All for You

by Dana Marie Bell

  She stared at him for a moment, and then she grabbed hold of his wrinkled shirt and pulled him into her home. “I hope you like chicken burritos and rice, because that’s what you’re eating tonight. I’ll help you back to your place after I’ve fed you.” He collapsed, boneless, into one of her armchairs.

  Damn. The last time he’d been this weary he’d had Sasha to blame. Stupid Edinburgh-pub-crawling asshat. He’d never had a worse hangover in his damn life, but it had helped take his mind off the loss of Fiona.

  She brought him a glass of cola and he sipped it gratefully. “Bless you, woman.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me. I always exercise a little before dinner, and you caught me in the middle. My therapists said it’s good for me.” She waved her hand awkwardly. “Just...chill. I’ll be done soon.”

  She waited until he nodded before moving into the cleared space by the sliding glass doors that led to her deck. She watched him, waiting until his eyes closed wearily before she restarted her music. He stared at her through his lashes, entranced, as she moved gracefully through a series of yoga moves that left him hard, aching and wide awake.

  He’d never watched someone do yoga to soft rock before. Usually he associated it with new age music. He found himself entranced at the way her body shifted, gliding effortlessly from one pose to another. There was strength in her movements, her stomach and leg muscles rippling with effort. The scars on her lower back and arm accentuated her quiet strength.

  She was seducing him, and she hadn’t even looked at him.

  The music changed again, quicker than what she’d moved to before, and seemed to signal the end of her routine, because her eyes opened and she smiled at him, her breathing rapid.

  “You hungry?” she panted.

  “Starving,” he replied. A flush crept up her face, and her gaze fell from his as she moved away. He affected her, and the realization sent a shock of adrenaline through his system. Trish had been right. Abby wanted him. “Do you want something stronger than soda?” Her voice drifted from the vicinity of her bedroom.

  “God, yes. Thanks.” He could hear the soft sound of cloth on skin, and pictured her undressing. Now that he knew she had an incredible shape, it was easy to fill in the blanks. He felt his body tighten in response. The only question that haunted him now was what color her nipples would be. He could torture himself for days with that thought alone.

  “Well, the only thing I have is sangria. Is that okay?”

  “The wine with the fruit in it?”

  “Yes.” He could hear her opening up closets and drawers, probably rummaging about for another oversize plaid shirt. Not that it would do any good. He knew what she was hiding, and the image was burned into his soul.

  “That sounds fantastic. Thanks.” He found the energy to stand, the scent of burritos causing his stomach to rumble loudly. He found the wineglasses and pulled two out.

  “I have the wine.” He turned and watched her open the bottle. She’d put on a huge red plaid shirt with gray tights. She grabbed some fruit out of the refrigerator and began cutting it, gesturing for the glasses when she was done. She placed the fruit inside and poured the wine in. She picked up her glass and took a sip, handing him his as she did so.

  “Go sit. I’ll get dinner on the table. You really do seem exhausted, Seth.” The concern in her gaze touched him.

  “I look like hell, huh?” He smiled ruefully, willing her to open up to him, to trust him.

  “Well, let’s just say you wouldn’t get the cover of a magazine right now.” He caught sight of her grin before she bowed her head, hiding it behind the fall of her hair.

  He snorted a laugh, moving back to the comfort of her armchair. The combination of the wine, the heat of the oven and the soft music had him nearly asleep by the time the food was on the table.

  “Seth? Dinner’s ready.” He opened his eyes to see her bending over him, her expression concerned. When had he nodded off? “You should eat something before you pass out. Again.”

  He followed her to the table, the enticing aroma making his stomach growl. “Thank you, Abby. I probably would have collapsed on the floor instead of eating if I hadn’t come here.” He propped his chin on his hands and studied her, hoping he wasn’t about to drive her back into her shell. “I’d like to make it up to you, if that’s okay.”

  That charming blush crept up her cheeks again. “It’s okay. What are neighbors for?”

  He did his best to sound casual, but he wanted her to say yes in the worst way. “I appreciate that, but I’d really like the opportunity to repay you.” He smiled. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

  “As a neighbor?” That charming blush deepened.

  He hoped she’d pick up on his desire to be more than neighborly. “If that’s what you want. I’d prefer as a date.”

  If her face turned any darker he’d have to call Rafe for a healing, but her smile was wide and beyond happy. Her chin tilted up bravely, and he realized that this might be the first date she’d been on since she was injured. “I’d like that.”

  “Is Saturday good for you?” He’d have time to get some things cleared up, give her time to get used to the idea that they’d be seeing each other again. He figured if she were going to panic, she’d call Trish. Hell, he’d call Trish and ask her to take care of any nerves Abby might have.

  “Sunday would be better. I work all day Saturday, but only a few hours on Sunday.”

  He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, enjoying the way she trembled in his grasp. “Then it’s a date.”

  She bit her lip, her nervous excitement practically vibrating around her. “It is.”

  He silently thanked Gabriel for assigning him to Abby. If he hadn’t, Seth would never have gotten this chance to know her again.

  * * *

  The rest of the week seemed to float by for Abby. She found herself back on the highway Sunday afternoon, headed for home before she knew it, her clients just a jumbled memory of perms and foils. All she could think about was the fact that Seth wanted to see her again.

  The Seth van Licht wanted to take her out on a date. A date. She hadn’t been on one since... Well. Best not to think of that. Better to think of stormy eyes and warm smiles.

  He’d seen her scars, and he still wanted to go out with her. She was this close to fangirl-type squealing.

  She needed to get hold of Trish. She had no idea what to wear for a first date with her dream man. She wasn’t certain there was anything in her closet worthy of a first date with Seth freakin’ van Licht.

  She let herself into her town house, barely holding back the urge to go over to Seth’s and see what he was doing. Their date was coming in a few hours, and she’d picked up the cutest little skirt to wear, but now she was second-guessing herself. Maybe she should go with jeans and that pretty peasant blouse Bill had gotten her for her birthday?

  She was bouncing on her toes, eager and scared at the same time. She hadn’t felt like this since she was a kid, and damn if it wasn’t Seth doing it to her all over again. She could hardly wait to see him. She practically danced up the stairs to her bedroom like an eager teenager, ready and eager to go out with him. She turned on the lights—

  She dropped her purse with a scream. There were rose petals all over her bedspread. Red rose petals. The pillows were drowning in them. And, on the mirror of her dresser, was a note written in red lipstick:

  For you, my love.

  Slowly, her hands shaking, Abby reached for the phone and dialed 911.

  “Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice was cool and efficient.

  “My...my house has been broken into.” She was shaking so badly she was surprised she made any sense.

  “Okay. What’s your name?”

  “Abigail Marcheson.”

  “And your address?”

  Abby rattled off her address. She couldn’t move. She was afraid if she did, she’d fall, or start screaming.

  For you, my
love.

  “Are you related to Officer Bill Marcheson?”

  “He’s my brother.”

  “I’ll put a call in to him. Do you have any reason to believe the intruder could still be present?”

  Abby whimpered. God, she hoped not. She strained her ears, listening for anything that sounded out of place. “I don’t—” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t think so.”

  Let him be gone. Please, God, let him be long gone.

  “Where are you now?”

  “The bedroom. It’s...damaged.”

  “The intruder did something to your bedroom?”

  Didn’t she just say that? “Yeah.”

  “I need you to not touch anything. Can you do that for me?”

  Like she wanted to touch anything that sick fuck had left behind. “Okay. Please hurry.”

  She heard the dispatcher ask someone to call Bill and tried to breathe. “Can you leave the house?”

  No. No, she fucking could not, because she couldn’t fucking move. “No.”

  “Is there someone you can call to be with you?”

  She wanted to fling the phone at the goddamn words lipsticked on her mirror. “I’m using my phone to call you.”

  “Stay calm, ma’am. We’ve sent a patrol car to your home. Stay on the line with me until they arrive, okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” She might shake to pieces, but she wouldn’t hang up.

  “What color is your house, ma’am?”

  She blinked. “It’s a town house. It’s beige, like all the others.”

  “Okay. Some people change the siding on their town house in the older developments. Were all the doors locked?”

  “Um.” Abby tried to get her brain to work. “Yeah. I left for work around eight and I always make sure the doors are locked.”

  “You work on a Sunday?”

  “I’m a hairdresser, and the salon is open half a day on Sundays.”

  “Ah. Did anything appear out of place when you walked up to the house?”

  “No. No, I wouldn’t have come in if it had.” Why so many questions? And where were the fucking police? “Someone hurt me five years ago, nearly burned me alive. Trust me, I lock my doors.”

  “Okay, ma’am. I have to ask these things.” The operator’s voice had gone from calm and professional to sympathetic. “Do you think it could be the same man?”

  “No. He’s in jail, serving life without parole for murder.”

  “Are you certain he’s still in jail?”

  She grimaced. “No one contacted me to let me know he wasn’t, and it’s on his file to do so if he ever escapes.” If Doug ever got out, she planned on running for her life.

  Abby jumped as someone banged on her door. “Police, Ms. Marcheson.”

  Abby knees went weak. “They’re here.”

  “All right. Stay on the line until you’re with them, just to be safe. Can you do that?”

  She could so do that. “Yes.” She finally unlocked her knees enough to stumble toward the bedroom door. Going down the stairs proved harder than it should have, but she made it. She got the front door open to find her brother and a huge blond detective standing there. “My brother is here.”

  “Put him on, so I can verify the cops are there.”

  Abby handed the phone to Bill and promptly collapsed.

  * * *

  She’d fainted. She’d goddamn fainted from fear, and when she came to, Bill was equal parts concerned and livid.

  Someone had been in her home. Someone who knew about Doug.

  Uniformed cops tramped through her house for hours, taking prints and collecting evidence, but they told her that there wasn’t much they could do. There was no sign of forced entry, and all of her doors and windows had been locked.

  She overheard some of the cops talking. There were no unidentifiable fingerprints that they could find. Whoever had done this had been good, or as one of them implied, they’d had a key.

  A fucking key. She sat down hard on the sofa, bouncing a little. Abby knew everyone who had keys to her town house. None of them would do something like this. They were her friends, people she trusted. Family. No way any of them would torture her like this.

  They took the lipstick as evidence, as well as the rose petals and the roses. They took pictures of the mirror. They watched like hawks when the locksmith Bill called for changed all of her outer doors and handed her the new key. And then they left, saying they’d “keep an eye out.”

  “Abby? Come home with me.”

  Fuck no. “I’m not bringing this into your home.”

  “Abby.”

  He was using his cop voice, but that didn’t work on her. “I’m not bringing this to Trish.” If this was Doug... If he’d gotten out...

  No. She’d never let that sick asshole take another member of her family.

  Bill winced. “Then let me call someone to stay with you, okay?” When she started to shake her head he held up his hand. “Someone with no kids, no wife, and who you trust.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Someone I trust.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Okay, Bill.” She didn’t want a stranger in her home—a cop she didn’t know—but it was the only way Bill would leave.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d been scarred by the fire.

  Bill hugged her goodbye and walked toward the front door, already dialing. The huge blond cop smiled at her with warm brown eyes. “Take care, Ms. Marcheson.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded once and followed Bill out the door, shutting it quietly behind them.

  Abby listened to the silence in the empty town house and shivered. She’d never been so frightened in her life. She knew what Doug was capable of.

  For you, my love.

  The words frightened her more than the rose petals. Doug had used them frequently when he talked about his business dealings. How everything he did was for her. That someday, when they married, she’d be grateful. And when she dared to disagree...to tell him that it was for him and not her...

  She shivered. For you, my love.

  She curled up on the sofa, remembering the last time he’d hit her. He’d called her a bitch and a whore, told her that she wasn’t worth anything. He’d nearly beaten her to death, all because she’d told him she was leaving him.

  That wasn’t the worst thing he’d done to her.

  He hadn’t said a word as they led him out of the courtroom in handcuffs, convicted of first-degree murder, attempted murder, and arson. He’d just glared at her.

  If he ever got free he’d kill her.

  The unexpected knock at the door made her scream. Everything had been so quiet up until then that it sounded unnaturally loud. Shaking, she got to her feet. Hopefully it was a cop standing on her doorstep. She didn’t think she could handle much more tonight. She crept to the door like a frightened child and peered out the peephole.

  Seth. She stared at her watch, horrified. Shit. She’d forgotten to call him and cancel their date.

  But, God, it was good to see him. He stood there, scanning the parking lot as if he sensed something she couldn’t. She opened the door and found herself crushed in his arms, relaxing against him in spite of herself. His warmth began to chase away the chills. She buried her face in his chest and breathed deep, inhaling his scent. It soothed something deep inside her, let her truly breathe again. The shirt he wore was soft as silk and warm from his body. She bit her lip against a sudden flood of tears.

  For the first time that night she felt safe. Not even Bill’s presence calmed her the way Seth’s solid strength did.

  “Bill called me. I came over as fast as I could. I would have been here sooner, but I was at work. I had to fight to get away.” He pulled back slightly, studying her face with an intensity that should have scared her silly. Instead it made her feel cherished. “Are you all right?”

  She laughed, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “No.”

  “I can see that.” She clung to him
, her only rock in a sea of madness. He answered her silent plea and pushed her back into her town house, shutting the door behind him. Seth sat her down on her sofa, covered her in the bright gold throw she kept over it and moved into her kitchen. She could hear cupboards being open and closed. “Don’t you have anything stronger than sangria in here?”

  “No, not really. I’m not a heavy drinker.” Though after tonight, she could be.

  He brought her a glass of wine. “Drink while I pack.” He stalked off toward her stairway.

  She choked on her sip of wine. “Pack?”

  She heard him curse as he reached her bedroom. “You heard me.”

  “Um, if you don’t mind my asking, why do I need to pack?” She was terrified of staying here for the night, but where could she go? This was her home. There was no way she’d drag this sort of danger to Bill’s place, let alone her parents’. They’d finally rebuilt their lives. She wouldn’t mess that up again.

  “My place.” She could hear drawers opening up as he rifled through her clothing. He muttered something about her plaid shirts, and it didn’t sound complimentary.

  “Oh. That makes perfect sense.” She shook her head quickly. “Not. Why am I going to your place?”

  He walked back in with her suitcase repacked, and practically lifted her off the sofa. “Because I won’t be able to sleep a wink knowing that you’re alone in here, that’s why.” He marched her to her front door and held his hand out impatiently for the key.

  Did she trust him enough to hand over the key to her home, her sanctuary?

  But her sanctuary had been violated. Besides, she had to admit that she did trust him, or she’d never have allowed him inside in the first place.

  The determined expression on his face made her decision easier. She handed him her keys, nodding as he silently thanked her for her gift of trust with a smile that damn near melted her insides.

  Seth locked the door and made it quite clear he was guarding her on the short walk to his town house. He opened the door and went in first, his hand clamped around her wrist. He took a quick glance around and, apparently satisfied, closed and locked the door behind her. He put her suitcase down and headed for the kitchen to make coffee.