by Lauren Layne
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Anth said irritably. “She may not want me at all.”
Except she did want him. In the physical sense. She’d said so. And he wanted her just as much. More. Their bodies had been perfectly suited, and the way she’d responded to him, arched for him…
“I can’t wait to see this,” Luc said gleefully.
“We’re going to need popcorn,” Vincent said. “And maybe a video camera so we can record the moment…”
“What are you two clowns muttering about?” Anth asked, managing to pull his sex-addled mind away from the memory of how she’d felt beneath him.
“We’re talking, of course, about getting to watch you apologize,” Luca said.
“Pretty sure that’ll be a first, you apologizing,” Vin said, draining the last of his beer and glancing around for their server. “I’m thinking you’ll want to practice on us first, and I’ve got a long list of grievances with which you can start.”
“Fat. Fucking. Chance.” Anth stood, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a few bills, which he threw on the table. More than enough to cover another round for his brothers and the tip.
“You’re buying?” Luc asked in surprise. They generally had an unspoken agreement to split the tab equally. Leveled the playing field and allowed them to drink as brothers, not as cops with different ranks.
“Yeah,” Anth said tersely. It was as close as he would get to a thank-you for their not-so-gentle wake-up call. “But I’m not staying.”
He had serious amends to make.
Except not in the way his brothers thought. They wanted him to ask Maggie if she wanted a relationship, and perhaps he would—if he could figure out the words.
But they also assumed the answer Anthony was looking for was no. That she didn’t want a relationship.
They assumed right. If Maggie told him she wanted nothing more than a casual fling, it would be…great. Convenient. Perfect, even.
So why did his stomach feel tied up in knots at the thought?
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the week since the failed sting opp, and since Captain Moretti had discarded her like a pair of holey socks, Maggie had gotten more writing done than ever before.
Writing had always been a passion, but now it was like a fever. The words were flowing faster than she could get them onto the screen—she could literally see the story unfolding when she closed her eyes.
Her characters’ emotions were her emotions—their heartache her own.
Not that Anthony Moretti had broken her heart. Nothing so maudlin as that. But neither had he exactly, um, called her.
Nobody from the NYPD had, although the squad car continued to park outside her apartment every evening without fail. Her most frequent babysitters were Officer Jonas and Officer Corrigan who she’d found were actually quite lovely.
She’d started bringing them a slice of leftover pie from the diner whenever she brought some home, and they never said no. Judging from their twin bulging bellies, she was guessing “no” wasn’t something very often said when it came to baked goods.
They were kind, and friendly…and completely unnecessary.
Because Anthony wasn’t the only one that had completely forsaken her. Eddie too had apparently decided that she was no longer worth the effort. She’d kept an eye out for him. On the subway. On her walk home. Through the windows at the diner.
She was really, truly, alone.
Forgotten by men.
Fine. That was just fine.
Maggie shoved a tortilla chip in her mouth, then offered one to Duchess. She still had her dog.
And Elena had invited her tomorrow night to binge-watch some reality show Maggie had never even heard of, so she was on her way to making girlfriends again.
“We don’t need males, do we, baby?” She glanced down at the dog and offered her another chip. “Well, you certainly don’t, being spayed. And I don’t, because I’m strong, and independent and—”
There was a knock at the door.
She stuffed one last chip in her mouth, fully prepared for it to be the new neighbor next door. A cute twenty-something hipster who liked to stop by on a near nightly basis to see if she’d mind him playing the guitar.
It was considerate, and a little bit flattering considering she was pretty sure it was more a ploy to talk to her. She was far too old for him, and she suspected he knew it, but he was a little shy, and if he wanted to practice talking to women—hey—she could use the eye candy.
But it wasn’t the boy next door.
It was a man. A very somber, pissed-off-looking man.
“You really should tell your neighbors to make sure the front door is closed behind them,” he said irritably.
“So good to see you, Captain,” she said as he pushed past her into her apartment.
She wasn’t the least bit glad to see him, even if he did look yummy in his uniform.
Duchess, on the other hand, was making Maggie doubt her earlier assertion about the dog being spayed, because she was practically humping the man’s leg.
“She’s never been a great judge of character,” Maggie said, slamming the door with more force than necessary.
He was hunched down, sitting on his heels to pet the dog, but he glanced up at her then, his brown eyes unreadable. “You’re mad.”
She made a little whatever shrug. “I shouldn’t be, right? You told me it was just sex, I said the same. We had an agreement. Nobody got hurt.”
“You did.”
She went on high alert. “I didn’t.”
“Well, fine, you didn’t,” he snapped, standing so quickly and his tone so tense that Duchess gave him a baleful look and retreated to the bed, where more friendly company awaited in the form of her stuffed raccoon.
“Good, so we’re sorted then,” she said, moving toward the table where her manuscript sat on her computer, interrupted. “So glad you came over to chat about it.”
He glanced at her laptop. “You were writing.”
“Yes.”
“How’s it coming?”
She eyed him warily, wondering what his angle was. “Fine.”
He looked disappointed at her curt response, and she found herself softening slightly. “It’s actually coming along better than fine. I’m nearly done, and it feels…it feels really good,” she said, feeling just a little foolish.
He smiled then. A small smile, but a real one. “I’m glad. Can I…what part are you at?”
She started to tell him—wanted to tell him all about how her muse was on freaking fire—and how she’d taken the plunge and started researching literary agents that very afternoon, but then…
Then she remembered all of his constant reminders that he couldn’t do “this.” Didn’t want to.
Remembered the sting when he’d turned his back on her. Literally.
She shut her laptop with finality, seeing from the flicker of dismay on his face that he saw exactly what it was—a rejection.
“You don’t get to have it both ways,” she said quietly.
He shook his head, indicating he didn’t understand. Men.
“I mean you don’t get to tell me you’re only in it for no-strings-attached sex and then come by whenever you feel like it, pretending like you care.”
“I care.”
“Yeah?” she asked. “I didn’t really get the caring vibe when I sat on a cold park bench for a serial burglar to seek me out, and then didn’t get a glance much less a thank-you.”
He swallowed. “Yeah. About that.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
Anthony looked anywhere but at her, then blew out a long breath, before shrugging out of his jacket. “Got anything to drink?”
“No.”
His shoulders rolled, and she sensed he didn’t want the drink so much as a distraction. But then he surprised her by speaking plainly.
“The last serious girlfriend I had committed suicide.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
<
br /> Surprise had his head jerking back. “I swear to God, my damn family—”
“Cares about you,” she completed for him.
“Luc?” he asked.
“Elena,” she said. “She didn’t tell me in a gossipy way. I think she just wanted me to understand you.”
“Do you? Do you understand me?”
She thought about this. “Having a loved one—even a past loved one—end their life would affect anyone, but I think it would haunt someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“You take responsibility for everything. And everyone. Even if they’re not yours to assume responsibility for.”
“That’s not true.”
She smiled softly. “It’s so true. Your brothers and sister, perhaps, I can understand. Older sibling syndrome. I suffer from it a bit with Cory, although I’m less…controlling. But you do with your parents too; trying to limit your dad’s bacon intake, treating your mom like a delicate flower. And with your grandmother, making sure she doesn’t get too out of hand. And at work…I imagine you’ve been labeled a micromanager at work once or twice?”
His wince told her she’d hit the nail on the head, but she continued anyway. “But, Anth, what happened with Vannah…that wasn’t your fault. I imagine she was troubled long before you entered the scene.”
“She was my girlfriend,” he said quietly. “I should have seen—”
“How long were you dating?”
“Four months. Maybe a little less.” His answer was reluctant. Wary.
“And how serious were you? Living together?”
“No, but—”
“How many days a week did you see her? Seven?”
“No, once or twice during the week, and weekends, if I wasn’t working, but—”
“And when was the last time you saw her before she died?”
His eyes were shuttered. “Two months. Almost three.”
Maggie nodded. “Okay, so just so I’m clear…you dated this woman for less than four months, but it wasn’t serious. You saw her for a couple hours each week, and you’d in fact broken up—”
“I get where you’re going with this,” he interrupted. “You think my family hasn’t tried this exact same lecture a million times?”
She reached out, touched his arm softly, despite the fact that she was still a little angry. “Then maybe it’s time you start listening to us. We can’t all be wrong.”
“With all due respect, it doesn’t matter what you all think the situation was. Or should have been. She did blame me for her unhappiness, whether or not she was right to. She said as much in her note.”
“I know, but—”
“No, you don’t know,” he said, raising his voice. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have someone you once cared about dead of their own choosing? To learn that the reason they did it was because you never made time for them? That you cared about your job more than you cared about her? To have her say outright that she wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t broke up with her?”
Anth’s tone had resumed its monotone drone, but his eyes were agonized, and Maggie swallowed a fierce burst of rage at Vannah’s unspeakable selfishness. She’d been miserable, and Maggie was sorry about that, but she’d wanted to ensure that Anthony was miserable too, and for that, Maggie was pissed.
“She was sick,” Maggie said. It was the kindest thing she could think of.
He ran a hand over his hair. “She was right though. I chose the job over her time and time again. I canceled dinner, canceled dates. Even when I was there, I wasn’t. My mind was always on a case.”
“So you weren’t that great a boyfriend,” Maggie said with a shrug.
He let out a little laugh.
“It’s not a crime,” she said, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. “I’ve dated a handful of crappy ones. Heck, I married one. I promise that no matter how bad you were, Eddie was worse.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No but.” She kept her voice gentle. “We all get to choose how we respond to the people around us, and she chose wrong. It’s tragic and awful, but it wasn’t your fault. And I think you know that.”
He was staring at a spot over her head, lost in thought. “Can I take Duchess out?”
Um, what?
Duchess had been frantically thrashing her raccoon on the bed, but she knew her name, knew the word “out,” and knew that the two words combined meant good things. The dog all but threw herself off the bed, beelining for the front door, her nose pointing toward the leash where it hung on its hook.
“I guess that’s a yes,” Maggie said, bemused. It was an odd request, and even odder timing, but she suspected he needed a moment, and Duchess was due for a pee, so…why not?
“We’ve got to get you a better leash,” he muttered as he clipped the bright pink leash onto the dog’s collar. “There’s no dignity in this one.”
“Clearly you know nothing about girls,” Maggie called after him.
He shut the door without a backward glance and she shook her head.
She tried to get back to her story while he was gone, but her concentration was completely shot, and she ended up deleting more words than she added by the time he finally returned.
He said nothing as he took Duchess’s leash off, and they both watched as the dog did frantic, happy laps around the tiny apartment before rediscovering an ancient bone on the small rug by Maggie’s bed and settling down for a quiet gnawing session.
She opened her mouth to break the awkward silence, but he beat her to it.
“I’m never going to be the long-term kind of guy.”
“Um, okay?”
“I don’t want to get married. Ever.”
A little dagger twisted in Maggie’s chest at the finality of his statement, but she nodded again, respecting, even if she didn’t like it. “Okay…”
“And I’m not good at balancing things. I’ve always been sort of an all-or-nothing kind of guy, and more often than not, my job requires all.”
“With all due respect,” she said quietly. “You’ve more or less said all of this before.”
He put his hands on his hips, looking annoyed, although not at her so much as the situation. “I want to know what you want.”
She closed her laptop again, buying time. “You want to know if I want long-term. If I want to get married again.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
He winced, but she held up a hand. “I’m not done. I want those things, eventually, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking for them right this second. It doesn’t mean I’m looking for them with you.”
His eyes flickered with something, but became impassive seconds later.
Maggie stood. “But I do want someone that won’t drop me the second I stop being useful.”
Anth’s hands fell from his hips and he looked defeated just seconds before he looked angry. “You can’t seriously think—”
She moved toward him, her rage from this entire week rising again to the surface as she remembered just what an ass this man could be in the name of his job.
“I do think. I think there’s a very good chance that you slept with me so I’d help you with a case. You couldn’t so much as look at me the second you realized you’d misjudged my pull on Eddie.”
“That’s not—”
“—You used me, Captain, and some of that’s my bad because I let you, but my eyes are wide open now, and so please—please—just respect me enough to tell me why you’re here. What you need. You want me to send him an e-mail, or call him, or send him a freaking telegram? Just be straight with me.”
His eyes burned into hers. “You want me to be straight with you.”
She nodded.
“About why I’m here,” he continued.
“Yes.” She kept her voice patient, because he seemed to be speaking very slowly.
He nodded.
Then he moved.
He was in front of her in two steps, his ha
nds finding her waist, sliding around her back to lift her up to him. His mouth found hers, his tongue sweeping deep before he pulled back and sipped at her lips in tugging, teasing motions that kept him in complete control over the kiss.
When he pulled back, his eyes were tormented. “I’m here because I can’t stay away. I shouldn’t be here, for all the reasons I’ve already said. If I were even a little bit decent, I’d walk out the door right now, leave you to find a nice banker or an electrician or someone who—”
She hooked her hand around the back of his head, yanking it down to hers for a brief, shut-up kind of kiss.
“You know,” she said quietly when she finally released his lips. “For the strong silent type, you talk way too much.”
He smiled slowly. “My mouth does other things too.”
“Yeah?” She smiled back. “Show me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Maggie’s dog had never had a male visitor that stayed around for sexy times, but Duchess apparently sensed that she did not want to be on the bed at this particular moment. She hightailed it to the bathroom, where she promptly resumed chewing her bone on Maggie’s bathmat.
“Smart dog,” he growled as he placed a hand high on Maggie’s chest and marched her steadily backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed.
She sat, watching as he removed his belt and set it carefully aside.
Their eyes met for several seconds. Held. And then they reached for each other, falling back on the bed in a graceless heap as hands turned greedy and frantic.
Maggie untucked his uniform shirt, sliding her hands up under to the firm male skin of his back as his hands slipped under her sweater, fingers trailing over her rib cage until his palms found her breasts.
He groaned. “No bra.”
Then his hands took advantage, his thumbs stroking her nipples into hard peaks so that she gasped his name, nails digging into his back.
He teased her for several seconds before lying back slightly, shoving her sweater up roughly under her chin, not bothering to take it off before his mouth fell on her, sucking a nipple hot and deep while his fingers rolled the other one.
He’d been a wonderfully rough lover before, but this was different. He was less in control this time, his touch more desperate, and Maggie relished every moment of pushing this man past his usually strict limits.
