by Elise Faber
He’d be back late that night, and he’d go to her house, crawl into bed next to her, and kiss all that newly exposed skin.
Bonus was she hadn’t asked for the key he’d snagged from the fake rock outside her house a while back.
Not that he’d been planning to return it.
Not that he would have given it back.
And no, she couldn’t orgasm her way out of that.
Plus, he’d made a copy of it, and restocked the hide-a-key in the days after the assault, so she’d be covered despite his key thieving.
At the moment, though, he turned over the keys to his apartment, closed the tailgate of his SUV, got in the driver’s seat, and texted Misty, letting her know he was on his way home.
Then he hit the road.
She called back just as he hit the highway.
“How’s the naked wrist?” he asked.
“Weird,” she said with a laugh. “How’s the full SUV?”
“Full.”
She laughed again, and it was as pleasant as that bell tinkling above the door at Tangled. “I missed you,” she murmured, giving him that without any games, without any barriers. Just sweet and Misty and telling him that she liked having him around.
“I missed you, too, Cloudless.” And he had. And he knew he’d give her what she had given him, without any games, without walls.
He’d never thought he would dive into something like this with her.
Never thought he’d be open to loving a woman in that way.
Never thought he would find someone like Misty who made loving her so fucking easy.
“You know what I did first thing the moment I got that damned cast off?”
“Knit?” he asked, cruising around cars and knowing the miles would fly by fast so long as she was on the phone with him, that they would crawl when they hung up.
She laughed. “No,” she said, “but I’m going to get started on that next.”
“So, what did you do, Cloudless?”
He could hear the smile in her voice, even though he couldn’t see her gorgeous face. “I made you double fudge cupcakes.”
His stomach immediately rumbled.
And loud enough that she heard it, apparently, since she began laughing. “I’m guessing you like that, baby?”
“I’d like it better if I was there,” he grumbled.
More laughter. “Drive safe, baby,” she murmured. “I’ll wait up for you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I—”
She broke off, went quiet.
He gave her a minute to get her thoughts together, then one more to continue with that. Then when she still didn’t speak, he pressed. “You what, Cloudless?”
An inhale and exhale that rattled through the speakers. “I—”
More breaking off.
He held on to his patience, because he had the feeling he knew what was going through her head, and she needed to say it aloud, to get rid of the demon that had been riding her hard, waking her up at night, having her turn in his arms and burrow into his chest.
“I’d stay up anyway,” she whispered after another minute. “I’m not comfortable sleeping without you there.”
And there it was.
His work hadn’t taken him away overnight since the attack, and he hadn’t taken any new cases that would, sensing she’d needed him, and taking the time to search for a place to set up shop in Stoneybrook.
That shop was going to be the spot next door to Tangled, not just because it was next door to Misty and that meant he could see her, could keep an eye on her—though no joke, that was a perk—but also because it was the perfect size for what he needed. Two offices in the back, a reception area in the front, a conference room to one side.
An apartment above.
The last of which he wasn’t planning on using, because he liked being at Misty’s place, but he also thought that it was a bit presumptuous to move his shit from his old apartment to her house without having a conversation about it.
And part of what made the last six weeks amazing was that, aside from him spending every night at her place and every free moment of every day together, was that they’d slowed down.
They’d gotten to know each other.
They’d eaten out and gone to the movies (where she’d stolen his popcorn, even though she’d said she hadn’t wanted any—so lesson learned, he’d gotten an extra-large the next time they’d hit the theaters). They’d cooked dinner together. They’d gone to Rob and Soph’s. She’d endured another big Jackson family get together—this time without any dating pronouncements being hurled across the table, though who knew what would happen at the next big Jackson family get together that would be happening that weekend, since his mom and dad were hosting a backyard barbecue for what seemed like was going to be half of Stoneybrook in attendance.
“That’s normal, sweetheart,” he said, careful to keep his tone gentle. “What happened to you was traumatic.”
“He’s out of the hospital.”
Chance’s stomach immediately soured. “What?”
The gunshot wound had been serious, but the recovery of one Todd Hanover had been complicated by a persistent infection. It had been touch-and-go for a while, and that was all the information the detectives on the case would give him.
Maybe it made Chance a bad person because he’d been hoping the persistent infection would take down fucking Todd Hanover, so Misty didn’t have to deal with him potentially being out in the world, after however much time the fucker served, haunting her actions, fueling her nightmares, making her feel unsafe in a place that was supposed to be hers.
“Detective Hopkins called me this morning,” she went on. “He’s going to get booked tonight, and he could potentially bail out by the morning.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
His fingers clenched on the steering wheel. “I’m going to ask Carter to come stay until I get there.”
“Oh, Chance, that’s not—”
“And Frankie and Maggie,” he added, talking over her bullshit protest, because it was just that.
Bullshit.
Frankie and Maggie were goofy, but they were good friends. They’d spent a lot of time with Misty and had taken turns helping her man Tangled until she’d gotten back on her feet and could manage most everything—except for some classes Frankie taught in Misty’s place—on her own.
“And—”
“Don’t you dare call my brother,” she snapped. “Soph and Rob are at their twenty-week ultrasound, and then Rob is taking her out to dinner. They deserve a nice night out.”
That was true.
“I won’t call Rob and Soph,” he agreed.
“Or the others.”
“You’re not here to orgasm me into submission with that sexy body of yours. I’m calling Carter. You call your girlfriends. Enjoy a night together without having to worry about that fucker, because Carter will have your back.” He kept going. “Watch terrible TV together, paint your nails, knit something, drink champagne to celebrate the cast being gone,” he told her. “But don’t give that fucker another moment of your time, okay, Cloudless?”
Silence.
Then, “I love you.”
He took a breath. “You are so worth it, baby. So fucking worth it.”
Her breathing hitched. “Chance.”
It was a wail.
And that was perfect, too. Because his girl was a crier, and she especially cried when he said nice shit. What was imperfect was that he wasn’t there to wipe her tears away. But he loved that she felt so deeply and loved that she felt deeply about the things he said.
It made him want to say them more often.
Though just maybe when he was there.
“You’re too fucking sweet,” she snapped, her breaths shaky, her words punctuated by sniffles. “And you’re lucky I love you, even though you make me cry all the time.”
He laughed. “Baby, you cry all the time with or without me sayi
ng nice things. And I like saying nice things to you. You deserve them. You’ve made my life better, forgave me even though I nearly fucked things up after our first date—”
“Chance.”
“So, I’m going to keep saying them. And you’ll keep crying, Cloudless. And we’ll keep being perfect together.”
Her breathing went shaky again. “I’m not perfect.”
“I know,” he said. “But you’re perfect for me.”
A sniffle and then…
More tears.
But eventually he talked her through them, and when she was done crying, he stifled the nice and sweet, confirmed she was going to call her friends. They talked about other shit—some new crochet hooks she’d ordered (and because of the last six weeks, he actually knew what a crochet hook was), how Rob and Soph had gotten caught by little Rylie as they’d tried to sneak off from the picnic they’d all gone to the previous weekend, her plans to fill the new built-in register case Rob had built for her.
By the time they said goodbye and hung up, he had her laughing instead of crying and excited about all the wares she was going to display in that case.
Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and taste that excitement on his tongue.
21
Neighbors
Misty
“What do you think, Sexy Carter Jackson?” Maggie asked, the martini glass in her hand flying around.
Maggie was a gesticulator.
Maggie was also slightly sloshed.
But that slightly sloshed—making her pretty, cream-colored skin come alive with a flush on her high cheekbones, her lush lips turn rosy—meant the glass was nearly empty so none of the cosmo they’d mixed up earlier sloshed over the rim.
“And that’s enough for you,” Raven said, Dr. Montergo having firmly been put to pasture for the evening, snagging the glass. Raven drank two cosmos but had cut herself off about an hour earlier, saying she went on call at midnight, so she needed to be sober.
So, Dr. Montergo was less firmly in the pasture and more waiting on the front porch while Raven came out to play.
But Misty was glad she’d come at all.
Raven was funny and good company and could take all the teasing Misty and her friends dished out regularly, could dish it back just as easily. Definitely, it had been the right idea to get on the Stoneybrook phone tree and get Raven’s number. She’d fit in so well that there was no way that she wasn’t getting a second invite, whether or not she wanted one. Because Raven had become one of them right about the time she’d walked in with a bottle of vodka, two bags of tortilla chips, and a vat of guacamole from El Cerrito.
Now she deftly set the purloined glass on the table, shoved the chips and guac to Maggie, and ordered her to “Eat.”
Mags made a face, but she didn’t argue, just started shoving chips and guac down her throat. “Well,” she said between bites, “you didn’t answer, Mr. Sexy Pants Carter Jackson”—Carter pressed his lips flat, probably hoping that Maggie had been thoroughly distracted from her needing a “man’s opinion” and he’d be let off the hook—“do you think I should have lied and told him he was a good fuck?”
Frankie’s cheeks went pink, and she put her own glass down. “I’ll just get some water.”
Then she was gone.
Raven stood, followed her into the kitchen. “Water seems like a good idea.”
Maggie was undeterred, her slightly glassy eyes glued to Carter. “Should I have lied?” she asked again.
“Mags,” Misty began. “That’s probably far—”
She intended to let Carter off the hook because she knew Mags well enough to know her friend wouldn’t drop this topic without intervention. Knowing that, along with still getting to know Carter meant she needed to step in and do it fast. Carter had been nice to her from the moment he’d met her. He’d saved her from having to devour an entire platter of salad, leaving none for anyone else. He’d come tonight, driving a half hour from his new place the next town over, giving up his Thursday night to listen to her friends blabber about knitting and booze and now Maggie giving him the fifth degree in the vein of trying to get a male opinion about the loser she’d slept with.
But Carter didn’t let Misty intervene.
“If a man is any sort of man,” Carter said, reaching over and leaning very close to Mags, his face in hers, his expression intense enough to have Misty’s heart stuttering, and it wasn’t even directed at her, “he doesn’t need to ask if he was a good fuck. He knows he’s a good fuck because the woman he’s just fucked is fucking wrecked and can’t summon the energy to utter a syllable, let alone summon a full comment on his abilities in bed. So no, you weren’t wrong to tell him he fucking sucked. You deserve a plethora of fucking orgasms.”
Misty’s mouth had fallen open.
She wasn’t the only one.
Maggie was stunned silent—which was a fucking feat considering that Maggie was never silent, and certainly not when she’d had a few cosmos.
There was a choked sound that came from the kitchen, and Misty slowly turned and saw that Raven and Frankie were standing there, equally stunned expressions on their faces.
Maggie, no surprise, recovered first.
She stood up, plunked herself into Carter’s lap, and said, “Promise me that you’ll fucking wreck me.”
Heat in his hazel eyes, hands clamping on to Maggie’s curvy hips.
Misty held her breath, thinking that he was going to haul her close and ravage her friend, thinking that she needed to slide off the couch and away from the armchair they were occupying and hide in her bedroom, snagging Raven and Frankie along the way to give Maggie and Carter privacy for all that fucking wrecking.
But Carter didn’t pull Maggie closer.
Instead, he set her away from him, his voice gentle but firm when he said, “As gorgeous as you are, honey, I’m seeing someone.” Then he stood and started gathering up glasses, disappearing into the kitchen.
The faucet turned on.
It was as though the room was a balloon and someone had just poked it with a pin, all the air hissing out.
Misty looked at Frankie then at Raven then all three of them turned to stare at Maggie.
“Well fuck,” Maggie said, her trademark smile in place. “I was hoping to bag myself a Jackson brother. Guess I’ll have to live vicariously through you, Misty-moo.”
She sank back onto the armchair and started back on the chips.
Easy come. Easy go.
That was Maggie Augustin.
Frankie, thankfully, started the conversation back up, and it got heated quickly because they were deciding which board games of Misty’s to play, and the only thing that Frankie took more seriously than knitting was playing board games.
Which meant that by the time Carter emerged from the kitchen, the conversation was far away from sex and firmly entrenched in Sushi Go and who was going to get the most maki rolls.
The loser would be buying pizza.
Thankfully, Carter didn’t seem any worse for wear, and he even joined in on a couple of rounds before the girls took off—Raven paged to the hospital, Frankie gathering up her stuff to drive her and Maggie home.
Misty tried to encourage Carter to take off, knowing it was getting late and Chance would be back soon, and she needed to get over this fear of being alone, but he’d ignored her, promising to be back in a couple of minutes because he refused to allow Frankie to drive since she’d partaken in cosmos (though only two of them since she was healthy, the nut). Instead, he’d insisted on driving both of them home, asking Misty if she wanted to come with him rather than hanging out at her house by herself.
His concern and, albeit pushy, care had her eyes prickling.
These Jackson men.
It also had Maggie sighing and hugging her tight. “No waterworks tonight, love bug. We’ve had too much fun, and the only one allowed to cry is Frankie because she lost at Sushi Go.”
That was correct, so Misty had blinked her tears away
and waited at the house, telling Carter to take her keys with him because she wanted a bath and candle time.
He hadn’t missed a beat, just nodded, squeezed her arm, and said, “Be back soon.”
Then he’d bustled her friends to the door, which he’d locked, and she’d bustled to the bathroom, relaxing in water that was as hot as she could stand.
A knock had come just as she was stepping in.
“I’m back,” Carter said through the door. “Holler if you need anything.”
She’d called her thanks, sank into the hot water, so damned glad to not have to worry about getting her cast wet, and then she closed her eyes, rested her head on her bath pillow, and chilled out.
Because she had a Jackson looking out for her.
Sometime later, the door squeaked open.
She jumped, but then Chance poked his head in, eyes hot. “Whatcha doing, Cloudless?”
Her hands had gone to her breasts, between her thighs, preparing to cover up in case of Carter’s invasion.
She should have known better.
Carter wasn’t the type of guy to barrel into a bathroom unless the house was on fire.
And then he’d probably shout a warning first before launching her robe at her.
Also, yes, she might have been dozing after reading a romance where the main character did exactly that.
Also, yes, it was probably why she asked, “Is the house on fire?”
Mostly wishful thinking—not that she’d lose her house or people would be in danger—but that a sexy fireman might sweep in and rescue her.
Chance’s face was adorably confused. “What?”
“Never mind,” she murmured, sitting up slightly, dropping her hands into the water.
And she knew that part of his confusion was because she was babbling about fires, but the rest was because he wasn’t much focused on the conversation.
His gaze was on her breasts.
She followed it down, saw that with her shifting, they were bobbing in the water, the bubbles mostly gone, her nipples just above the surface. They went all tingly, tightening, and she felt an answering tightening through her womb, moisture gathering between her thighs.
