by Mary Calmes
"Maybe I should," he said gently, his fingers warm on the side of my neck as he bent toward me.
I took a step back. "I don't sleep with one person and kiss somebody else. It's not me."
He stared at me hard. "I'll remember that when you're with me and won't worry that you'll cheat."
I shook my head. "You're amazing."
"This is what I've been saying."
I grabbed him, wrapping my arms around him, hugging him tight. "Thank you for how you feel, Nick. I'm humbled by it."
He trembled in my arms, burying his face in my shoulder as he clutched at my back, my hair, finding my bare skin as he nuzzled my coat collar with his nose. I felt his lips on the side of my neck.
"You know all this is because you don't think we have any chemistry," he said softly, seductively. "But I promise you, we do."
I tried to let him go but he was holding on too tight.
"I feel right when I hold you, and it's new for me."
I pulled free and looked up into his eyes.
He stared back at me for long minutes.
"Okay," I said, shoving my hands deep into my pockets, walking backwards, and heading for the curb to call a cab.
"I'll see ya, Nicky."
"If the detective screws up, J—you know who to call."
I nodded.
"And I still get to see your place and you did promise to meet my family."
I smiled wide. "Yes."
"And you won't blow me off."
"No."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"Just making sure," he called over to me, lifting a hand before he turned away, walking down the street.
I wondered for a second if I would ever see him again.
* * * *
It was after seven when Sam came into the apartment and closed and locked the door behind him.
"Hi," I called over to him from where I was reading on the couch.
He pulled off his trench coat and threw it on the chair. His keys were dropped on the coffee table as he crossed the room to me.
"Are you okay?"
"No," he said, reaching me. "It smells great in here."
I put the magazine down and looked up at him. "How was work, honey?"
"It was shit," he chuckled, grabbing my right thigh, yanking me around, forcing me to my back so he could lie down on top of me, between my legs.
"I'm sorry," I told him as he bent and kissed me. It was possessive and hot and devouring. What it lacked was the urgency that was usual with us. He was taking his time, kissing me slowly, deeply, like he had all the time in the world. When I whimpered, he smiled against my mouth.
"I'm so glad to see you."
I wrapped my legs around his waist and he pressed against me as he kissed me long and hard. I was getting dizzy, it felt so good.
"Why don't you go take a shower or a hot bath and relax?"
"The shower I'll do," he said, pulling back from me. "But I wanna talk to you, so I'll make it fast."
"You can talk to me in the tub," I assured him, panting, trying to catch my breath. "I'll run the bath and you can sit in it."
"No thanks." He shook his head before he put his fingers under my chin and tilted my head up. "I just wanna sit and eat with you."
"Okay."
"Do you have any alcohol in your arsenal?"
"Yessir." My mouth was dry and I was barely breathing.
He nodded, leaned in and kissed me again. His tongue tangled with mine as a hand slipped under my shirt to slowly rub my stomach. "I bet you taste better than the food."
I couldn't speak. He annihilated me. His fingers stroking, petting me made my brain shut down.
"I'm gonna take a shower. I'll be right back."
"Okay" I said before he kissed my forehead and rose off me. I sat up and watched him walk out of the room, down the hall to his bedroom.
After I calmed a minute, I got up to get his dinner. When he came back in the kitchen a little while later, he looked better. He had on a long T-shirt under a short one, jeans, and thick sweat socks. His hair was still wet and was sticking up in places. He could not have been any more adorable.
I fed him lobster bisque, linguine and clams, fresh French bread, spinach salad with vinegar and oil dressing, and poured him many glasses of the Chardonnay that the guy at the wine store had said was good. I told him all about breakfast with Nick, walking around the bookstore afterward, the Christmas shopping I had started for Dane's friends, and the million places I had gone to get dinner.
"You had breakfast with the doctor?"
"Yes."
"And what'd he say when you told him you were gonna stay with me?"
"I just told him I had to see where this thing with you was gonna go."
He nodded. "You didn't tell him we were dating?"
"Is that what we're doing?"
"I dunno."
"We're just sort of hanging out, right?"
"We're doin' more than that."
"Are we?"
We shared a long look before I smiled wide.
"J—"
"I packed a bag like you asked. Tomorrow morning I'll split so you can have some time to yourself, but for now let's just say we—"
He reached across the table and put a hand over mine.
"Stop talking."
I grinned at him. "Okay."
After a few minutes he said my name, and when I looked up he was leaning his chin on his hand.
"What?"
"I can't let you go home."
I stared into his smoky blue eyes. "Oh no?"
"No."
"Eat your salad," I ordered him.
"Yes, baby."
When I got up to do the dishes he helped me clear the table. He dried everything I washed and put the dishes away.
While I was replacing the vase full of wildflowers on his dining table, he walked back in from taking out the garbage. He was on the phone, and as far as I could tell he was agreeing to something.
"So?" I asked as soon as he hung up.
"I completely forgot that tonight is Dom's birthday.
Everyone is at his place already."
"Oh." I nodded. "Then you should go."
"You gotta come with me."
My stomach rolled over. "No."
"Yes."
"It's not a good idea."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it's really not."
"J—"
"Sam—"
"Get your coat, J, we're leaving now."
"Maybe you should—"
"I can carry you out if you like."
And from the furrowed brows I got I realized he was serious. Funny that I wanted to meet his friends, but now I was terrified. Reality was always different than you imagined.
* * * *
I stood on the sidewalk looking at the house a minute before I turned and looked at Sam.
"What?"
"Are you kidding?"
"What?"
"This is your friend's house?" I was stunned.
"Yeah, I know. It looks fancy, right?"
Fancy was an understatement.
"Dom's wife passed, like I told ya, and her folks helped him buy it. I guess it was something she had asked them to do in the letter she left, take care of him and stuff. His wife wanted him to have a home. Her folks still help him out from time to time, send him money, gifts, and it makes sense, ya know? I mean, if you think about it, he's all they've really got left of their daughter."
His logic seemed flawed. "Her parents must be loaded, Sam."
"Not really, but between what they kicked in and some smart investments that Dom made, there was enough for the house."
He had no idea what he was talking about. He didn't know what houses cost, I did. There was no way any good investing and money kicked in from well-meaning in-laws yielded a house like the one I was walking into. From stairs that led up to a now dormant garden, to the glass front door, the huge bay window that faced the street,
the sunken living room, the enormous rooms, the full bar, the deck in back, it was a showpiece and not one that a man on a detective salary could afford. I had snooped and looked at Sam's pay stubs and I knew that he and Dominic Kairov were both detectives at the same grade. I had to wonder in what ways Dominic was feathering his nest that the others were not, but I was not comfortable asking Sam for those answers. What he wanted to share about his partner I was more than happy to hear, but I got the feeling that probing was out of the question.
Dominic, or Dom, Kairov had been with Sam since their police academy days. They were assigned to the same precinct after graduation and had been through times good and bad. Good being when they had both made detective at thirty-one, and bad when Dominic's wife had committed suicide two years ago. Her parents, Sam had confided to me, had blamed him not for the act itself but for the depression that drove her to it. Between his long absences, infidelity, and emotional distance, he had been the opposite of a model husband, so I was surprised to hear that they had sprung for half of a million-dollar mortgage. It made no sense, and Sam should have noticed, but no one, including Sam, questioned how Dominic was living because his wife was dead. If he said her family had helped him out, given him gifts, then it must have been true. I knew Sam believed Dominic; the man was, after all, his partner, brother and friend.
As I followed Sam through the house he was stopped over and over by people wanting to talk to him. He did a lot of handshaking, hugging men and kissing women. I was introduced as simply Jory but he kept me close, his hand on the back of my neck as he steered me in front of him through the house. On the back deck, sitting by the fireplace, were Sam's closest friends, the detectives he worked with day in and day out. Dominic was the first to his feet, pulling Sam close for the guy clench before shoving him away.
"Oh, you brought the witness." He smiled at me before turning to Sam. "That's what the safe house is for, buddy," he teased his friend. "Did you miss the memo?"
Sam smirked at him as he groaned that he needed a drink.
Dominic nodded, draped an arm around his shoulders, and led him away. He called back over his shoulder that I could follow them to the bar. I was not asked if I wanted anything because I was not, relatively speaking, Sam's date. I could fend for myself like any of the other guys. I watched them go before turning around to survey the room. I knew no one, I had not been invited, and I had just been abandoned. It was shaping up to be a great night.
I wandered around looking at the expensive artwork, Baccarat crystal goblets on the set table in the dining room, and the lavish furnishings. There were rugs that cost more than my rent, and again I wondered how Dominic Kairov managed it. As I sat down on the stairs beside some women lounging in a small area of the living room, I overheard Sam's name.
"So who's that girl with Sam and Dom?" one of them asked.
Another snickered. "That's the girl Dominic set Sam up with on the double date, remember?"
"Oh, that's right," first girl said. "She was nice. Her name's Maggie something."
"Yeah-yeah, Maggie, that's right. Maggie Dixon."
"So our Sam's been on two dates with her?" First girl arched one perfectly waxed brow. "Well, that's one more than usual."
"She's cute," another girl chimed in. "What's she do?"
"I think she teaches school. Third or fourth grade, I think."
"Awww, a school teacher for Sammy? How cute is that?"
"Look at them, they're adorable together."
Margaret Dixon was a curvy, petite brunette with deep dimples and big brown eyes. She had a great laugh, warm demeanor, and was, by all accounts, very likable. She was one of those touchy-feely people, so she basically had her hands all over Sam, but it was charming instead of flirty or bold. Her hair curled down to the middle of her back, she actually had that peaches and cream complexion you always heard about but never saw in real life, and the hourglass figure was being well served by the tight jeans and low-cut wrap shirt. She was the kind of girl men lined up for. She was Sam's type, the girls assured one another, and watching them together it was hard not to concede.
He seemed at ease with Maggie. His eyes were soft when he looked at her and when he bent over her to show her how to hold the pool cue, the girls all did the aww in harmony. I watched him get her a drink, let her feed him the cherry, and then give her the stem he had tied with his tongue. Some comment was made because Maggie flushed a very becoming shade of pink and Sam arched one eyebrow and smiled wickedly. The howls of laughter from the table made everyone look. I was ready to go. I slunk off toward the kitchen to see it there was any bottled water anywhere.
The music got louder as the night wore on but it wasn't quite as pounding on the second floor. I found a sitting room between two bedrooms that was quiet and filled with back issues of Architectural Digest. I found one with a photo spread of Dane from ten years back and had a good laugh over his clothes as well as his hair. I took a picture of it with my phone and sent my boss a text message, asking him what had been going on with him in the nineties. When my phone rang, I expected it.
"Don't you have anything better to do than annoy me?" he asked irritably.
"No."
"Why not?"
I explained about what I was doing and where I was and I was instantly sorry. He was really not pleased with my decision to spend time with Sam, and wondered how I could be sitting in someone's house pretending to be something I wasn't. I told him it was my life and he promptly corrected me. Since I spent more hours with him, at work, than anywhere else, it was technically his life, and as such he had a say in where and with whom I spent the remainder of my time.
"I just want to be with him," I defended myself.
"Great. Are you?"
There was no argument for that.
"So is this detective's home nice?" He was changing the subject. It was really decent of him.
"Yeah."
"Yes."
"Yes," I repeated, rolling my eyes. "It's actually a little too nice."
"Explain that."
"I think this might be one of Peter Armand's designs."
He snorted. "I very much doubt that someone your detective knows is living in an Armand house."
"Exactly."
"Go out front and take a picture and I'll be able to tell you."
"Okay. Call me back."
"I will." He yawned and hung up.
I went downstairs and out through the front door. When I was across the street I lifted my phone to take a picture. I heard the squeal of tires as soon as I finished sending the shot to Dane.
There were two black Hummers and they spilled out people into the street. I walked backwards as I watched the men take the stairs, kick open the front door, and pour inside. The screams were audible all the way out to the street as the music abruptly cut off. I heard firecrackers going off inside along with the lightning show. I sunk down behind the Lexus beside me and called 911.
I told the operator that I was at the home of a police detective and I was clear and concise as I gave the address and read her off both license plates from each Hummer. They had left no one in either car, so I snuck up to the closest one and grabbed the keys. Almost to the second, I heard someone scream Dominic's name. No mistake about who they were there to see. At least I was outside where I could help.
All I could think about was saving Sam, even though I hated him. I hit the horn and when three of the guys appeared at the bay window, I waved from the Hummer before I got in. I locked the doors, started the car, and was expecting a ferocious burst of speed but got only a slow crawl. Glass exploded around me as the windows were shot out and the car was blasted with bullets. The moving rule applied though, and as I picked up speed traveling down the slight hill, I heard the wail of sirens. I managed to turn off the main road as a wall of police cars streaked past me; I counted ten in all and continued on, taking every side street I could find. Not that anyone was after me, but a bullet-ridden car would stand out. And I wondered at myself
that I was more mad than scared. Flying lead should have been horrifying, but all I kept seeing, the thing that kept popping back into my head, was the way Sam had been looking at Maggie. I wanted him to look at me what way.
I drove to his apartment and grabbed my stuff because I didn't want to come between him and the promise of his happily-ever-after. He obviously found Maggie Dixon charming and he deserved the chance to see where it would go without having to worry about me. She was probably the reason he had insisted on going to Dominic's party in the first place. Sam was not the type to do anything he didn't want to, so going must have had more to do with her presence than anything else. Lost in my thoughts, when I finally looked at my phone I realized I had twenty missed calls. I hadn't even heard the insistent ringing.
"Jory?" Sam said quickly, answering on the first ring. "Are you okay?"
"I'm okay." I shivered, but not from cold. The Hummer had heated seats. "Are you okay? You didn't get hurt, did you?"
"No, I didn't get hurt! Jesus Christ, what the hell were you doing with that fuckin' stunt?"
"It got them out of the house, didn't it?"
"Jory! Where the hell are you?"
"I have no idea," I said, leaning forward, trying to read a street sign. "But I think I'm near Midway."
"Jory, goddamn it! Pull the fuck over and wait for me. I—"
"You know, Sam, it's not a good idea. I went by your place and got my stuff. I—"
"You what?"
"I think I made a mistake and we both know you think you did."
"I have no idea what you're—"
"Watching you flirt with Maggie Dixon all night doesn't top my list of fun things to do."
"Jory! God, nobody makes me as crazy as you! I have no idea how you've lived this long!"
I grunted, waving at the other car in the intersection that I had nearly run into. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, which was dangerous when you were piloting the Enterprise. I leaned out the window to yell over to them.
"Sorry, big car—didn't see ya! My bad."
"Jory!"
Shit. Sam. I moved the phone back to where I could talk into it. "So I think maybe I should just let you get on with your life and—"
"Jory—Jory—"
