She’d walked past his car on the way out of the lot, stopped, and waited in hope he might follow her. It was ridiculous, perhaps, given he’d called her his sister in front of the strange woman. She stuffed her hands deeper inside the coat pockets and paced on the snow-covered street debating whether to continue on back to his home, but decided on giving him a minute more to show. If he didn’t, she’d assume he’d taken the woman up on her offer.
“Angel!” A lone figure came running around the corner, his voice nearly lost in the ferocity of the winter wind. He slowed as he approached, but his determined stride gave notice he was none too happy. “I thought I told you to stay put.”
Angel’s dander escalated. This was the thanks she got for walking for blocks in this godforsaken storm to bring him soup? “Am I being detained as a prisoner?” she called to him in challenge.
He marched up to her and stood toe-to-toe, staring down at her. “As long as those guys who attacked you are out on the street; your life is in danger. What part of that don’t you understand?” He fished his keys out of his pocket and opened the door. He stepped back, holding it wide. “Get in.”
She bit her lip at the brusque tone in his voice. “I’m a big girl. I can watch out for myself.”
“Yeah, we’ll talk about that, too. Come on, it’s freezing out here.”
Angel climbed begrudgingly into the car. She twisted to pull the strap over her as he’d done earlier, but had trouble finding the place to insert the damn thing into. She fought back tears born of frustration and let go, sending the metal clasp against the frozen window.
“What’s the problem?” Shado slammed the driver’s door and started the car, toying for a moment with the dials before he refocused on her.
“I can’t get this,” she said, grabbing the belt again, “to go in where it’s supposed to.” A flicker of irritation flashed in his icy expression, and it made her feel like an imposition in his life.
Without a word, he reached over and snagged the buckle from her, and with no effort slid it easily into the clasp at her hip. The strap hung woefully loose, curled lifeless in her lap.
“You pulled out too much. Give it a little tug.”
Angel twisted and tugged at the belt over her shoulder to no avail. “It’s not—” She turned to speak and her gaze slammed into his not more than a few inches from her face. She marveled that for no longer than she’d known him, he could so easily set her emotions into a tailspin.
“Here, I’ll get it.”
His warm breath, smelling slightly of coffee, brushed over her and she felt tension on her shoulder. The strap tightened and so did her heart.
“That should do it.”
Angel looked up, the tension thick between them.
“When I ask you to do something like stay inside, please listen. Next time, it could mean your life.”
He searched her face, hesitating before he settled back in his seat and strapped himself in. Angel could barely breathe. She turned and stared out of the window for the remainder of the silent ride home. The air between them filled with a tension she could not easily pinpoint. She cleared her throat. “Did you know the woman back there?” she asked trying to sound casual. Outside, the snow was beginning to blanket everything.
“Never saw her before.”
“She was quite beautiful—if you like her sort.” She tossed him a sideways glance.
“I hadn’t noticed one way or another. I was working.” He turned a knob, forcing the long wipers to swipe the snow off the window at a faster clip. “I wanted to ask you why you work two jobs.” He gave her a puzzled look.
“You work with Gleason, I surmise, chasing the bad guys, and yet you have to take another job selling trees at night?”
His expression, clearly confused, dissolved into a bone-melting smile. “That is part of my job chasing the bad guys,” he responded and swung his focus back to the road.
The pieces of his reasoning weren’t falling together in her brain and she frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a setup, so we can keep an eye on the bad guys.”
“So you were working with Gleason the night I met you?”
He nodded.
“And you thought I was working for the people you’re trying to catch?”
He shrugged. “At first, yeah.”
“And now you believe I’m not?”
A moment of silence ticked by. “I believe you maybe were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He glanced at her. “I will be curious when your memory comes back to find out why you called the Imperial the Sweet Magnolia.”
Angel wondered whether to tell him about her chat with Miss Brisbee and the book her great-grandmother had a part in—the one about the Sweet Magnolia. Given his recent reaction to her leaving the apartment, she decided to keep the information to herself for the time being.
She studied her protector—as she’d chosen to dub him. He seemed so alone, so cloistered in his own little world, refusing to allow anyone to get too close. Angel saw the passion, which drove him. She felt it when he defended her from being sent to a jail cell, in his anger when he feared for her safety in the tub, in the tender way he instructed her to eat the Oreo cookie. It dawned on her then, when she was able to look past her own pride, his anger toward her was yet another manifestation of his passion to ensure her safety. Angel glanced at him and wondered what secrets made him unable to show his emotions. And if she was able to find a way to release them, what might happen? She sighed quietly and softly cleared her throat. “I’m really sorry about leaving the apartment and causing you to worry.” She lightly touched his forearm.
He glanced down at her fingers on his sleeve. “Just don’t let it happen again.”
***
Angel brushed her teeth and gently replaced the bright pink toothbrush in the glass next to his black one. Since her arrival, he’d been considerate in many ways—patiently explaining the mechanics of the many electrical devices in his house, showing her where he washed his clothes, though she wasn’t allowed to go to the basement alone, and picking up a few items she needed for daily use. He’d given her the clothes off his back, and though she hadn’t need of much more than her dress, corset, and short pantaloons, he’d given her his boxers to wear while her other clothes were hanging to dry. She assessed her reflection in the mirror and thought again of what the beautiful woman from the Imperial had told her. She didn’t consider herself beautiful, rather wholesome looking, she guessed. Her skin was fair and so, too, her hair, but nothing particularly notable. She was not well-endowed like the women she’d seen on the Victorian Secret commercials, but her curves were adequate, enticing enough to a man who might be interested.
She turned at an angle, holding her palm against her flat stomach. She’d made a habit of eating the black cookies called “Oreos” every night before bed, but thus far it hadn’t affected her physique. Her soft breasts looked firm still beneath the ribbed T-shirt she wore, and her bottom looked appealing enough in his plaid boxer shorts she wore to bed. She couldn’t deny the physical attraction to her keeper. What woman wouldn’t be affected by the early morning sight of a bare-chested man looking warm and tousled from sleep? There were times she when caught him looking at her in a way that made the juncture of her thighs warm, but he never acted on it. He was a gentleman first and foremost, and he both frightened and intrigued her.
A soft tap on the bathroom door jarred her from her reverie. “Almost done.” She grabbed her hairbrush, having seen a show on his television which said brushing long hair seventy-five times a night kept it shiny. She pulled open the door to Shado’s perturbed expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long.” She adjusted her T-shirt, hoping to cover how she reacted to him standing there wearing nothing but his gray sweatpants.
“Not a problem.”
He squeezed quickly past her, avoiding her eyes. Angel wasn’t sure which was worse—his anger or his apathy.
Hours later, she lay awake, st
aring at the peach-colored light outside the living room window. She’d started to read the book Miss Brisbee had loaned her, finding so much within its pages that seemed strangely familiar to her. Of particular interest was the seemingly ill-fated relationship between Sheriff Jake and his true love, a bordello madam by the name of Lucky Lil.
Lucky Lil. It was interesting how closely Shado resembled the upstanding sheriff in the book she was reading—the man who served his town yet made little time for himself, until the one woman the town shunned came along and turned his world upside down. She lay in bed, toying with the thought when her ear caught the strains of a familiar song on the radio. She leaned over to turn it up. “Don’t go changing….” the singer crooned. Angel sat upright and listened. Then she realized she was humming along with the tune as though she’d heard it before.
“Shado…Detective Jackson,” she called out in the silent apartment.
He came running down the hall, stopping short when he saw her sitting up in bed with the light on. He assessed the room in short order, and once satisfied she was safe, stared at her, then looked down to the form-fitting briefs he wore. “Shit,” he muttered and swiped his hand over his groggy expression. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait. Listen to this.” She pushed to her knees and turned up the volume until the song echoed in the room.
“Angel, people are sleeping,” he snarled and strode to the radio, flipping down the switch.
“I remember why I came here.”
He stood with his hands on his hips, his attention, though weary, intent on her.
“The song made me remember I was looking for Billy.” Her glance slipped to the view of his chiseled stomach and the briefs that left little to her imagination about his body beneath. “I can’t remember yet how I got here…but it has something to do with that song.” She forced her focus back to his face. To her, this breakthrough was like a light going on in her brain. “Maybe if we find this, this—Billy, he can tell me how I got here.”
He released a pronounced sigh and nodded. “Okay, see if you can remember his last name and maybe he can help us. Now, we probably should try to get some sleep.”
The truth was she was too excited to sleep. “But don’t you see? This is good. It means I’m starting to remember. It makes me want to look at those books, to try harder to find the man who attacked me.”
“You want to look at the books…now?”
“You go back to bed. I’ll wake you if I remember anything else.” She dismissed him with a short wave. Her face was flushed at the torrid thoughts she was having about pulling him into bed and trying to release some of those pent up emotions he kept at bay.
He eyed her. “Okay.” He started to walk away, and she took a moment to appreciate the firmness of his backside in those snug briefs. He stopped suddenly and glanced over his shoulder.
“You’re sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure,” she stated in a hurried response. Was he aware she’d been watching him walk away?
He studied her a moment longer then headed down the hall.
“Unless you wouldn’t mind first showing me how to make your special hot cocoa?” she called after him.
Chapter Five
Hot…anything at one in the morning caused him to stop in his tracks. He should’ve kept on walking and pretended he hadn’t heard her. Gone back to bed. Like he’d gotten a helluva lot of sleep anyway. His mind, unable to shut off, had tormented him with every possible scenario of what could’ve happened to her out on the streets given how vulnerable she was.
Vulnerable.
The word screamed in his brain, telling him the periodic fantasies about her were as dangerous for her as they were for him. Nope. It would behoove him to go back to bed, make her think he hadn’t heard a word she said—back to his cold, lonely bed. He closed his eyes, sensing he would regret this and called over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back. I need to get some pants on. Do you want a pair to keep your legs warm?” He turned in time to catch her walking toward him down the hall. She flipped on the kitchen light and in the stark brightness, realized her flimsy tank was askew revealing part of her breast. She tugged it into place, but not before he was able to see enough to create an uncomfortable rise in his shorts.
Her glance flitted downward then back up before she walked into the kitchen.
“It is chilly. Maybe long pants would be a good idea.”
Meaning, go cover your junk, Shado. He turned and strode down the hall, his gut twisting with a myriad of emotions. He took a little more time searching for a pair of sweats, hoping to harness his wayward libido at the sight of her long legs in his boxer shorts. He probably should consider getting her a few more clothes, but in reality, he hadn’t planned she’d still be living with him. Whoever had attacked her apparently kept a very low profile. It seemed the last week had been an endless stream of mug books—none of them proving successful. “Is gray okay?” he called out at the top of his lungs. A stern pounding sounded on his bedroom wall. It was the connecting wall to the newest tenants next door— extremely frisky from what he could tell, given the noise going on over there at all hours of the night. This, by the way, had not helped to quell his sleepless nights since the arrival of his new roommate. “Yeah, like I haven’t had to listen to your nightly escapades,” he muttered and closed the drawer with his hip.
“Gray’s fine,” came her reply from a distance. That too, received a wall pounding in response.
He sauntered down the hallway, tossing the pants from hand to hand, trying not to think of them covering her perfect butt. The kitchen was empty, and moving on to the living room, he stopped dead at the sight of her leaning out the window, trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue.
“Do you have a death wish?” He tossed the pants aside and, walking up behind her, placed his arms around her middle and drew her in from the window.
“Oh,” she remarked in surprise and twisted to peer at him over her shoulder. “I just wanted to see the snow. I can’t remember the last time I saw anything like this. It’s beautiful.”
He couldn’t deny that, but he wasn’t thinking about the weather, rather how amazing her firm little backside felt pressed against him.
“You could have fallen,” he admonished halfheartedly past the increasing thud of his heart.
She turned then in his embrace, and for the life of him he couldn’t let go.
“You worry about me?”
He studied her, dropped his hands, and reached over her shoulder to slam the window shut. “I’m doing my job.”
She didn’t budge an inch, purposely it seemed, making her presence known.
She nailed him with a defiant expression. “What are you afraid of?”
Fat chance. He wasn’t afraid of anything with the exception of losing Espinoza and never seeing him behind bars where he belonged. He frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He really didn’t wish to get into it with her. It was late. She smelled like night air and the lavender bubble bath he’d surprised her with. More to save his dishwashing soap for dishes than anything. Confrontation, on any level, was the last thing he wanted with the woman.
She stepped close. “I asked, what are you really afraid of?”
This is ludicrous. He started to step around her, but she blocked his way. “Now listen, what’s going on? What are you trying to do?”
“I’m trying to understand you.” She studied him. “Why don’t you quit beatin’ the devil around the stump and tell me what’s got you so all-fired tense?”
What the hell? “All-fired tense?” He repeated her strange jargon, frustrated that it fit his present condition all too well. If there was one thing sure to make him tense, it was a pushy female challenging him in his boxer shorts. He clamped his hands over her shoulders, ignoring her odd choice of words, and pinned her with a stare. “You just concern yourself with getting better.”
A smirk curled the corner of her tempting lips. She tipped her head, challenging h
im. “You’re anxious then, to see me go?”
“No.” Sure, he was frustrated. Frustrated by the fact they hadn’t fingered her attacker yet, frustrated Espinoza was still on the streets, frustrated by how she looked at him with those eyes, testing every bone in his body.
“My memory may be sketchy, but I haven’t forgotten what it means to be a woman. I know what I need.”
He stared at her, barely able to swallow. “I’m not the guy to give you what you need.” He resorted to his tough cop attitude—the narrowed glare, the firm resolve of his no-nonsense expression. None of it worked a red-hot damn. He wanted her and from the heat in her eyes, she felt the same, but it couldn’t happen. To drive the point home—more to himself than to her—he made clear his thoughts. “This isn’t going to happen.”
“What?” Her brow rose in a feminine challenge. “Tell me what isn’t going to happen.” Her delicate touch slid over his bare chest.
“You’re playing with fire, Angel.” “I’m fond of heat,” she whispered.
The tight control he held on his libido began to unravel, and Angel held the loose end.
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” She took a step closer, pressing her pliant breasts against him.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think you have a clue,” he muttered, reaching behind her neck and pulling her face close to his. In one swift move, he gently shoved her back against the wall and slammed his hand above her head, holding her unwavering gaze. “You think you know me, do you, Angel?” He trailed his fingers down her cheek, following the curve of her throat.
He tucked one finger beneath the tank strap and drew it down over her shoulder, exposing the creamy swell of her breast. A flash of uncertainty passed through her eyes before they drifted shut, and she succumbed to his caress. She drew in a shaky breath as he flicked his thumb over her velvety tip and felt it stiffen at his touch. Her breath was hot against his cheek. Her arms slipped around him, her fingers cupping his butt. He grew hard and hadn’t even kissed her, yet. She turned her head, brushing her lips to his, a matchstick igniting the fire inside him. He captured her face in his hands, feasting on her lips like a desperate man.
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