pocket.
Nonna snatched the phone away. “Take the girl to dinner, Luca. I need her uterus for grandbabies.”
“Not at all creepy,” Anthony said, quietly opening the fridge and grabbing another beer.
Luc shifted slightly, his gaze finding Ava just as she finished up her opening monologue about a “home in the heart of Manhattan.”
As though sensing his gaze, she turned and met his eyes with
a private smile.
“What did Ava say when you mentioned the dinner?” Luc asked his grandmother.
“She asked if you knew about it. If it was your idea.”
“What did you say?”
“I lied, of course. Told her that it was all your doing. I also might have mentioned that I thought I heard you say her name when you were napping on the couch the other day.”
Luc frowned. “I haven’t napped on the couch in months.”
His grandmother shrugged. “Might have lied about that too.”
Luc watched as Ava gestured the cameramen into his bedroom for God only knows what kind of assessment, only to see her emerge several seconds later looking confused.
Luc nearly choked when he saw what was in her hand.
It was a framed picture of Ava. A publicity shot, if the posed, wide smile was any indication. He’d never seen it before, and yet the picture had come from his bedroom.
Very slowly he turned to look at his grandma. “Nonna…”
“I know,” his grandmother said on a heavy sigh. “I should light all the candles when I stop by church.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Taking her stilettos off when she got home every evening was the highlight of Ava’s day.
Taking her stilettos off at the end of a Friday, signaling the start of two whole days of flip-flops, sweatpants, and damp ponytails, makeup optional?
That was the highlight of her week.
Ava had this routine down pat.
The high heels were off before she even made it through the door.
She stopped in the kitchen just long enough to drop her bag on the counter, pour herself a hefty glass of wine, and then head to the closet for a moment that was almost as good as kicking her work shoes…
Yoga pants.
It was always tempting to leave her work clothes in a messy pile on the bedroom floor. Maybe to teach them a lesson about being binding and damned uncomfortable.
But since dry-cleaning bills were expensive as heck in the city, for the most part she tried to keep things looking nice for as long as possible.
“Look at you, being all boring and shit,” she said to her charcoal wool pants as she carefully folded them along the crease and looped them over the hanger. “I bet you have no friends.”
