by S. J. Drum
The next thing Lucy knew, she was sitting in her parked car outside of her own apartment, the sky having grown dark. She must have driven there on autopilot and sat unmoving for some time before coming back to herself. She wasn’t sure how she felt about what she’d seen now that she knew Dalton hadn’t been abusing the woman, at least not against her will.
It wasn’t Lucy’s place to judge and she wasn’t exactly an innocent herself. Still, with her history, the sight of his hand coming down on the woman’s flesh, the sound of impact, the tangible tension in the air, had thrown her back into the open arms of memories she wished like hell she could learn to repress. Healthy or not, repressed memories seemed a damn sight better to Lucy than memories that stalked and pounced regularly and without warning.
She climbed the steps to her apartment, unlocked the door and entered, tossing her purse on the small side table inside the door. She collapsed onto the sofa in the living room and ran a weary hand over her hair, tugging the band off and loosening the curls. Trying to find a small bit of peace in one of the most fucked-up days she’d had in the past few months, she slumped back into the overstuffed cushions.
Her cell phone rang and without thought she answered.
* * * * *
Rachel’s pretty blue eyes turned sharp and cold as she jerked her dress over her head. She cut her furious gaze toward Dalton and strangely he couldn’t muster an ounce of regret over the premature end to their games tonight. Even his dick seemed to agree, now wilted with all the emotional turmoil Dalton was busy fighting through.
Damn it. Why the hell did Lucy, of all people, decide to walk up to my back door? Did she knock and I just didn’t hear her? Maybe…
“I knew you should have closed the stupid door. Who was that woman?” Now dressed, Rachel strode forward to stand directly under Dalton’s nose.
“Just someone I did a job for.” He had no intention of getting into the whys and hows of Lucy with his fuck buddy.
“Well, someone should teach her some manners.” Rachel huffed and stomped her foot.
The indignant stomp brought a crooked smile to Dalton’s lips, though he didn’t find the situation funny in the least. “There’s no need to be jealous.”
“You’re not sleeping with her then?”
He raised a brow at the question. “You’ve no need to be jealous because you and I are not exclusive. You’ve always known the rules, don’t pretend like you’ve forgotten them now.”
A flush worked over the pale ivory of her skin and for once, it did nothing to stir him. He scrubbed a rough hand down his face, pissed he’d somehow lost control of the entire evening and worried Lucy was somewhere thinking God-only-knew-what about the scene she’d walked in on.
“You’re being an ass, Dalton.”
He leaned his back against the wall and crossed his arms over his bare chest, just wanting Rachel gone already so he could deal with the aftermath.
“I don’t know why I put up with your crap,” Rachel continued to rant. Her gaze strayed to the bulge of muscles created by his crossed arms, down to his hard stomach which was taut from his reclining stance. “But, I’ll give you one chance to make this up to me. Tomorrow night, six o’clock, my place. If you’re not there, don’t bother calling me again. We’re through.”
He watched her curvy hips move toward the still open back door.
She paused before turning to speak over her shoulder. “Oh, and don’t forget to pick up the cookies Little Miss Prude dropped on her way out.”
With a smirk, she spun on her ridiculous high heels and disappeared through the doorway.
Dalton pushed away from the wall and approached the scattered remains of the cracked ceramic tray and its cookie passengers just outside his back door. Feeling a knot tighten his throat, he moved toward the mess with tentative steps more appropriate for sneaking up on a wild animal than the task at hand. With one hand braced on the screen door to hold it open, he stared at the broken cookies, failing to come up with a reason why Lucy would be bringing him anything, especially something she’d made herself.
The sound of Rachel’s car revving and speeding down the road was an unwelcome intrusion, snapping him into motion. He knelt and began stacking the mangled chocolate chip cookies onto the largest intact piece of the ceramic dish. Once he’d gathered all he could fit onto the heavy shard, he lifted it, intending to carry it to the trash. A flash of neon yellow beneath the dish made him pause. Balancing the tower of cookies and ceramic on one hand, he grabbed the post-it and held it up to the light streaming out from the kitchen.
“Dalton, Thanks for working so hard and getting my new office done so fast. Love, Lucy.”
“Well, shit,” he muttered, moving into the kitchen.
He sat the note on the table before cleaning the rest of the mess. Once everything was inside the garbage can, he hooked a heel around the leg of a kitchen chair and pulled it away from the table. He slumped into the chair and read the handwritten note again. Why does this sound familiar? “…working so hard and getting done so fast.”
It hit him then, the memory of him asking Rachel how she wanted to be fucked and her replying she wanted it hard and fast. Damn, he hoped Lucy hadn’t been standing on his doorstep long enough to have heard that.
Dalton slammed both hands on the table in frustration. How had his night twisted into something so epically screwed up? He crumbled the yellow post-it note in his fist, releasing a tempting taste of Lucy’s scent. Citrus, like lemonade and sunshine and everything heartwarming.
He had to fix this. Somehow…
Standing, he shoved the crumpled note in the back pocket of his jeans. He took the steps to his bedroom three at a time, swiped a shirt off his dresser and tugged a pair of cowboy boots onto his feet without worrying about socks. After jogging back down the stairs, he swiped his keys from the hook by the front door and raced to his truck.
I’ll just go over there. I’ll go see Lucy and explain… Well, hell. What can I say? That I wasn’t doing what she thought I was doing? He huffed a self-deprecating laugh. Not likely. No, I’ll just tell her how sorry I am for upsetting her and wait for her to slap me for offending her delicate sensibilities. Or knee me in the balls. Either way, I’ll let her vent and then smooth things over. It’ll work. It has to work.
Dalton didn’t entirely understand the reason why he was doing fifty in a thirty-five-mile-per-hour zone through the small town of Clifton simply to reach Lucy’s apartment. The curvy redhead sparked feelings inside of him Dalton was sure he’d stomped out years ago. Thinking about her never wanting to see him again was… He shook off the unwelcome emotion and instead, concentrated on driving.
When he pulled into the small gravel parking lot next to the Victorian house where Lucy lived, he realized he had no idea which apartment was hers. The house was divided into four units. His eyes narrowed, taking in the big building. A light was on in a lower unit and one upper unit was lit up like a Christmas tree. Lucy’s car had been parked in the lot so he assumed she was inside one of the two apartments which appeared to have someone home.
He climbed out of his truck, deciding to try the apartment on the first floor. If it wasn’t hers, the person could tell him which one belonged to Lucy. As he neared the door, fist raised to knock, a sound had him glancing up. The door to the second story apartment, the one glowing with what must be every light in the place turned on, was thrown open. He stepped back out from under the narrow overhang to see who had opened the door.
Dalton had barely cleared the overhang when a hard, black projectile came flying at his head.
“Bastard!” A feminine voice screeched.
He registered the voice as belonging to Lucy a second before he was hit smack dab in the middle of his forehead with a thin cell phone. He stumbled back a step, cursing and wishing he’d tried harder to avoid the damn thing instead of trying to see who had thrown it.
He heard a thump and then muffled words ending on a sob.
“I’ll n
ever get away from him. He won’t stop until I’m dead.”
Forgetting his bruised face and the cracked cell phone lying at his feet, Dalton raced for the stairs leading to the apartment above him. When he reached the top, he spotted Lucy sitting in the doorway, a silhouette of vulnerability against the backdrop of bright lights from within her apartment. Her back was pressed against the door jamb, her knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped tightly around them.
Another sob escaped her and before he could stop himself, Dalton was scooping her into his arms and carrying her inside. “It’ll be all right, Lucy. Whatever is happening, I’ll help you.”
She shook her head against his chest, his shirt growing damp from her tears. “You can’t help me. No one can help me. He won’t stop hurting me until he’s killed me. He told me a hundred times but I thought…”
Rage welled in Dalton’s blood. Someone had hurt this soft, sweet woman? “Who?” he growled. “Who hurt you, Lucy?”
After swallowing hard a couple of times and seeming to debate whether she would answer or not, Lucy whispered, “Ross.”
“Who is Ross?”
“My ex-husband.”
“How did he hurt you? Why are you so upset?” Dalton ran a comforting hand over her mass of fiery-red curls.
A heart-wrenching laugh devoid of all humor escaped Lucy. “Hurt me? According to me, my scars and a file full of hospital records? Or according to Ross, the cop and my loving parents who tried to have me committed when I went to them for help?”
Dalton ground his teeth together, trying to keep his body language calm though he felt anything but calm on the inside. “Why did you launch your phone out the door? Did he call you?”
She nodded. “I don’t understand how. I’ve changed my number, I moved without leaving a forwarding address except to a post office box twenty miles away, I told no one where I was going. How did he find me?”
She trembled against him and Dalton instinctively held her closer. “Stop crying, sweetheart. I won’t let him hurt you anymore. Whatever I have to do to keep you safe, I’ll do it.”
Lucy looked up at him, blinking tears out of her sad gray eyes, eyes which seemed to change along with her emotions. “Why would you help me?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He brushed his thumb over her flushed cheek. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have it figured out.”
Chapter Four
Lucy stiffened, her fear of Ross doused by the realization she was cradled in the lap of man she’d recently caught doing something very rough and sexual with another woman.
She tried to calm her racing heart by drawing a deep breath but all she got for her effort was an intoxicating dose of Dalton’s scent. Leather and sawdust and soap. Her nipples hardened and she squirmed against him, unsure if she was trying to escape or pull closer. He wrapped his arms more snugly around her and she caught another scent, one which didn’t belong on him. A decidedly feminine scent. Strawberries.
The lingering perfume of the bondage-loving blonde she’d seen bent over Dalton’s kitchen table brought Lucy back down to earth like a sharp slap to the face. In her bid to get far, far away from the man and her conflicted feelings, she pushed herself out of his arms and onto her feet so quickly she almost landed on her ass.
Smoothing her palms down the front of her shirt, as if removing the wrinkles would wipe away her confusion and embarrassment, she peeked at Dalton from under her lashes. A frown marred his handsome face and his brows were drawn together, making him look angry.
Lucy took a step back, an immediate reaction to the perceived danger. He watched her retreat, his blue eyes narrowed. Coming to some conclusion, Dalton relaxed back onto the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him and throwing one ankle over the other.
She was grateful he understood the problem so quickly and was now trying to make himself look like any normal, relaxed, harmless man. While she appreciated his thoughtfulness, she also felt a suffocating wave of disgust at the way she automatically treated everyone like a potential attacker. For Christ’s sake, she skittered away like a frightened rabbit at the sight of a damn frown.
Clenching her fists at her sides and forcing herself to regain the step she’d lost, she met his eyes and tried to force a confidence into her expression she didn’t feel. “I’m sorry I interrupted your date. I just wanted to thank you for the work you did on my office. Please apologize to your girlfriend for me. I never would have come around to the back door but I heard sounds and thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”
Before he could respond, she spun on her heel and marched into the kitchen. After grabbing one of the ice packs she kept in the freezer, she returned to where he still sat sprawled on her couch. “Here.” She thrust the ice pack toward him. “I’m sorry about nailing you in the head with my cell phone.”
Slowly, Dalton reached out with one large hand, took the ice pack and pressed it to the goose egg welling on his forehead.
Lucy stared at the small couch, then turned and moved to the armchair, the only piece of habitable furniture in the room. With Dalton’s delicious body draped over the couch, even sitting on the opposite end would bring her temptingly close to him. She started to sit but halted halfway when he spoke.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
After pausing with her butt hovering in midair and her mouth hanging open—what an eloquent picture—she forced herself to sit and lean back in the chair. “Did you just say that woman isn’t your girlfriend?”
A muscle worked in his jaw but his posture remained relaxed, almost forcibly so.
“If she isn’t your girlfriend, what is she?”
Oh god, don’t let him say hooker. Lucy had no idea where one would find a…sexually alternative partner. Probably not in the Yellow Pages. No doubt there could be a whole seedy underworld of people who were into all kinds of weird things. It wasn’t out of the question that the blonde may have been a professional of some sort.
“Rachel is more of an acquaintance. We have a mutual agreement, I guess you could say.”
Lucy’s brows rose toward her hairline, unsure how to respond.
Dalton took her expression to mean she hadn’t understood his meaning. “She’s my fuck buddy, okay? We’re not a couple. We just have sex.” He scrubbed a hand over his close-shaved hair.
Suddenly Lucy found the entire situation incredibly funny. She burst out laughing, then laughed harder when Dalton looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. “I know what a fuck buddy is, Dalton. God, you should see the look on your face.” She wiped at her eyes. “I’ve never had one, but I do grasp the concept.”
“Why were you so upset when you walked in on us? It seemed like something more than just being startled to find two barely clothed people.”
With a sigh, she let her shoulders slump. “I thought you were beating her,” she admitted, studying her toes instead of meeting his gaze.
He was quiet for a moment before asking, “And you were going to stop me?”
Her eyes snapped to meet his. “I don’t know what I would have done. All I knew was there was no way I could turn around and walk away.” Her voice grew stronger. “If you’re aware of someone being abused and you do nothing to stop it, you’re just as culpable for the crime as the person committing it.” Looking away, she added in a softer voice, “I know what it’s like to hope and pray for help that never comes.”
Dalton was on his knees in front of her before she drew her next breath. He wrapped his strong hands around hers and said nothing until she reluctantly met his gaze. “You’re a very brave woman, Lucy.”
She huffed a laugh. “Yeah, right. I’m a coward. I’m scared of everything.”
“Being scared doesn’t make you a coward. Bravery is when you’re scared to death of something but you do it anyway, because it’s the right thing to do.”
Uncomfortable and unused to praise, she shifted in her seat. “I guess you’re right.” She shrugged. “I
’ve always been better at protecting others than protecting myself.”
His blue eyes heated with a fierce light, his grip tightened on her hands. “If your ex-husband is threatening you, you need to call the police.”
“It won’t do any good, trust me.”
“Why? You have to report him, Lucy. He’s obviously a dangerous man. You said he’s put you in the hospital more than once. I understand there’s some psychology behind battered women not wanting to report their abusers but—”
She jerked her hands from his grip, furious. “It won’t do any good because he’s a fucking cop! Don’t you think I wanted to report him? Who would have taken my statement, huh? One of his buddies down at the precinct? His damned brother who works there too?” Overtaken by anger at the accusation she hadn’t tried hard enough to stop the bastard from hurting her—like she didn’t fight those thoughts inside her head every single day—she placed her hands on Dalton’s shoulders and leaned close. “Or should I have went to the police chief, who golfs every Wednesday with Ross and once cornered me at a police benefit event and told me that Ross is a good man and if I were a better wife, like the women ‘in his day’, I wouldn’t wind up with so many black eyes.”
All but snarling the last words, she gave Dalton a shove, sending him sprawling flat on his ass in her living room, an astonished look on his face.
Lucy had no idea where the violence had come from. She’d never gotten physical with anyone, she hadn’t ever done more than try to protect her face and ribs when Ross had come at her. She certainly hadn’t pushed him in a fit of anger. Realizing she’d provoked a man twice her size, she jumped up and made to run, planning to lock herself inside the bedroom. Getting a door between her and him sounded like a great idea right then.
She made it two steps before an arm curled around her waist like a steel band. She started to scream, struggling in earnest when a hand clamped over her mouth. Panic made her vision narrow to a tunnel. Blackness crept in, blocking out reality and dragging her into the past.
