Hot Winter Nights

by Jill Shalvis

  “Bullshit,” he said. “I’ve seen you talking with the girls for hours on end without so much as taking a breath.”

  “Hey,” she said, and then sighed. “Okay, maybe true. But talking about . . . feelings aren’t my strong suit.”

  “Try anyway.”

  She looked up at him thoughtfully. “What do you remember of the other night?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I’d tried going out for a run that day, the first time since getting shot, and got home hurting like a son of a bitch. I took two pain pills. Then I received a text to come down to the pub because a client had shown up to meet us and I’d forgotten. He bought a round of drinks and toasted to me, and I drank.” He shook his head. “A stupid decision, but that’s it, that’s all I remember until I woke up with you all over me.”

  “I wasn’t all over you—” She broke off when he arched a brow. “Fine,” she said. “I was all over you but you sleep like a damn furnace and I was cold, that’s all.”

  “Or,” he said.

  “Or what?”

  “I don’t know, Molly, you tell me. But I want the truth. And it’s not that we had sex, because that kiss . . .” Just thinking about it got him hot all over again. “That was most definitely our first. I’d have remembered any other, and I’d have remembered anything that followed.” He waited until she met his gaze. “And so would you.”

  She blushed, but also rolled her eyes. “Fine. We didn’t . . . sleep together,” she said. “I’d never have taken advantage of you that way.”

  At this very unexpected comment, he paused, surprised.

  “I was already at the pub when you arrived,” she said. “You seemed fine until you had alcohol. Then you got pale and shaky, and when I asked you if you were okay, you said you wanted to go to bed. The pub was packed and everyone was either playing pool, darts, or dancing. No one else seemed worried about you getting upstairs okay, so I walked you.”

  He reached out and cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his. “And then . . .”

  “I got you upstairs.”

  He gave her a go-on gesture.

  She grimaced. “You hit the sack, tumbling me down with you.”

  He froze. “I forced you into my bed?”

  “No! No, nothing like that,” she rushed to tell him. “You were being playful, joking around about me wanting to tuck you in and suddenly you closed your eyes and were out. It happened so fast it scared me. So I stayed where I was.”

  “In my bed.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Because you were worried about me.”

  “Yes.” She nodded earnestly.

  “So I didn’t . . . try anything.”

  She bit her lip.

  Oh, Christ. He had. Visions of being slowly murdered by Archer were filling his head when she said, “It wasn’t you, it was me.”

  He felt his brows vanish into his hair as a relieved laugh escaped him. “You tried something?”

  “No, I didn’t try something. I just . . . wanted to.”

  He felt the smile curve his mouth and she gave him a little shove. “Would you be serious?”

  Something about her sincerity grabbed him by the throat. And the gut. She cared about him. And he cared about her. This wasn’t just fun and games, and he needed to be honest with her. Because no matter what his body wanted, he wasn’t ruled by it, and this wasn’t going to happen.

  Ever.

  She was looking up at him with her feelings on her sleeve, seeming half embarrassed at her admissions and half braced for rejection, and it was that which snaked in past his defenses and detonated his walls.

  He dropped his forehead to hers. “We can’t.”

  She closed her eyes and pulled back, turning from him. “Right. Of course not. That would be stupid. So stupid. I have no idea what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking.” She grabbed her purse and made a beeline for the door.

  He snagged her hand and reeled her back in.

  “Don’t you dare say it’s because you feel sorry for me,” she ground out.

  He stroked a finger along her temple, tucking an errant strand hair behind her ear, making sure she was looking at him when he spoke. “I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for me for missing out.”

  “Well so do I,” she said, tugging free. “Because I’d have rocked your world. I’m going now, off to solve my case.”

  She shut the door before he could say another word and he had to admit, he was pretty fucking impressed. There weren’t very many people who could render him stupid.

  But she managed it effortlessly.

  He followed her out. Normally he took the stairs to the courtyard after work, where he’d grab dinner, either from Ivy’s taco truck outside on the street or at the pub. There was a new sandwich shop and also a pretty good food truck on the street.

  But Molly had called for the elevator. Another indicator that her leg was especially bothering her. He followed her into the elevator, searching her face.

  She was good at hiding when she wanted to be, but the pinch of pain in her expression didn’t escape him. When she glanced up and caught him looking her over, he smoothly pulled out his phone and looked at the screen.

  “You don’t have to pretend not to notice,” she said as the elevators doors opened to the courtyard. It was a frosty cold night but Molly headed right into it, slowing at the alley to wave at Old Man Eddie, who was sitting on his crate. He wasn’t with Caleb this time but a woman, which was new. Her hair was silver leaning toward light blue, her skin the texture of an apple doll, and she and Eddie were laughing at something one of them had said.

  “This here is Virginia,” Eddie said in introduction. “She’s my new girlfriend. We met when she stopped by for some of my special mistletoe.”

  Eddie’s “special” mistletoe was most likely pot and if Archer caught the old man selling it to the geriatrics again, he and Spence would get into it like they did every year. “I thought you agreed to stop selling your . . . mistletoe,” Lucas said.

  Virginia smiled at Eddie. “He’s not charging me. Today’s our one week anniversary.”

  Eddie winked at her. “Just wait, I’m saving my good stuff for week two.” He looked at Molly and gestured to Lucas. “This guy treating you right?”

  Molly took a quick glance at Lucas. “Oh. It’s not like that.”

  “Huh.” Eddie sent a disappointed look to Lucas. “I thought you had more game than that.”

  “Game?” Virginia asked on a laugh. “Honey, last night you kissed me and farted at the same time.”

  “It was the tacos from the food truck. Tacos gives everyone gas. But hey. I can still kiss, right?”

  Molly laughed and kept walking. Lucas followed, slowing a minute later at the courtyard fountain. It’d been here since the mid-1800s, back in the days when there’d actually been cows in Cow Hollow. The building had been constructed around it, and legend stated that if you stood before the water and wished for true love with a true heart, it’d happen for you.

  The myth was perpetuated by the fact that there were more than a few couples who either lived or worked in this very building who claimed the legend had come true for them, some of them being his good friends. Because of that, he liked to give the fountain a wide berth.

  So of course Molly stopped in front of the fountain.

  She stared at the water for a minute, her hands shoved in her pockets, where he could hear the jingle of a few coins. Was she going to wish for love? He hoped not, but something of his thoughts must’ve shown on his face because she arched a brow.

  “Nervous?” she asked.

  “Of course not.” Skill Number One for his job—being able to lie his ass off.

  “Ever been in love?” she asked.

  He paused, not wanting to go there. But in the end, he figured she deserved a real answer. “Yes,” he said.

  He could tell by the look on her face that this wasn’t what she’d expected. “You’re surprised,” he said.
/>   “Yes.”

  “You don’t think I have emotions?”

  “I don’t think you admit to them very often.”

  “I don’t.” He shrugged. “But it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.”

  Taking this in, she cocked her head. “So you’ve been in love. What went wrong?”

  “She was killed in a car accident.”

  “Oh my God.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. How long ago?”

  “Eight years.”

  She nodded and took a step closer. “Is that why you don’t do anything too deep relationship-wise now?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve had some losses but I’ve also let people down that I care about. I don’t like that feeling, so I guess I’ve just conditioned myself to not get invested past a certain level. Like you.”

  “How do you know what I do or don’t do?” she asked.

  “We’ve worked together for two years,” he said. “I’ve never seen you invest yourself. Am I wrong?”

  She hesitated and then shook her head. “You’re not wrong.”

  “Molly!”

  They both turned in time to see Molly’s friends coming out of the coffee shop calling out for her.

  “Whoa,” Sadie said as the women came close, looking into Molly’s face. “Your skin’s glowing.”

  Molly slid a quick glance at Lucas, confirming that she put the “glow” blame firmly on him.

  Sadie slid her speculative gaze from Molly to Lucas, who she stared at for a long beat. Not much got by her. There was a warning in her eyes, one he understood perfectly.

  Hurt her and you’ll die slowly and painfully.

  He got that, but she had no idea that there was already people waiting to kill him if he hurt Molly, and she’d have to get in line behind Archer and Joe.

  Molly had put her hands to her cheeks. “I’m not glowing. That would be weird.”

  “Not weird,” Haley said. “It’s nice. You look pretty. But you also look . . . different, that’s all. You haven’t glowed like that in a long time.”

  “It’s just windburn.”

  “Wouldn’t mind some of that windburn,” Haley said wistfully.

  “We’re having dinner,” Pru said, rubbing her big baby bump. “You two want to join?”

  “I’m still working,” Molly told her.

  Sadie smiled and squeezed her hand. “Just take it easy, okay?”

  “No worries, I’m fine,” Molly said and then the two women exchanged a long look.

  Lucas did his best to read it, but even having a sister and his mom, he was most definitely not fluent in Women Speak. He knew people sometimes saw Molly as a fragile little flower, but in his mind she wasn’t fragile like a flower at all. Not even close. She was fragile like . . . a bomb.

  “I just pushed myself a little too hard in the gym this morning, that’s all,” Molly said.

  “You need to come do yoga with me sometime,” Elle said.

  “Maybe,” Molly said. “If it’s cold yoga and I get to wear sweatpants and just lie on the floor.”

  Elle laughed. “Sweats are a cry for help.”

  “Hey, there’s no reason a cry for help can’t be comfortable. ’Night, guys.” Molly walked off and Lucas followed, feeling all the eyes following them. But Molly didn’t seem to give it a second thought.

  A few minutes later they were buckling into his car when his phone rang. Seeing it was Joe, he clicked off his blue tooth so it wouldn’t blast the conversation into the interior of the vehicle. “Talk,” he said.

  Molly looked over at him, brows raised. She always complained about the guys and their phone manners, but the truth was, they were just usually in a hurry and trying to be efficient, and he didn’t get the problem with that.

  “I’m at the pub with Kylie,” Joe said. “Saw you leave the courtyard with Molly. She’s not answering my call. What’s going on?”

  Shit. What was going on? Well, let’s see. Fact number one: he’d kissed Molly until he’d nearly forgotten his own name. Fact number two: she’d kissed him back. Fact number three: that kiss—no, better make that kisses, as in plural—had been the best thing to happen to him in recent memory, and all he could think about was hauling her over the console and into his lap and taking more of what she’d so sweetly offered. “I’ll have to get back to you,” he said.

  “Negative,” Joe replied. “Tell me now.”

  Right. Okay then. He held up a finger to Molly signaling that he needed a moment and stepped out of the car, shutting the door and walking a few feet away so as to not be overheard. “I already told Archer. She’s taking the case outside of work and there’s no stopping her,” he said quietly.

  Joe was quiet for a beat, then he said something, muffled. Lucas realized he was talking to Archer.

  Perfect.

  Joe came back. “And you’re not going to tell her what you’re up to.”

  “What is this, sixth grade?” Lucas asked. “Why can’t you guys just tell her I’m here to have her back?”

  “Because then she’ll think we don’t trust her.”

  “As you clearly don’t.”

  “It’s complicated,” Joe said.

  No shit.

  “Look, just take care of her, okay? It’s simple.”

  It wasn’t simple. Nothing about this was simple. And neither was Molly. She was simple like . . . like quantum physics. “Tell me what happened to her.”

  “Why?”

  Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose and drew a deep breath. Brother and sister were more alike than either of them wanted to believe. “Look, you want me to keep her safe, I’m going to keep her safe. But I’m missing some key intel here.”

  Joe was quiet for a beat. “It’s a long story,” he finally said. “And it’s not my story to tell. But I can say that her getting hurt . . . that shit was all on me. She used to run track. Wanted to be an Olympian. That was her dream, it was her way out. And none of it happened. So yeah, I go a little crazy when I think she could get hurt again. I know that.”

  Not an apology, but Lucas didn’t need one. He understood guilt. And he understood the gut-clenching, heart-stopping fear of someone he loved getting hurt. “I’ve got her back,” he said gruffly. “You know I do. I’ll watch over her.”

  And he would, or die trying. But if Joe knew the truth, that Lucas had had his mouth on Molly’s, and also his hands, there was every chance that his partner and good friend would kill him dead where he stood with absolutely zero remorse, and Lucas would expect no less.

  Chapter 9

  #JingleAllTheWay

  Molly watched Lucas end his call and slide behind the wheel.

  “What’s your plan?” he asked, clearly having no intention of talking about his phone call. The call that had agitated him, even though he was still looking his usual calm, implacable self.

  A reminder that while they appeared to have added kissing to their repertoire, they weren’t exactly friends.

  Or lovers.

  Got it.

  “My plan,” she said, “is to go look around the Christmas Village, but first I want to check out Bad Santa’s home address. Stealthily, of course. I just want to get a feel for him. Something’s weird to me.” She gave him the addy and he started driving.

  She looked resolutely out the window and not at him because that was the only way to get through this, not looking into his face. She didn’t know how to go back to before the kiss, didn’t know how to un-want him.

  When he spoke a few minutes into the silence, he startled her. “I’ve got a question,” he said.

  She hesitated, feeling more than a little wary. “Okay.”

  “Your leg seems to bother you more on the cold days.”

  She looked over him in the dark, ambient lighting of the interior of the car, surprised. People who’d known her for years hadn’t caught onto that. “Yes. It does.”

  “What happened? What can be done so you don’t have to be in pain?”

  “That’s more tha
n one question,” she said, turning back to the window.

  He snorted and the sound made her want to smile, but she held it because she didn’t want to talk about this with him. Or anyone. Ever.

  “I’d like to know,” he said quietly, the amusement gone from his voice. “Because I’d like to know more about you.”

  “I tried to let you know more about me and was shut down.”

  “No fair,” he said softly.

  Okay, he might be right on that one. She shrugged. “Hey, if you want to play a game of questions, I’m all for it. But I get to go first.”

  “Fine. Hit me,” he said.

  “You said you’d let down those you’ve loved. How?”

  He glanced over at her and then turned his attention back to the road. “I started out as a medic but I hated that, so I went into the DEA. I did a lot of undercover and was gone all the time, and when I wasn’t, I still wasn’t good about being there for the people in my life.”

  “So that’s how you let them down? By being a workaholic?”

  He gave a short nod.

  “Being a workaholic isn’t the worst thing,” she said.

  “It is if you love one,” he said. “My turn. Tell me what happened to you.”

  The injury had actually been her back, not her leg. She’d broken her back in three places falling out of the window making her great escape all those years ago. She’d had multiple spine surgeries but the nerves in her right leg still hadn’t come back. While the stabbing, burning, constant nerve pain had thankfully faded, left in its placed was . . . a nothingness. Her right leg from knee to hip was entirely numb. Like gone-to-the-dentist-and-been-doped-up-with-Novocain numb.

  It drove her crazy. But it was better than the constant pain. The only time she felt that was when she was stupid and vain enough to wear a set of her beloved heels, or if she sat too long. Or stood too long. Or forgot to stretch daily. Or moved wrong.

  In other words, lived.

  It was just a way of life for her now. One she kept mostly to herself about. There wasn’t anything anyone could do about it and she also hated when people felt sorry for her. She had a very serious thing about that. Her first boyfriend had freaked out when she twisted her leg on his stairs and then couldn’t walk for a week. They’d gotten past that only to have him freak out again their first time in bed, when he’d seen her surgical scars. And he hadn’t even known that there were more surgeries in her future, which weren’t guaranteed to help what was now a degenerative condition and would likely continue to worsen.