by Cabe Sparrow
As much as both of them tried to keep work out of the conversation, it didn’t turn out quite that way. They spent most of their dinner talking about a recent case, bouncing ideas off each other while a bad reality television show played in the background.
When Natalie hit on a possible lead, he watched her entire body react to the prospect of catching a suspect. Her green eyes sparkled and she bit her lower lip in concentration, while sitting straight up with her naked legs crossed, as if inviting him to pull her closer.
He wondered if she realized that the high and satisfaction she got from her job were not unlike the rush he got when a new possible lead on Red River Killer materialized.
The idea made him smile, because despite the sinister plans he had for the serial murderer and the fact that it could very well damage the relationship with Natalie at any moment, it gave Turner comfort to know they were not that different from each other. Different method and intention, but the purpose was the same: catch the bad guy.
He was well aware that they differed on this aspect, but in this moment, he didn’t care, because he found another way to relate to the usually composed woman who currently had sauce on her chin.
He chuckled in spite himself and Natalie broke out of her reverie, "What are you laughing at?" she looked annoyed for a second, but Turner reached over and playfully licked the spot on her chin then crashed his mouth on hers, finally giving up the battle with restraint.
Natalie caught her breath, but welcomed his kiss and his sudden weight on top of her. Her legs unconsciously fell apart and Turner settled between her hips, thinking only momentarily about the danger of their predicament.
He didn’t know if he could stop now, but the taste of her lips, the smell of her perfume, and how domestic this all is makes him not want to stop at all, not even consider the consequences of letting himself indulge too much in her company.
Turner's hands slid down from her hip to her bare thigh and the sensations he inspired in her threatened to snap all her self-control. Each touch was like a lick of fire, warm and close to burning, but not quite. It ignited delicious flames all over her body, making her react to his kisses more fervently, making the anticipation in her stomach intensify impossibly quickly.
Her rational side won and Watson breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against Turner's as she raked her fingers through his red curls, having wanted to do that so long. "You should come over for dinner more often." She breathed heavily against his lips and he closed his eyes, his unsuccessful duel with control made her giddy.
There was something to be said for making a composed and self-assured man like Eric Turner transform into a desire-crazed bundle of hormones and Natalie took infinite pleasure in seeing him squirm.
Eventually though he opened his eyes. They were back to their impish cobalt shine and he gently moved away from her, "You say that now and yet you still haven't inquired about the dessert I brought." He motioned knowingly to the paper bag sitting on the kitchen table.
"Dessert?" Her eyes went wide, followed by a genuinely goofy smile.
"Yeah, the chocolate kind." He winked at her, knowing full well how much of a guilty pleasure chocolate was for her. She squealed uncharacteristically, jumped off the couch and opened the bag.
She smiled more profoundly when she saw the big slice of chocolate cake looking very appealing from inside the clear container. Watson was once again reminded that the man lounging on her couch like he belonged there knew more about her than she would usually like.
She looked up and sees the look of adoration on his handsome face and her fears of what the outside world might have in store for them dissipated just a little bit. Just enough for her to retrieve a fork from the kitchen and sit back on the couch, sinking the utensil into the cake and offering the first bite to him.
When Turner accepted the dessert, it was Natalie's turn to ponder on how Turner could turn eating into an art form, a very sensual art form at that. She swallowed and said, "I thought you said you'd never seduce me over a meal."
Turner stopped chewing and smirked, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, "Who said anything about seduction, Natalie?" He leaned over and gave her a bite of cake, "when I seduce you, and I plan to. Trust me, you won't be questioning it."
Usually, such a pompous comment would irritate the hell out of Watson, but when it came from Turner, it just made the heat in her belly spread through her entire body. It's crazy that he could have her entire system on edge just from a few words, but he managed to accomplish it quite frequently.
It should bother her, but it didn’t. She just continued eating, albeit smiling playfully at him as she did. They sat for a while in silence, sharing dessert as Turner flipped through the channels, finally deciding on a black and white Civil War film.
The characters were interchangeable and the story lacked a substantial plot, but it reminded Eric of his childhood, the incessant blaring of the television at all hours of the night as his mother sat transfixed in front of it, the only activity that seemed to subdue her bouts of insomnia.
Turner was so transfixed by the picture playing on the TV, Watson touched his shoulder gently, afraid to startle him. He appeared to be in a trance and the myriad of emotions playing on his face when he looked at her made her frown, her mind racing through possibilities of what could have triggered such a drastic mood change. "You alright?" she asked softly, afraid to disturb the moment.
"Yeah, just thinking about how my mother used to love these types of movies."
He wasn't sure why he admitted it, why the prospect of opening up to Watson didn’t seem like such a scary or intimidating thought, but when the look of concern deepened on her face, Turner almost regretted it.
"Oh, well tell me about it. Did she have a particular favorite?"
She wanted to ease into the conversation smoothly, knowing there were some things that were a forbidden topic of conversation for Turner. Turner reached out and his thumb brushed the apple off her cheek as she watched him,
"Maybe another time, okay?"
It killed him to deny her request, but he was terrified of unleashing something that took him a long time to accept. He hoped she understood.
Watson nodded, trying to internalize her disappointment, but Turner saw right through it.
"How about I do the dishes then?"
She couldn't deny the smile playing on his lips and the warmth of his palm against her face, "Well I should think you would, considering I slaved over dinner."
"Yeah, it's only fair." Turner replied sarcastically, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he walked into the kitchen. Before he could sink his hands into the warm, soapy water, his cell phone rang from inside his jacket.
Watson wasn't sure what to think as he took the call in the kitchen, speaking in hushed tones and hanging up quickly. She never thought about Turner's life outside the PPB, what he did after he left work, or who he socialized with.
Before she could even contemplate it futher; he turned his phone off and reaches for the vest draped across the back of the couch.
"I have to go." He said, not explaining any further. Even though nothing had happened between them, watching him button up the vest and avoiding eye contact made her feel cheap and she didn’t respond to him.
She stood up and headed into the kitchen, turning on the water to override the tension-filled silence in the room. Turner felt an overwhelming sense of guilt about his secrecy, but he knew he could't share this piece of his life with Watson yet.
He could't deny that her presence in his life, her constant support and risk taking on his behalf, had had a major influence on his recent decisions, but he could't let her in until he's certain that he wouldn't hurt her. The justification propelled him forward, as he slipped on his jacket and walked into the kitchen. He pulled her against him gently, knowing she probably didn’t want to be coddled into understanding at that point.
"You have to go." She said somewhat coldly, but Turner
persisted.
"I know. I wish I didn't have to, but it's something I have to take care of."
She turned around in his arms then, running her slightly soapy hands through his hair. Turner didn’t mind. "I don't really like secrets, Eric."
She didn’t look him in the eye, just faced his chest, hoping her voice didn’t betray her worry. Turner didn’t really know what to say, so he tilted her chin and pulled her into a kiss that left her lips tingling long after he departed.
When he arrived home, he parked his car next to a mammoth white Range Rover occupying the second spot in front of the garage and shook his head.
"Eric! I'm glad we could meet." A tall redhead in a slick blue suit approached Turner before he even exited the car.
"I know it's a bit late, but I thought you'd want to know that the owners accepted your offer and if you sign a few documents, the property is yours."
"That's wonderful. Shall we, then?" Turner motioned to the front door of his house, and the real estate agent fished out the keys from his pocket. "They already moved out, so technically the place is ready for you now."
Turner didnt't say anything as they stepped into the house he was going to sell.
The real estate agent talked on and on about the advantages of acquiring such a home, but Turner just fixated on the loopy signature she made on each of the documents. After reviewing the paperwork and making sure everything was settled, he placed a duplicate key on the counter for her to take with her. Now he just needed her to sell his house.
He wondered wat it would be like to live in a home that didn’t have any remnants of his wife or daughter in it. Would he survive not being able to see the markings on the kitchen wall from where he would mark his baby's height from the time she could walk?
Turner walked out onto his balcony, praying for respite from the memories, but when his wedding ring caught his eye, it gave him the sinking feeling that he might not ever be able to let go of the past. No matter how far he moved away, no matter how many times he tried to outsmart Red River Killer, it felt like the guilt of his family's murder would always be his cross to bear and his burden. He wasn't sure if he was strong enough to fight it anymore.
When he closed his eyes, a flash of dark curls and green eyes appeared in his mind...it felt like he could almost breathe again.
Chapter 7
She walked into the apartment and slammed the door, not bothering to hang up her jacket. She dropped her things onto the couch before stomping into the kitchen, heels clicking on the tile in search of something that will take the edge off.
She wasn’t much of a drinker, considering her firsthand experience growing up with an alcoholic, but days like these were an exception.
She was about to extract the cork from a bottle of red, when she had a flashback of Turner sitting on her couch, hand cupped around a wine glass. She shoved the bottle to the back and opened her freezer. Vodka it was.
It was only when she was nursing the short glass in her hand, taking occasional sips, that her nerves settled enough for reality to sink in. She would not cry.
She would not shed a single tear over that egotistical, self-serving, vengeful jerk.
She always thought the only thing that could ever tear apart their relationship, both working and personal, was Red River Killer, but not in this way, not now. She just could't believe he would betray her trust like that...again.
After so long working together and this new thing between them, she just thought...
"Dammit.”
The glass slammed on the counter as an unpleasant shiver ran down her spine.
On her way home, she oscillated between the possibility that she was overreacting and that she was completely justified in her actions. However, as she stood in her cold apartment, facing down a near empty glass of vodka, Watson realized something that made her cold from the inside.
She was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid for ever believing that this thing between them, whatever it was, would ever be enough to lessen his pursuit for retribution. It's wasn’t.
She thought before that if something ever happened between them, things would change, he would change. Alas, she broke her own rules.
“Never try to change a man, Natalie," her mother used to say and she was right.
After a while, Watson felt the effects of the alcohol and before berating herself further for getting involved with a colleague, especially one with as many issues as her advisor, Natalie decided she needed a hot, relaxing bath.
She set the glass in the sink, and promised herself no more alcohol for the evening. She was half way through unbuttoning her blouse when she heard a knock on the door. It was so quiet, she could easily have ignored it, but something in her heart told her to answer the door.
She knew who it was and there was a brief moment of hesitation, because as she realized from the earlier events of the day, she was definitely a glutton for punishment.
That morning...
"Turner...Eric, stop that." She whispered, pressing her hands lightly against his chest, but her words fell on deaf ears.
The man in question was too busy drawing patterns of kisses on her neck, his hands pressing her hips against the side of his car, not at all concerned with the disapproving looks from people passing by.
"C'mon, we're in the middle of the street across from the court house, anyone could see us." She tried again, her voice slightly edgier, because it's becoming increasingly difficult to fend off his advances and not lose herself in the light sweeps of his tongue against her skin.
"Oh please, live a little, Natalie." Turner murmured against her skin, slightly inebriated by the alluring mix of her perfume and natural scent. God, this woman was driving him crazy. He relented only slightly, pulling back to look at his watch, "Besides, it's way too early for all the bureaucrats to come out of hiding, give them thirty more minutes."
He smirked but Watson just rolled her eyes. "Uh, Eric Turner, the nonconformist..."
Turner still held her close, but she took advantage of the space to take a sip of her latte. They had been "dating" for a little over a month now, nothing serious, just a few dinners here and there usually at her place. Sometimes they would drive out to their spot and talk for a while. Mostly though, it was work.
It was her personal theory that criminals became increasingly lonely and bitter close to the holiday season, which was probably why she was spending most of November working sixteen-hour days. She was not bitter about it, because most of her work time was spent chasing leads with her partner in crime, or so Eric had come to be.
She didn’t want to admit it, but somewhere in the depths of her mind she felt like they had grown stronger, that their personal relationship had only strengthened their professional one. It didn’t hurt that he seemed to know her triggers better than she did.
Sometimes a suggestive smile was all it took to make her think impure thoughts. Even though Turner usually knew when they crossed her mind, she was never embarrassed, because she was comfortable around him. Sometimes she had an irrational fear that this was just the calm before the storm, but it was quickly wiped away by Turner's presence.
She knew that the future scared him, but unsurprisingly he wanted to relish the moment, just like he was now, smiling down at her as she sipped the coffee he bought her this morning. Another thing she loved about him was how subtle he was in his pampering.
She never met a man who aggravated and pissed her off as much as Eric Turner, but she also never dated someone who complimented her so well.
“Damn, I have to run,” she said, her tone regretful. It spurned Turner on, because he just pulled her closer and sighed against her hair. Sometimes he could be such a child.
"I don't like when you're out of the office, it's boring," he whined a little and Watson rolld her eyes again, a fond smile playing on her lips.
"I'll be back later on, are you going to be good?" She asked teasingly, but caught her breath when his eyes grew dark, shamelessly giving her a
look of pure male appreciation. "Depends, what am I going to get as a reward?"
A distinct blush rose from her neck to her cheeks and Turner just chuckled; he loved to rile her up, especially because it distracted him from other things. On court dates, Watson deviated from her usual work attire and squeezed into tight pencil skirts and soft white blouses, which would likely have him following her like a hormone crazed teenager all day at the office, rendering him completely useless. Maybe it was a good thing that she was off to testify because he could actually help out the rest of the team on a case they had going.
A man passed by them, giving Watson a very brief onceover and Turner felt a familiar twinge of possessiveness, so he pulled her in for a good bye kiss. Watson fell into the embrace, letting her worry over everything else dissolve for a few short, mind-numbing moments.
He tasted like mint and tea, smelled like a familiar cologne she could never identify, and the soft material of his suit all seemed to paralyze her in place. It was probably not very normal that he had her knees buckling at 8:30 on a Thursday morning, but for the duration of the kiss, she didn’t care.
It was only when she pushed him away that she went back to her professional persona, a small smile played on her lips as she straightened out her clothes. She grabbed her purse and blazer from the car, "try to stay out of trouble for one day, alright?"
She appeared outwardly concerned, but there was a glint of mischief and mirth in her green eyes and Turner ran his hand affectionately down her cheek, "What's my incentive?"
Watson threw her head back and laughed, then wordlessly stepped away and crossed the street to the courthouse. She turned around one more time and winked at him.
As the early morning sun light bounced off her hair, making her look more vibrant than he's ever seen, Eric realized she's all the incentive he needed.
"Arrested?" Watson said through clenched teeth, stopping in front of his cell, her arms crossed over her chest. "How is it possible that I leave you for one day, not even a whole one, and you manage to piss off someone enough to get arrested? I swear I need to get a goddamn leash for you." Her words fell on deaf ears, as Turner continued to lay on the metal bench, using his expensive jacket as a pillow.
