by Cabe Sparrow
"When Mark asks you to dinner, say yes," Turner clarified and she wishes she heard wrong. "You deserve to be happy, Natalie."
He looked up at her then, a lost blue stare that poorly concealed his need for her, the exact opposite of what he was trying to assert. She was tired of playing games, of pushing him, trying to wheedle something vague out of him.
"Good night, Eric." Watson added. He let her go.
She gave him ample opportunity to stop her, even pausing at the door so he could reach out, pull her back, and ask her to stay. But he was a coward and he didn’t trust himself with her. He knew he would break her if he screwed up again, which was likely to happen.
She walked away, taking the little warmth he had in his life with her, taking it somewhere he could't go and left him behind in the shadows.
His trusted friends.
Chapter 9
She should have been surprised when Mark called her three days later and asked her to dinner, but she wasn’t.
Regardless of how she felt about him, Natalie had come to trust Turner's instincts more than she wanted to admit, both professionally and personally. As much as she wanted to defy him, prove to him that she was better than his assumptions of her, she accepted the date.
She accepted it, because she didn’t want to spend her nights alone with a bottle of wine and the sinking feeling of loneliness for companionship. By no means was Watson one of those desperate women who thought she needed a man to complete her existence, but she knew her yearning for a family and a future that didn’t consist of an empty bed was too great to be ignored.
She was afraid.
While she was too busy cultivating her career and worrying about her brothers, she missed ample opportunities to meet someone. She was missing a chance to have a relationship that didn’t involve the issues that came from dating a colleague who was struggling with his own past and fighting his own demons.
Besides, when she looked back on all her romantic entanglements, Eric stood out simply because he was so free of drama, no domineering issues, and the perfect gentleman. Over the years, she seldom wondered about what could have been if she never accepted the promotion, but now that she'd had time to reflect, she realized they could have worked out, could have built something.
With that prospect in mind, she said yes, and then tried unsuccessfully to avoid eye contact with Turner all day as they worked through a new case. When he stopped by her office later that night, he lingered a bit longer at the door, giving her a soft smile and said, "Wear that turquoise dress you bought last month, it brings out your eyes."
He left her stunned, frustrated, and itching to throw the paperweight on her desk at his retreating form. She fumed for half an hour after as she gathered her stuff to leave, mentally going over how pompous he was and how he thought he knew what was good for her. Mostly, she felt wounded that he could be so goddamn calm when she was about to go out on a date with another man.
Yet those thoughts were replaced with inevitable guilt when she saw his solitary form, laying on the well-worn couch; she knows he would spend the night here. It made her angry at him for refusing to admit he was wrong, that he should have called her. All she needed was his recognition, a possible compromise for the future, and she wouldn’t go. She’d be right there with him.
She stood in the bullpen watching him and he opened one eye, giving her a sympathetic smile that made her grit her teeth. "Uh, the Catholic guilt, " He mused, looking at her through the dim lighting. His sea-colored eyes still managed to penetrate her.
"Go, Natalie. I'll be fine, enjoy yourself."
The detective didn’t know whether to punch him or throw her arms around him, so she just walked away, choosing instead to protect herself, hoping that she could block him out for just one night.
Somewhere before dessert, Watson realized that was impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw an image of Turner in the weight room, looking as defeated as ever and silently begging her not to walk away.
Despite the stimulating conversation, the amazing food, and the attentiveness Mark showed her, the only thing that kept her from cutting their time short was her respect for one of her oldest colleagues.
"You seemed distracted tonight." He said as the valet brought around his car.
"Oh, I'm not really. Just a bit exhausted, we got a new case. Maybe it wasn't the right time for this."
She wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but certainly wasn't prepared for Mark's wistful and somewhat understanding smile as he opened the car door for her, "It's never the right time if someone's heart isn't in it."
He didn’t wait for a response, just walked around to the driver's side and Watson was grateful, because his words hit just a little too close to home. Normally she would dismiss a comment like that, but Mark's voice reverberated inside her mind, greasing her wheels, and not letting her forget.
She could accept that her team suspected the change in her relationship with Turner and she could care less what Harper thought. Still, she had to wonder how deep had she sunk that she couldn't concentrate on a simple date?
That during dinner she was more aware of the fact that their waiter had a familiar shade of red hair than whatever Mark was talking about? Worst of all, how obvious were her thoughts that even an old colleague noticed?
She tried to push those thoughts away, tried to concentrate on the scenery that flew by as they drove, but Mark's voice lingered, holding her in a mental bind. It was worse because she found herself feeling more guilt for leaving Turner all alone than for being a lousy date. Then it suddenly hit her.
She could't fight it anymore. Whatever it is between them, she knew it wasn’t healthy, but neither was bottling up these emotions. She felt drained, lethargic, spent, and didn’t know if she could face another night at home alone with these feelings.
Watson stold a glance at Mark and briefly contemplated taking him home, but despite his handsome features and adorable lopsided grin, she felt nothing. No attraction, no desire, nothing that could force her to go through with it, not even the glass of wine she had with dinner.
Besides, it would not solve anything.
Whatever issues she had, she knew only one way to fix them, only one person who could help her sort them out, so she made a single seemingly delirious decision. "Mark, could you drop me off at PPB headquarters? I really need to review some case work."
The man in the driver's seat didn’t appear to buy her lame excuse, but changed course anyway. Watson settled in her seat, wondering silently if she was making the worst or best mistake of her life.
No turning back.
When she found the bullpen empty, a part of her was relieved. The realization of what she was about to do caught up to her and she relaxed slightly, taking a moment to breathe before calling herself a cab. She decided that she wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything work-related at this late hour.
However, as she waited for the taxi, the sting of disappointment set in. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know where to find him if wasn’t in the office or at home with her. He put his old house up for sale, and Watson didn’t even know where he lived now.
She'd been so wrapped up in her own emotions, dealing with her own issues, she never even once contemplated where he went on nights he didn't crash on her couch or in the bullpen. The feeling of guilt that struck her earlier in the evening intensified.
The familiar grounds of her office suddenly became too overwhelming, making her remember every time she'd come in here in the wee hours of the morning only to find him dozing on the couch, still wearing the same clothes from the night before.
Her heart constricted even as her lungs filled with fresh air, and she couldn't stop the prickle of tears, she couldn't make them go away. Watson didn’t cry.
She gets angry, frustrated, overwhelmed, and usually finds ways to channel those feelings toward something productive, but this time it was different. The tears slipped past her eyelids no matter how hard
she tried to fight them. They fell down her face, leaving a burning trail that she would remember long after they dried.
She woudn’t find what she was looking for at home, but when drops of rain began to mingle with her tears, it solidified her decision to get into the approaching cab and let the soothing sounds of the jazz station calm down her frayed nerves. It felt like eternity before her duplex came into view and the cab stops across the street.
It was pouring now and the driver took pity on her, giving her a newspaper as a shield against the rain.
Watson gave him a watery smile and ran out of the taxi, cursing her decision to wear such a short dress and open toed sandals without being mindful of the weather. The cab sped away, leaving her alone in the dark street, heels clicking in tandem with the rain as it hit against the pavement.
The rain felt so good against her skin, so refreshing that she paused for a second, enjoying the way it hit her face, washing away the salty remnants of tears from her cheeks.
She was so distracted by the feeling that she didn’t notice that she was not alone until she opened her eyes. The newspaper dropped from her hands as she saw him, leaning against her porch, watching her with a longing smile. He was just as immaculate and relaxed as when she left him on the couch a few hours earlier.
For the moment, their eyes lock and Watson forgets that the rain soaks her hair, her jacket, leaves her shivering. The only thing she could concentrate on is the perfection of this moment.
She wasn’t embarrassed that he caught her in such a childlike pose, that he saw her completely disheveled and drenched.
It didn’t matter. He was here.
She went looking for him, but somehow he found her.
That thought propelled her forward, until she stood right in front of him, in the rain. He stood still on her porch, calm and undisturbed by the weather. The only evidence of him having been caught in the storm were the faint wet spots on his suit jacket, which meant he had been there awhile.
"What are you doing here?" Watson asked, unable to contain the anticipation in her voice. Turner looked at her, shortly taken aback by how radiant she was. Even in this dark, stormy night, she glowed like a beacon, beckoning him with her shining, green eyes, flushed skin, and that look of purity that could only come with renewal.
He didn’t know what brought him there tonight, he just listened to his instincts. When he saw her standing in the rain, indulging in a rare spontaneous moment, not tied down by obligations, just letting herself be, he was grateful.
He was tired of hiding, tired of resisting the inevitable; watching her leave to go on a date with someone else, feeling that envy again, and knowing he practically encouraged her to go. It all reminded him that he was just a man.
He came with a truckload of baggage, but for some reason this brave woman in front of him didn’t seem to mind it, almost welcomed it. He didn’t want to fight her anymore.
He wanted to give in, to breathe in her scent again, and give her every part of himself that he could. He wanted to take everything she had to offer and return it twice over, because she deserved it and selfishly he wanted to be the one to give it to her.
"I was right," He mused, reaching out to run a finger down her soft, wet cheek, "You look radiant in this dress."
Watson sucked in a breath, unconsciously leaning into his touch as he stepped down to her level, coming away from the shield of the porch and letting the rain soak his clothes, his hair, everything. That's when she realized how insane they both were.
"We're both going to get sick," she said whimsically, a small smile on her face as she watched Turner look up into the sky and welcoming the water that poured over them both. He chuckled in response and slid his hands into her coat until she was flush against his warm body. Wet clothes stuck to them both, but neither made the move to go inside.
Her heart beat violently against her chest and despite his calm exterior, when she put a palm to his torso she could feel the beat of his heart erratic against her hand. It was comforting to know she wasn’t the only one completely terrified of the change happening between them. It felt like there was a shifting tide, that something between them was transforming whether they liked it or not. They were two magnets being pulled back together regardless of how hard they tried to stay apart.
"Natalie.”
His voice broke through her reverie, and Watson looked up at him. His eyes told a different story.
They were serious, but warm, the blue was growing darker in them, almost to a cobalt shade. He touched the hand on his chest, wrapped his fingers around her wrist delicately.
"I don't want to hide anymore." He whispered, but Watson heard him loud and clear despite the sound of rain pelting against the veranda.
"Me neither," she replied.
When Turner scooped her into his arms and kissed her, there was no hesitation, no anxiety or concern about the future. It was just the moment, that single instant of understanding, trust, and that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. They both knew now.
They stumbled awkwardly through the front door, chuckling quietly between kisses when she accidentally stubbed his toe with her stiletto.
Jackets were shed, kisses spilled, and before she knew it, Watson found herself pinned to the wall, legs wrapped around Turner's waist as he attacked her neck with the fervor of a starving man. She ran her fingers through his damp curls, shuddering at the sensations he created in her, the way he held her so protectively, as if he was afraid to let go.
The detective wasted no time ridding Turner of his armor. She pulled his vest off, then his shirt, finding it difficult to concentrate as his hands flexed against her thighs. His thumbs brushed over lace, teasing her with the promise of so much more.
His tongue traced over a particularly sensitive spot on her neck and she arched against him, letting out a sound that resembled a purr. It resonated deep within him and Turner pulled her into a bruising kiss, communicating everything he was feeling but couldn't quite describe. Words seemed inappropriate somehow.
The heat radiating from her body was seductive all on its own and despite wanting this to be special, wanting to cherish and explore her body for hours on end, the need for her was overpowering. When he found her wicked green eyes watching him as her lithe hands trailed down to settle on his belt buckle, Turner didn’t hesitate tightening his grip on her and taking them upstairs.
Somewhere in the hallway, he slipped off his shoes and unzipped her dress just low enough to taste new, unexplored skin. He wanted to make her moan and say his name in that way that reminded Turner that he was indeed a male who would never be immune to the pleasurable cry of a woman, especially the one currently pleading with him not to stop.
He felt his way through the hall and into her bedroom, gently setting her on the bed. When he leaned back and saw her lying on the plush covers, her dress pooled at her waist, and her smooth legs contrasting perfectly with the black leather of her heels, Turner realized he would never get that image of Watson out of his head...ever.
She didn’t flinch as he openly admired her and the realization that she trusted him enough to see her like this, bare, exposed, completely vulnerable, sent a shiver down his spine that almost disabled him.
"Come here." She murmured, making his ache for her intensify. She was offering herself and who was he to deny her? He finally gave into the primal side he was fighting since their first kiss, and settled between her hips.
Their eyes locked in the darkness, smiles in between kisses, and he watched the emotions change on her face as he pushed the lace aside and lowered himself inside her. A gasp of breath, her hips cradling him, the warmth radiating from within her as he held her closer, losing himself, losing control...
Everything was overpowered by this feeling of complete abandon, of sensations that were thought to be long forgotten, clawing to the surface as soft, warm hands scratched at his back. They moved effortlessly together with the urgency of untapped passion and the expertise of old lovers.
There was no hesitation, no second guessing, just feeling.
Turner drowned in her scent, in the sounds she was making, in the way her lips almost trembled as he moved over her. His sturdy frame pinned her to the bed as he thrust, at first slowly, reserved almost. As she responded to him, arching her hips, fingers tracing the path of his shoulder blades and his spine, he began to lose control. The movement of his muscles, the strength he possessed, everything turned erratic until her whole body was shaking with pleasure.
Watson tried to keep her eyes on Turner, but heat building inside makes it impossible to concentrate. His touch was rough, bruising as he raised her legs higher around him, but his kisses wer soft, languid, and indulgent. His gaze was no longer wild and lust-filled, but vulnerable, reflecting all the insecurities he would otherwise mask.
The duality threatened to undo her completely and when she felt the first touch of his fingers stroking her, bringing her impossibly closer to that elusive sensation, that unattainable feeling of complete euphoria, the tight coil inside her snapped and she unraveled...fast.
Her body convulsed beneath him while Turner held her, rocked against her, riding it out with her. He felt something unidentifiable after comprehending that he was the one who made her feel this way. He was the one who made her skin flush and eyes flutter, he was the one responsible for the look of pure pleasure on her face; that thought was enough to push him over the edge.
When he tumbled down, Watson was there to catch him like she always was.
Running her fingers through his hair, she cradled his head in the crook of her neck as he sank his mouth into her flesh; she kissed his shoulder, his neck, his cheeks, any skin available to her as he came undone, after a few moments collapsing against her.
Watson tried to catch her breath, fighting exhaustion as she trembled in the aftershocks. Turner wasted no time sliding down the length of her body. Instead of fatigue, he found himself imbued with vigor, as if his body, his spirit, his mind had all been reawakened and refueled, all because of the breathtaking woman in front of him. Natalie was propped on her elbows, hair a mess, lips swollen, without a clue how unbelievably stunning she was just then.
