Chapter 10 #3
“I should have.” Gin pulled in a breath.
“But I lost a client. He was only seventeen.” So angry, so messed up.
His mother and stepfather hadn’t listened to her, hadn’t instituted the precautions she’d recommended.
Something had set him off. He’d taken every drug offered at a party, stolen a car… and driven straight into a semi.
Sometimes a person was simply too troubled to make wise choices. That was what had happened with Sawyer, after all. Her seventeen-year-old client had suffered from an alcoholic, abusive father. Sawyer had suffered through a war. Both were victims. At least Sawyer was alive to turn his life around.
“Didn’t trust yourself because of that?” Virgil asked.
Gin nodded. “Losing someone under my care…”
“Leaves you wondering what you might have missed, might have done differently. And even if everyone says you did it all exactly right, you still feel guilty.” The nurse’s gaze held a matching pain.
When both Atticus and Virgil nodded, Gin realized a cop’s type of protection and nurturing was different from a counselors…and yet very much the same.
“Doesn’t seem like you to cut and run,” Atticus said, surprising her.
“Well, I ran away because I broke up with my fiancé. But relocating gave me a chance to try something new.” She smiled wryly. “Moving here was good. The career choice…perhaps not so much.”
“Quit,” Atticus said.
“Please. I can’t walk out. Even if I could, I have a duty to my cases.” Like your brother.
He watched her for a long moment before nodding. “So be it.”
That was nice—that he could let a subject drop. Without arguing until he got his way.
Instead, he tilted his head, listening to the beginning of Tim McGraw’s slow, sweet song She’s My Kind of Rain.
“Come, baby. You got us good music from Gustaf—let’s dance.” He pulled her out of her chair and to the tiny space that only a blind person would consider a dance floor.
“I don’t think there’s enough room,” she said.
With an arm around her waist, he pulled her close and set one muscular leg between her thighs. “Means we have to dance closer.”
The feeling of being plastered against his hard, powerful body was divine.
When he cupped his hand over her rear end, she squirmed. “Atticus. Behave.”
He chuckled. “Wiggle some more.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re fucking soft.” He rubbed his chin in her hair. “I’m sorry you got hurt, baby.”
Darn it. How could she stay annoyed with him when he was so sympathetic? And made her so hot. His touch, his hold, made her remember everything he’d done to her in his bed. Made her…long…for more.
He felt the way she’d melted against him and growled in approval. And then just held her, swaying with the music.
With his warm embrace and his silence, the lingering tension from the attack drained out of her. Sighing, she contentedly rested her head on his shoulder.
All too soon, the music changed, turning to Kelly Clarkson’s Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You).
Darn. “That was wonderful. Thank you.” When Atticus’s embrace loosened, Gin stepped back and headed off the floor.
“Not so fast, darlin’. Don’t southern girls know how to dance?” Moving smoothly to the beat, he grasped her right hand, frowned, and switched to her uninjured arm to swing her out. He spun her back and smoothly recaptured her again without losing a step. “Yep, you do.”
He twirled her again and pulled her into a side-by-side turn.
Following his strong lead easily, she laughed in amazement, “You swing dance.”
He grinned. “Amazing the skills a guy can acquire when riding rodeo. At the time, it was a good way to meet women.”
She bet he’d scored a ton of buckle bunnies. “And now?”
He pulled her up against him, rocking her close enough she could feel he was half-erect. “Now it’s a good way to hold just one.”
Oh. Oh no. No. Not just one. She needed to nip this in the bud. “I like being held. And I’m enjoying being a friend with benefits,” she said carefully. “This is very nice. Can we stick to just this?”
“And she draws a line in the sand,” he murmured. His eyes held hers. Level. Unreadable. “I hear what you’re saying.”
He’d heard what she’d said all right, Atticus thought. Hours later, in Gin’s bed, he remained awake, savoring the lush body draped across him. She’d had a rough day; he’d made sure she had a gentle and thoroughly carnal night.
Although he’d planned to let her rest after the first round, she’d donned a golden nightie with dainty ruffles and lace, looking so innocently feminine that he couldn’t resist. And he’d felt almost depraved when he’d tossed her on the bed, set her on hands and knees, pushed the nightie up, and taken her from behind.
Then again, her shock at his unexpected actions hadn’t kept her from coming long and hard.
Considering the amount of lingerie she owned, the woman was liable to be the death of him.
Well satiated, she slept deeply now. Her head rested on his chest, her fragrant hair spilling over his shoulder and arm. His hand curved over one bare ass cheek. Fuck, but he liked her round ass.
Friends with benefits, huh?
His mouth twisted with a silent laugh. After years of straightforwardly telling women that he wasn’t interested in a relationship, he undoubtedly deserved getting the words back.
And he didn’t like it.
Because this time, he wanted more. He’d never met anyone like Gin. Fuck, she was fun. Spirited. Independent. And yet he was thinking her need to give, to nurture, to submit, was equal to his need to protect, to tend, to dominate.
They matched, she liked him, the chemistry was amazing…but she was backing away.
What the hell had happened to make her put up all those barriers? Something to do with her ex-fiancé?
At the foot of the bed, her dog snuffled and resettled. His heavy head rested on Atticus’s ankle, his body along Gin’s legs.
How did Trigger manage to get under her defenses? Outdone by a skinny Labrador. Way to go, Ware.
But, dogs didn’t push; Doms did.
Atticus smiled grimly. Once he found out what made her raise the barriers…then he’d help her tear them down.
Friends with benefits, my ass.