by Jo Davis
“They deserve to die!”
“No! Everyone deserves to live.”
“The fuck they do! They all support my conniving bitch of a wife! They all deceive me!” Connor screamed, out of control. “You had your chance!”
Before Taylor could move, the man swung the gun toward the housekeeper—
And Taylor could only watch in horror as her head exploded all over the custom drapes.
Taylor bolted upright, dragging air into his lungs, heart threatening to burst in his chest. He clutched the bedcovers, sweat trickling down the sides of his face. Sickness churned in his stomach. Self-loathing.
Yeah, Connor Wright had stolen the last of his innocence as a young cop that black day. Shown him true horror and the total destruction one human being could suffer at the hands of another. Afterward, he’d never harbored any doubt he deserved the cruel punishment of the nightmare that had lasted four hellish years.
The awful weight of his responsibility had never left him. Never would.
“Shut off the self-blame,” he ordered himself. “It’s over and done. Just survive today.”
Taylor glanced about, listening, combing a shaking hand through his hair. How long had he been asleep? Christ, had anyone heard him cry out? Faint voices drifted from downstairs, along with the rich aroma of something cooking. No one came to investigate.
Grateful for this small favor, he pushed to his feet with a groan. His entire body throbbed as though it had been run over by an eighteen-wheeler, and backed over for good measure. His splitting head was causing the room to swim, and he wondered whether putting food in his empty stomach was a good idea. The answering rumble demanded he try, and soon.
Glancing to the bedside table, he found the bottle of painkillers the doctor had prescribed for him. Cara must’ve brought them up. Curling his fingers tight around the container, he peered at the large oval capsules. Once, he would’ve been tempted to lose himself to the darkness. To take them all and end the pain. If Cara had any idea, she might not have left them there, though he was much stronger now.
Setting his jaw, he plunked the bottle onto the nightstand. He’d take one, but not on an empty stomach. He shed his jeans, the careful movements drowning him in waves of dizziness. Retrieving a pair of clean black briefs, jeans, and a dark button-up shirt, he shuffled stiffly into the adjoining master bathroom.
Turning on the nozzle, Taylor let the water warm for a minute while he pushed up his hair and picked off the bandage taped to the side of his head. He frowned into the mirror above the sink, examining the wound, which had been taped, since stitches wouldn’t work. Not bad, except for the gouged flesh and surrounding knot, which promised to turn a dazzling display of every shade of purple known to man. But, hell, he’d survived far worse. This hardly rated.
He nudged aside the curtain and stepped into the hot spray. A long, appreciative sigh escaped his lips. “Ahhh . . . damn . . . yes.”
For a time, he simply stood and let the water sluice over his body, soothing aching muscles and flagging spirits. As happened frequently of late, his thoughts drifted to the woman inhabiting his kitchen, and his cock began to rise.
Taking himself in hand, he enjoyed the sensation of squeezing the hardening flesh. He imagined it was her hand palming him, her thumb sweeping over the slippery head. Her mouth sucking his rod, taking him deep in her throat. Lips and tongue stroking, laving . . .
He couldn’t last. With a groan he came, ropes of seed bathing the tile, to be instantly washed away by the spray. Sagging, he was sated for the moment—but only in the way a starving man was satisfied by wolfing a small dish of ice cream when what he really needed was a steak dinner.
When the temperature began to cool, a twinge of guilt pricked at him for using all of the hot water. Hurriedly, he shampooed, soaped himself, and rinsed.
Mindful of his head wound, he toweled off his hair, then the rest. Getting dressed again proved more of a challenge than he’d thought, given the dizziness that hung on. By the time he’d finished, perspiration dampened his brow again. For about two seconds, he considered skipping dinner, giving in to fatigue. Maybe he could sleep off the pounding behind his eyeballs that threatened to pop them out of his skull. A loud reminder from his empty belly got his ass moving instead.
As he descended the stairs, several voices reached his ears. There were obviously more people in his home than just Cara and Blake, and there was so much talking and laughing, he had trouble making out the individuals. As he reached the entryway to the kitchen, his brows rose.
Whatever was cooking smelled fantastic, and Cara moved about tossing salad and then checking on something in the oven. Standing around visiting were Shane, Daisy, their seventeen year-old ward, Drew, and Blake—
And the guitarist. Jinx.
His hackles rose and he forced his attention away from the man. His friends were imbibing a bit, Shane and the rocker with beers, the women with glasses of red wine. Blake was complaining loudly, but in a good-natured way, about being stuck with a glass of iced tea.
“Dudes, come on! I’m gonna be twenty-one in a few months. So what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that it’s against the law for you to consume alcohol before you’re twenty-one,” Shane said dryly.
“No, it’s not! It’s against the law for me to order alcohol from an establishment and be served. It’s not if an adult orders it for me and gives it to me!” His expression was triumphant. But short-lived.
“Sorry. Smart as you are, no can do. You’ll have to deal with tea and soda a little longer.”
“Shit. You suck.”
Taylor’s chuckle drew the attention of the group, and he stepped inside. “Did someone forget to issue me an invite to my own party?”
Cara smiled at him, a little flushed. “I hope you don’t mind. Shane and Daisy came to check on you, and then I told Jinx to go ahead and drop Blake off here so we can make a celebration out of dinner.”
“A celebration? Of me almost getting my head blown off?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, idiot. Blake, you want to share?”
The boy beamed. “So, I got the job at Guitar Center!”
Cheers erupted, and from the expressions on Shane and Daisy’s faces, the news was a surprise. Taylor stepped over and pulled Blake into a hard hug. “Congratulations, man! I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks.”
“I already knew,” Jinx put in from his spot leaning against the counter. He eyed Taylor with a smirk. “Kid was so excited he had to tell somebody when I picked him up from the interview.”
Taylor eyed the other man as he let Blake go. I’ll be damned. The asshole is baiting me. Instant tension stretched between them, but he was determined to be the bigger man. No way was he going to allow a petty pissing contest to ruin Blake’s big evening.
“Thanks for being there for him,” he said pleasantly, earning a look of surprise from Jinx. “I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing.” Just like that, some of the man’s confrontational demeanor eased.
Taylor looked to Cara. “So, what are we eating to celebrate?”
“Lasagna, because it’s Blake’s favorite. And Italian cream cake for dessert.”
That earned groans of appreciation, and in minutes they were all sitting around Taylor’s dining table. Suddenly it struck him that he’d never had this many people at his house for something so . . . domestic.
Beer, pizza, and a ball game? Sure. Friends and coworkers at the station took turns hanging at one another’s houses for the male bonding ritual, as many of their wives and girlfriends liked to tease. But this was completely different. This felt like he had a family. In his house, taking up his space, talking, eating and having a good time.
And it felt pretty awesome.
Well, except for Jinx, who kept staring at him as though he’d very much like
to punch him. A childish part of Taylor wanted to mouth bring it, but he squashed it. Hard.
Blake kept everyone entertained with the story of his interview and how he had to audition for the job—as in playing the guitar. Made sense for a place like that to require their employees to be damned good on the instrument they were selling.
“There’s more to it than just playing,” Blake said with enthusiasm. “You have to know the mechanics, how they’re made and where, the different brands and their tones. Sometimes players bring them in for repair, and I can do some minor stuff.”
On and on he went, with Jinx chiming in now and then as a fellow guitarist, and Drew asking a ton of questions. Taylor smiled as he envisioned the boy going home and talking Shane into letting him have a guitar. Every so often the band member would return his attention to Taylor and let his gaze linger in challenge. Taylor pretty much ignored him. Even though he was getting seriously annoyed.
Taylor enjoyed watching Cara and Daisy interact, and he listened to them talk about her band and then Daisy’s job at the Sugarland Police Department as a juvenile officer. Blake and Cara were interested in hearing how Daisy met Drew and worked with him after his dad died, and how he came to live with Shane, his godfather. Drew’s expression was still sad, the events being only a few months old, but there was no mistaking how much the boy loved his guardians.
Blake and Drew hit it off, too, talking nonstop the rest of the evening as they cleaned the kitchen. Eventually Shane rose and ushered his brood to the car, but not before the boys made plans to hang out sometime. Jinx finally, thank God, made his move to leave as well. But he grinned, asking Cara to walk him out. She hesitated, glancing uncomfortably at Taylor, but then shrugged and followed him outside. Into the darkness. Alone.
Son of a bitch!
Taylor paced while Blake flipped on the TV. A minute passed and seemed like twenty.
“I like Drew. He’s cool,” Blake said in an upbeat voice.
“You know he’s straight, right?”
The younger man gave him a droll stare and said nothing.
“Well, probably. And he’s too young for you.”
Blake shook his head. “No, he’s not. And, anyway, you don’t know for sure if he’s straight. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Jesus. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”
“You started it.”
“I know. You’re right, it’s none of my business. Sorry.”
“No problem.” The boy laughed softly. “You know, you’re too obvious. Why don’t you just march out there and grab your lady?”
“I can’t. I don’t want her to think I’m some sort of Neanderthal. I have to play by the rules.”
“Why? Dude, you think he’s out there all I can’t touch you ’cause that’s not allowed? Bullshit.”
Taylor glanced toward the front door. “Dammit.”
“Go on, get your ass out there and stake your claim!”
The image of what might be happening out there goaded him into action. He knew he was about to commit an invasion of privacy, but there was no way Jinx was going to get his groove on with her. Not on Taylor’s property.
Instead of storming out, however, he eased onto the porch quietly, listening and letting his eyes adjust. In the moonlight he spotted them standing beside Jinx’s car. And the guitarist had her pressed against the passenger’s door, kissing the shit out of her.
Taylor’s stomach cramped and a cold feeling washed over him. Nausea that had nothing to do with his head wound caused bile to rise in his throat. What had Cara said? That she and Jinx had a history but that it was over long ago.
Apparently somebody hadn’t received that memo.
A strange ache settled in his heart and he started to turn—just as Cara shoved Jinx hard in the chest, sending him backward a couple of steps.
“I told you no!” she shouted. “I—”
That was all he needed to hear. Taylor was off the porch like a bolt of lightning, his sole focus on the man who was going to pay for violating her boundaries.
“Hey, asshole,” Taylor snarled, grabbing the man by the collar and yanking him back. Jinx spun to face him, and Taylor unloaded a punch to his jaw that sent the man sprawling on the driveway as Cara shouted in alarm.
“Fuck!” The guitarist struggled to sit up. “I just wanted to find out if she still wanted me, that’s all!”
“Every time I see you, you’re draped over her like a cheap coat.” Reaching down, Taylor snatched his shirt and hauled him to his feet. “That ends here and now. Touch her again, and you’ll be eating soup through a straw for the rest of your miserable fucking life. We clear?”
“Crystal,” he spat, eyes glittering at Taylor in the darkness. When he spoke to Cara, his voice grew sincere. “I’m sorry. I was a fool to let you go, but I can see it’s too late.”
“Much,” she said in a strained voice. “That ship sailed long before I met Taylor. Can you get past this and be professional?”
“Yeah.” At her dubious look, he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I swear.”
“Okay. But if this happens again, you’re fired.”
“It won’t.” Now shuffling his feet, he glanced down at the pavement. “You’re a special woman, Cara. I didn’t mean any harm.”
Her voice softened. “I know.”
“Thanks for dinner. Tell Blake I’ll see him at rehearsal.”
“I will.”
They watched him drive away, and Taylor didn’t relax until the man’s car had turned the corner. Cara was giving him an inscrutable look, and suddenly he was afraid.
“I’m sorry if you feel I went over the line. I was about to go back inside when I heard you shout no at him. Then I saw red.”
“No, it’s all right.” Taking his hand, she walked with him back to the house. On the porch, she stopped and stepped in to his body. “I didn’t kiss him, for the record. He kissed me.”
“Glad to hear it.” Taylor wrapped his arms around her and held her tight to him, tucking her head under his chin. She fit just right there, and he kissed the top of her head.
God, she felt so damned good pressed against him. Warm, soft, all woman. All his. Tilting her chin up, he molded his mouth to hers. Groaned as her body melted into his, accepting him, meeting his passion. They kissed for several long moments, until he was sure he’d erased any trace of the guitarist from his lady. That bastard had no right to touch the woman he—
He what? Was falling for? He pulled back, and her question seemed to echo his thoughts.
“What are we to each other?” she asked. “Are we dating? Just sleeping together?”
“I’d like the real deal,” he said honestly. “I’d like for us to be exclusive and see where it goes.”
She tightened her grip. “I’d like that, too.”
He steeled himself. “But before you agree, I have something to tell you. It’s serious, and I don’t know if you’ll want me anymore after this.”
“There isn’t anything you can’t tell me.”
“I’m afraid this might be the one exception.”
Honestly, he didn’t know anyone who’d want him after this. He certainly wouldn’t want himself. But he had no choice but to reveal the secret he’d never told anyone except Shane.
And pray she’d stay.
10
Cara squeezed Taylor’s hand in reassurance as he led her inside. As they passed through the living room, Blake saw them heading for the stairs and grinned.
“Guess this means we’re staying here so you can keep an eye on your wounded cop.”
“I’m staying,” Cara said with a wink. Letting go of Taylor’s hand, she retrieved her purse from the coffee table, fished out her key ring, and tossed it to Blake. “You’re taking the car and going back to my house for the night.”
<
br /> Palming the keys, Blake snickered and shut off the TV. Pushing to his feet, he said, “See you guys tomorrow. Try to stay out of trouble. And thanks for dinner and the celebration.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome. Congrats again.”
After he left, Cara locked the door behind him, but instead of resuming their path to the bedroom, Taylor lowered himself to the sofa in the spot Blake had just vacated. Walking over, she sat next to him.
“Whatever you have to tell me, I’m sure it can’t be as bad as me admitting to stalking you.” She tried a smile, but his gaze dropped to his clasped hands.
“No, it’s worse.” He paused, seeming to find the right words. “So much worse, especially when I learned your sister was pregnant.”
“That was hard for me to accept, too,” she admitted. “But I realize now that there’s nothing you could’ve done to change the outcome.”
“But there is.” The laugh that rumbled in his chest was harsh. Bitter. “I could have saved your sister and her baby, if only I had made the right choice.”
“But you didn’t have one.”
“Yes, I did. Literally. Your brother-in-law—”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I do not count that crazy bastard as family anymore.”
He nodded. “Understood. When the hostage situation began to escalate that day, Wright gave me a choice.” His expression was pure misery. “He started to unravel, told me to choose one person to live.”
Cara couldn’t stop the gasp as her hand went over her mouth. “Who did you pick? But wait—he killed everyone, anyway.”
“That’s just it. I couldn’t choose,” he said in a quiet voice. “I told him that was an impossible decision and that everyone deserved to live. I tried to talk him down, to get him to let them go and keep me. But he screamed that he’d make it for me, and started shooting. I’m so sorry.”
Her heart had been ripped from her chest, the pain was so bad. She stared at him, unable to comprehend how it was still beating, why she continued to breathe. “Oh, my God.”
“I know I can never make this up to you. I don’t know what else to say.”
