Set the Pace (The Detroit Love Duet #1)

by Kim Karr

  I’m okay with that.

  My body isn’t curvy, my breasts are definitely not large, my hair isn’t smooth, and my wardrobe isn’t extravagant.

  But it’s who I am.

  The tomboy in me never quite left.

  Clothes are meant to be comfortable—jeans, shorts, tank tops, and sweaters.

  Shoes are practical—sneakers, boots, ballet flats, and sandals.

  And makeup? Well, that’s meant to be quick and easy.

  Right?

  However, tonight I spend extra time on getting myself ready.

  A little more eyeliner than usual, an extra brush of mascara on my lashes, a dab of powder to help cover my freckles, and some pink-tinted lip gloss.

  My body buzzes with excitement at the thought of seeing him again. It seems wrong to feel this way in the midst of the chaos consuming both of our lives, but being with him . . . I don’t know . . . it sets me free.

  Yanking practically every dress I own from my closet, I toss each onto a pile. Too old. Too young looking. Just plain ugly.

  Ugh . . . I really need a new wardrobe.

  Finally, I find the perfect thing tucked away in the back of my closet. A body-hugging black tank dress that I bought on sale a few summers ago. In fact, I bought three of them in different styles from the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

  This one has a racerback. To make it a bit edgier, I select a skimpy bralette so the white straps will show, and then I choose the matching panties with just a hint of lace.

  Even if he doesn’t see any of it, knowing it’s there will make me feel sexier.

  Next a little spritz of perfume. And now the worst part: I have to tackle my hair. I take a little extra time to style it so the wildness is slightly tamed.

  Now, I glance in the mirror and can’t help but smile.

  Not bad, really.

  Then on to my shoes. I pick a pair of silver-studded black sandals that I rarely wear because if I walk in them too much they pinch my toes. But they’re cute and flat, and the silver dresses them up nicely.

  Jewelry.

  A long but simple silver chain and small diamond studs that belonged to my aunt with a few silver bangles, and I’m ready with ten minutes to spare.

  Pacing.

  Pacing.

  More pacing.

  Up the hallway and back down, my mind is in overdrive.

  Wondering.

  Contemplating.

  Weighing my options as I think about his offer.

  Was he serious about me working for him? Would I be of benefit or a charity case? I’m not certain about the former and couldn’t stand to be the latter.

  Knock. Knock.

  I’m right beside the door and even though the sound is gentle, I jump. It makes my body come alive because there is no doubt who is on the other side of that door.

  Telling myself to calm down, this is just a simple date, I check my dress and straighten my shoulders, and then I swing the door open.

  Hands behind his back, his downcast eyes lift and he smiles at me with a hint of shyness that causes my heart to skip a beat. Just then it occurs to me that the man standing before me isn’t just a man, he’s the boy I once thought of as my hero, and oh, how he has grown up.

  Handsome as hell.

  Breathtaking.

  So very much a man.

  Unable to resist, I take him in from head to toe. His black T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders and lean waist, jeans that look like they were made for him sit low on his narrow hips, and those boots he wears that he doesn’t always tie are tied tonight.

  I bite my lip subconsciously, not even realizing how much I’ve missed him this week until now. Something that feels like swarms of butterflies in my belly seizes me and I force my gaze up, hoping to calm them.

  Bad idea.

  Eyes that glimmer with specks of gold, with long lashes that sweep his skin in a blinking motion just before he fixates his stare on me, mesmerize me. Forcing my gaze to widen, I look at his hair. Oh, that hair. It sticks up in just the right places. It looks like he ran a hand through it one too many times or no, maybe it looks more like he just rolled out of bed. Either way, it’s perfection.

  In a surprising move, he takes my hand and pulls me close to him. Once our bodies are aligned, his hand shifts to my waist. “Hi,” he says and then kisses my cheek.

  Nothing overtly sexual. Just a soft brush of his lips on my skin, but I feel it. I feel it from my head all the way to my toes, and I shiver as the feeling courses through me. Unbelievably, my nipples harden from just that small touch. Oh no. “Hi,” I say back, trying not to think about the fact that my dress is skintight or that I sound way more breathless than any girl should when getting picked up for a date by a guy who hadn’t called her in five days.

  “Great dress,” he tells me, stepping away, his voice catching on the words. One hand still behind his back.

  “This old thing?” I laugh, and then look at it before admitting, “I wasn’t sure what to wear and found this in the back of my closet with the tags still on.”

  His eyes crinkle with so much appreciation that it makes me feel as though I look like a supermodel wearing couture and not Lycra. That stare continues for a few long, heavy seconds, and the heat in it becomes almost too much. “You look . . . you look amazing in it,” he breathes out.

  Blood rushes up my neck and lands on my cheeks. I’m blushing. I never blush. Or at least I didn’t—until the grown-up Jasper entered my life. “Thank you,” I say, turning away so he won’t notice. “Let me just grab my purse and keys.”

  He’s still in the hallway.

  “Come in. I won’t be long.”

  When he steps inside, he brings his other arm around and I swear the earth shakes beneath my feet. In his hand is the most perfect bouquet of forget-me-nots.

  Trembling, I slap my hands to my mouth, and then realizing how ridiculous I must look, I inhale a deep breath. Upon exhaling I ask, “How . . . how did you know they are my favorite?”

  Moving closer, he hands them to me. “I saw your tattoo and asked my mother what they were. After I described them, she told me, and she also told me where I could find them.”

  “You asked your mother?”

  Surprised by my question, he smirks. “Yes, I had some time to kill while I waited for you to get ready, so I called her to ask her about the flowers.”

  Feeling stupid, I back away and start rummaging for a vase. “Sorry. That was a little too personal.”

  He says nothing and I don’t look at him.

  Once I’ve filled the antique pewter vase with water and put the flowers in it, he says my name. I turn around. When he looks into my eyes, his smile is a little less bemused and his gaze brighter. Hungry. Lustful even. “No, it’s not at all. I’ve already told you I don’t talk to her that often, but I called her tonight . . . for you.”

  “For me?”

  Each step he takes to close the distance I’d put between us makes my heart beat faster and faster. Then he’s standing in front of me and pushing my hair away. Before I can react, his lips brush my earlobe. “Yes, I called her for you. I needed to know the name of those flowers.”

  My eyelids flutter.

  His breath pushes at the tendrils of my hair. “And then needed to find them. Once I learned what they were, I wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t forget you.”

  Sparks ignite my body, practically setting it on fire. “Thank you,” is all I can say. The emotion is overwhelming and I’m worried that I’m going to seem too weepy. Too needy. So again, I step away. This time I grab my purse and then my keys, but I can’t find the new key from the locksmith. I should have put it on my key ring.

  His eyes are watching me. I feel them. “Can I help you find something?”

  “No, I think I know where it is.”

  “Where what is, Charlotte?”

  My name on his tongue. I really like how it sounds. I shouldn’t. I know this. Reminding myself that this is just a date and that
I need to chill or I might scare him away with my neediness is a good thing. Summoning my willpower, I flash him a smile and start down the hallway to look in my bedroom. “It’s just a single key, but I think I know where it is,” I tell him. In my room, I find the jeans I wore to work last night in the hamper and sure enough, one shiny key is in the pocket. “Got it,” I say, beaming as I head back out into my living room holding the key high.

  His gaze fastens on it. “What’s that for? I noticed the lock downstairs still hasn’t been fixed, so it can’t be for that.”

  Lies aren’t something I’m accustomed to telling, and I have to tell him about my suspicions sooner or later. “I think someone broke into my apartment.”

  The concern on his face makes me feel bad. He has enough on his mind. “Why? What makes you think that?”

  “Can we talk about it at dinner?” I suggest.

  Since my apartment is about the size of a pea compared to his, three giant strides and he’s over at my sofa, or love seat would be a better word for it, and plopping himself down. “No, I want to know what happened now,” he demands.

  Surprised by his tone, I sit down on the bar stool and turn to face him. Maintaining my strength, I tell him everything from the night he first brought me home, to my discovery days later when I was looking for my remote, to the police search and my trip to the police station.

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you.”

  He seems genuinely angry but manages to ask me question after question in a relatively calm demeanor. Finally, I get to the part where Detective Hill told me how Eve was killed. Surprisingly, that information hasn’t been made public yet. Something must have happened that prevented him from releasing that press release as planned.

  “She was strangled?” Jasper asks in shock.

  I nod. “That’s what he told me, anyway.”

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  Worry takes hold of me. “What is it, Jasper?”

  Standing, he starts to pace.

  “Jasper?”

  He looks over at me. “Let’s get out of here. And for the rest of the night, I don’t want to talk about anything to do with Eve, the murder case, my father, or your father.”

  I step toward him, no longer caring what his closeness does to my body. “Jasper, I can do that, but tell me first.”

  The sun is starting to set, and he looks over my shoulder and out the window. “I can’t. Not right now.”

  I take another step, closer still. “But you will?”

  He nods and after he puts his phone on silent, he offers his arm to me. “I will . . . when I’m ready. Now let’s go.”

  I accept that. I have to. It’s honest and real and I get it. “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “To a place that serves the best bourbon in town.”

  Smiling, I link my arm through his. The gesture makes me giddy. Once I lock my door, he opens his hand. “Let me take that so you don’t lose it.”

  Without hesitation, I give my key to him. Knowing he’ll be the one opening my door when he brings me home tonight lights me up from the inside in a way I can’t explain, but also in a way that scares me.

  Everyone forgets me.

  Then I look at him and just like I used too, I allow Jasper to uplift my spirits. I’m not sure what it is about him but when I’m with him, I feel like something good is happening in my life, and I haven’t felt that way in a long time.

  Maybe never.

  The stairwell is just ahead and as we approach it, I’m forced to let go of his arm. We could take the elevator beside it, but we don’t.

  Quickly, he opens the door to the stairwell.

  Once we’re in the confines of the small space, he leads the way down the stairs. When we hit the ground floor, he opens the door and the dusk of the night assaults us. He turns and as soon as he sees the Bronx Bar next door, he pushes me up against the brick wall. “Do you care about me?” he asks out of nowhere.

  My pulse pounds from the question murmured directly in my ear. “Yes,” I answer breathlessly.

  Both of his hands on my hips, he tilts his head in the direction of the bar. “Then promise me you won’t go back there to work. I saw what that kind of work did to my mother. The men. The hours. The liquor. I can’t stand for anything like that to happen to you.”

  My breath catches. “Jasper, I need to work somewhere close. And honestly, it’s not that bad.”

  His eyes bore into mine, hard, and I swear I can see the toll the years since his father’s death has taken on him. “You have somewhere you can work. I already told you to come work for me. For us,” he clarifies.

  The world spins a little for me. “I’m not sure, Jasper.”

  “I need you. We need you.”

  I say nothing.

  “I mean it.”

  “I’m not saying no, but I can’t say yes. I’d like to talk to all the other guys first to make sure they’re on board.”

  He solemnly nods. “Okay, I’ll arrange a meeting on Monday, but promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”

  “I will. I promise.” We’re aligned thigh to thigh. Hip to hip. Belly to belly. Never have I felt like this before. Never has someone been so concerned about me. It practically brings me to my knees.

  “One more thing.”

  I can see nothing but him. Feel nothing but how close his body is to mine. There is nothing else for me to say but, “Yes, anything.”

  “Let me fix your car.”

  Blinking out of my daze, I push him back. “No. Is that what this is about?”

  He shakes his head no.

  “Did the garage call you?”

  “Yes,” he answers calmly.

  “So is this job your way of giving me a handout?”

  A smile spreads across his face. “No.”

  Furrowing my brows I ask, “Why are you laughing?”

  “You have a little temper. You never did when we were kids. You were always so calm.”

  I straighten my shoulders. “Well, we’re not kids anymore.”

  His eyes seem to simmer as they take me in from head to toe. “No, no we are not.”

  And there it is. The adorable, charming side of him that I can’t resist. And instead of guarding my heart like I know I should, I open it a little more and allow my frown to relax, although I do not smile.

  “If you would have let me explain, you’d understand it’s not a handout. I want to try to fix it myself. No guarantees, though. If you say yes, I’ll have Craig tow it to my mother’s. She got rid of almost everything that my father owned but for some reason held on to his tools. I can work on it at her place.”

  Not what I expected at all. “Oh, you don’t mind doing that?”

  “No, Charlotte, I don’t mind.”

  Maintaining my dignity, I tell him, “Okay then, I would really appreciate it, but I want to pay for any parts you need to buy.”

  His fingers curl over his mouth and I know he’s stifling a laugh.

  “Jasper,” I warn.

  And then he lets it out. Laughs and laughs and laughs. “You really are a little spitfire.”

  Happy with that remark, I tell him, “Yes, I am.”

  OLD-FASHIONED, ANYONE?

  Jasper

  I’VE BEEN HERE a million times.

  Yet, watching the way Charlotte looks around like I’d brought her to some five-star resort makes me look at it in a different light.

  Stepping off the elevator, for the first time I see the majesty of it all. The swanky downtown building has real trees growing from its marble-tiled floors, a fountain that makes water sound like music, and giant chandeliers that glisten overhead. With all the depravity that surrounds Detroit, this place hasn’t suffered that much from the city’s woes.

  It’s refreshing to see.

  The old Grand Trunk Railway ticket office had its up and downs before the train line was shut down. Only four hundred miles of track remain in Detroit today, but the statio
n, now a retail establishment, is still full of grandeur.

  On days over the past five years when my craving for speed was unbearable, I’d hop on one of the trains and take it to wherever it went. With speeds often more than one hundred miles per hour, I got the high I was looking for.

  Looking at her, something makes me reach out and take her hand in mine. I pull her closer to me. Public displays of affection aren’t usually my thing, but with Charlotte it’s more about just being closer to her.

  Touching Charlotte helps me forget what she said earlier about Eve being strangled. Even through the haze of that night, I remember my hands on her neck. But I also know that she was alive after that, kissing Blue and moving around. It had nothing to do with me, I reassure myself. The police have different lines of investigation—Todd said they were looking at her personal life, as well as some projects she was working on. Or it could have been just one of those random acts of violence that Detroit is sadly known for. She got in her car with someone after the party and things went a little farther than they should have.

  I stop in front of my destination.

  “The Whisky Parlor for dinner?” she asks, perplexed. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  She’s flirting with me and it’s fucking adorable.

  “No,” I laugh, thinking fuck, no, when I take you I want you good and sober. Dirty thoughts again. What the hell is wrong with me? I try to wipe my mind clean. “Have you ever been here?” I ask.

  “No, but I’m intrigued.”

  “Booze-inspired small plates are what they call the items on the menu.”

  She raises both her brows. “So you are trying to get me drunk.”

  I lean down to kiss her cheek. “No, trust me—that’s the last thing I want to do.”

  She looks perplexed.

  I can’t explain it. Don’t want to explain it, actually. Instead, I keep gazing at her. She looks amazing. Although she always looks good, she looks incredible tonight, and she did it for me. And if the thought of her wanting to look good for me isn’t the sexiest thing in the world, I’m not sure what is. Besides, I like the feel of her hair against my skin, I like the way she smells, the way her body tenses when I touch her, and especially the way she blushes when I say something flattering or a little dirty. Once my lips have met that super-soft skin, I slide my mouth to her ear. “The food is really good. That’s the only reason, I promise.”