Chapter 23
Harlyn
Iblink awake slowly, well rested and without any question of where I am. I’m in Boone’s bed.
I turn my head to the side and see that I’m alone. Next, I peer down the hall, squinting to see the door to the bathroom is open, but the one to the living room is closed. While silently stretching, I replay the events of last night.
I pretended to be asleep on the couch when Boone eventually left his office well after midnight in hopes that he would just leave me to sleep on the couch, but he didn’t.
He roused me sweetly with a kiss on my forehead and soft whispers to wake up and come to bed.
The plan was to deny him, but I didn’t even try.
I allowed him to pull me up from the couch and tow me to the bedroom while I shuffled behind him.
I about lost it when he dropped my hand long enough to pull back the covers and tug his shirt over my head until I was again naked in front of him.
While his hands brushed along my curves in a caress, they didn’t linger.
I climbed into his sheets without a word of protest then promptly fell asleep in his arms seconds after my head hit the pillow and he wrapped himself around me.
I feel like I let myself get played—no, I feel like I allowed myself to get lulled last night because I was fully aware of the situation, and I still wanted to be here and not just because I’m being stalked by a killer.
With the morning light comes a tinge of clarity and a whole lot of avoidance. At some point I started to wonder if I had the right to be upset. Boone and I never talked about boundaries or even what we were to one another. I just assumed we were on the same page, but that’s not fair of me, is it?
I shove the question away, because I don’t want to know the real answer. I want to tell myself what I want to hear and what will make ignoring the text from the other woman acceptable.
A noise from the other side of the apartment draws my attention. Boone is out there. The desire to avoid him is gone. It’s been replaced with the need to see him, to prove that he’s here with me and everything I hope could come of this hasn’t disappeared.
I sit up slowly with the sheet pressed to my chest and look around for the clock. It’s a little before seven. Does this man not require sleep or what? He just went to bed what feels like a few hours ago, and who knows how long he’s been awake?
I make my way to the bathroom and find a blue and white toothbrush still in the wrapper sitting on the counter.
I certainly could have used this yesterday, but better late than never.
Assuming it’s mine, I brush my teeth then tuck it partially back into the plastic.
It seems a little presumptuous to place it in the holder next to his.
The shirt I put on yesterday is still on the floor next to the bed, so I shake it out and slip it back on. It’s long enough to hide the fact that I don’t have any panties, but I’m going to need some clothes today. Walking around like this, even in his house, is a bit much.
I wrangle my hair into a bun, utilizing the frizzy texture to hold the style by just tucking it around tightly. The list of things I need is growing by the second, but having clean teeth makes it feel a lot more manageable.
Just as I’m about to open the door, I hear Boone’s low voice say, “Later today.” Assuming he’s on the phone, I pull open the door and watch two heads turn in my direction. The gasp that leaves my lips can barely be heard over the slamming door, but I still use both hands to cover my mouth.
Unfamiliar muttering I can’t quite make out, yet I somehow know is tinged with amusement, filters through the door.
“Shut up, Chauncey.” I have no problem distinguishing Boone’s muffled words.
I step to the right of the door, my hands still over my mouth, when there is a short knock followed by it opening and Boone poking his head in.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” He grins while his eyes dance with what I can only assume is mirth.
“Good morning, sweetheart?” I hiss back in an outraged whisper.
His eyes travel from my face down to my bare feet, then slowly back up again. It makes my body tingle in places I have no right tingling in, considering I might still be mad at him, and he has the nerve to have company.
“Why didn’t you tell me someone was here?”
“I didn’t want to wake you, and that’s just Chauncey.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder.
“I heard that,” the other voice chimes in.
Boone shrugs.
“You could have warned me,” I whisper even softer.
“Noted, but you were zonked. He’s not important anyway.”
“Now you’re just being mean. Might as well come on out, doll face. This shithole is far too small to hide in.” I widen my eyes. Clearly Chauncey isn’t going to pretend to give us privacy for this conversation.
“I don’t have any pants,” I mouth and lift the shirt, showing my lack of underwear or pants. I tossed the pair I was forced to wear to the airport yesterday. Boone moves to block the door fully, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure Chauncey can’t see.
“Thanks for the demonstration. I put that stuff out for you.” He motions to some folded clothes stacked on top of his dresser. Boone slides the door fully closed while remaining inside and leans his shoulders against the wall.
I make my way over to the small stack. It only takes a millisecond to see they are women’s clothes—a black pair of leggings and a crew neck. “Where?” The shock in my tone could be a reaction to the gesture, but I know it’s not. I really want to know where these items came from.
“I placed an order last night. It arrived early this morning.”
“An order? From where?” I lift the pants up and see a tag from Walmart, answering my question. “The toothbrush?”
“Sorry it was blue. It was a substitution.”
“You ordered this last night?” I think I’m going to cry.
“I should have thought to do it earlier in the day. Thankfully, we have a few twenty-four-hour stores around here, but my choices were very limited,” he explains.
I shake my head in denial. I didn’t even think to order my own things yesterday, but he did, and he’s complaining he didn’t do it sooner.
I drop the leggings onto the dresser and throw myself at his chest. He makes an “oof” sound like I pushed the wind out of him then wraps his arms around my back without hesitation.
We embrace in silence for a long moment.
I manage to regain my composure enough that I could deny that the dampness under my eyes are tears and the lump in my throat is from emotion.
“Harlyn,” he says sweetly. I expect him to ask me to get off him because he has someone waiting, but when I pull back, he says, “I didn’t get any underthings.”
I blink, letting his unexpected words sink in. In one swift move, he smacks my butt. The shirt is enough to stop the skin-to-skin clap, but it does little to dampen the effect it has on me. No one has ever smacked my ass, not like that, and I think I see the appeal…
“That’s okay. I can—”
“It wasn’t an accident.” He cuts me off, fighting a grin.
“I appreciate the thought, even if you have an issue with panties.”
“It’s a new aversion.” He shrugs.
My heart melts again, and I realize I’m going to wind up devastated by this man. “Really, thank you for taking care of me. I…” I don’t have the words to continue or know how to express how much his thoughtfulness means to me.
“You’re welcome. I better get back out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t already listening at the door or trying to find a camera angle.” My face falls, and Boone immediately realizes why. “Shit, not really. I just mean he’s nosy as hell. Sorry, Harlyn.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he counters quickly and steps to the side. “I’ll let you get dressed. Come out and meet the asshole when you’re ready.”
He slips out the door, only opening it as much as necessary to do so.
I pick up the small pile and hold it to my chest, marveling at the thoughtful gesture for a few seconds longer before removing the tags and getting dressed.
The pants are a little snug, but I’m not going to complain.
Briefly, I think about grabbing another one of his shirts to wear, but then I think better of it.
He made the effort to get me clothes, then the least I can do is appreciate it.
Boone
I know what I’m going to be facing the second I walk out the door—a curious as fuck Chauncey—but I wouldn’t expect anything less.
We’ve worked together for years. If I had a best friend, he would be it, or maybe he is and I just never acknowledged it.
Sure as shit, when I slide the door to my bedroom closed after emerging, he’s looking at me with one eyebrow arched in expectation and a smug as hell grin on his face.
“Sweetheart?” He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down because he’s trying to embarrass me. Little does he know, I’m not that easy to shame.
“Problem, poppi?” I goad him by using the nickname his wife, Ana, often uses to address him.
“No problem at all. Just making sure I heard you right.”
I move away from the bedroom to stand in the kitchen, but my gaze returns to the door.
While Harlyn was sleeping, I filled Chauncey in on the possible leads that came in last night about our case when I probably should have given him a little more insight into Harlyn, or should I say, us.
“Listen,” I whisper, glancing in his direction, “don’t be weird about her being here. She already feels guilty.”
“Guilty? From where I’m sitting, you might be the one who needs to feel uncomfortable. Are you sure you aren’t taking advantage of her?”
I scowl so hard my jaw protests. “No. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t know if I’m pissed at you for thinking it or impressed that you’re making sure she’s okay.”
Chauncey nods, and his familiar grin returns. “The fact that you’re saying that tells me all I need to know.”
“And knowing me for the past five years wasn’t enough?” I retort, not expecting an answer.