Chapter 2
TWO
DAEMON
I should've been savoring this time. Months of pursuit, months of polite rejections, six months of Lindsey Hunter apparently watching us and taking notes for reasons that were now uncomfortably clear.
Then last night, Nadia had finally let me in. In every sense of the word.
But now, watching her sleep, her dark blonde hair spread across my pillow and her curves barely covered by my sheets, all I could think was: she's still here.
Last night she'd laughed at the doilies and the ceramic cats and the hideous lampshade Sofia had painted herself. She'd teased me about spending six months trying to get her here and forgetting to mention the decor.
Then she'd curled up against my side, and I'd lain there in the pink lamplight, feeling something settle in my chest that had been restless for a long time.
But that was then. Now dawn had arrived, and she was still here. The panic squeezing my ribs had nothing to do with the decor, which looked as if Laura Ashley had suffered a stroke. No, it had everything to do with what came next. Commitment. Not something I had much experience with.
I knew that's what I was facing, and what Nadia would expect, because last night had been unlike any I remembered. Not even close.
It would be worse than explaining my criminal record to someone for the first time.
The one she didn't know about. Yet.
One disaster at a time, Booth.
I'd been living in Coogan's Break, in doily purgatory, for almost three years. Ever since Ethan gave me a job at Lucky Break Construction when I was fresh out of county lockup.
Sofia Ferrari, my eighty-something landlady, had taken one look at my prison buzz cut, defensive attitude, and lack of references, and quoted me a rent so low I'd thought it was for a week.
"No, that's for the month," she'd said, patting my arm with her papery hand. "But you check on me every day, yes? Fix things when they break? My grandson, he moved to San Diego. Thinks I should be in a home." She'd sniffed with magnificent Italian disdain. "I'll show him a home."
I hadn't minded. The rent let me save money, pay down the legal fees and restitution from my conviction, and send a little toward my mom's headstone maintenance.
Besides, I never brought women back here, and whenever I'd hooked up since my release, it had always been at their place. Condom in my wallet, no names traded that mattered, easier to get away.
Nadia was the exception to every rule I'd set since getting out. With her, that was becoming a pattern.
Now, in the harsh morning light, reality was setting in.
She stirred, and my body responded as it had last night. And every other time I'd been anywhere near her.
Six months of wanting her and one night of having her, and somehow I wanted her more, not less. I'd been afraid of that. Turned out I'd been right.
Her eyes opened. For a second she looked at me with a focus that told me last night had meant as much to her as it had to me. Or was I deluding myself?
Then she blinked, and I watched it hit her: where she was, whose bed she was in, what that meant for a woman who'd been saying no for six months. I could see her putting the pieces together and not liking the picture.
"Morning," I said, not daring to move in case I spooked her.
"Morning," she whispered, her tone measured.
The drywall was already going back up. But before I could figure out how to stop her, she was sliding out of bed, hunting for her clothes.
"What are you doing?" I asked, though it was obvious.
"I have a vendor delivery at six," she said, finding her bra and panties tangled with my jeans on the floor. "I need to go."
"Nadia—"
"Last night was..." She pulled on her underwear with her back to me, and I tried not to get distracted by the view. "Daemon, it was a mistake. I got caught up in the excitement, the champagne, and I shouldn't have—"
Rather than continue, she struggled into the monogrammed jumpsuit that was her uniform, running her hands over it as if trying to take care of the worst of the creases.
"Don't you dare." I was out of bed before I'd thought about it, reaching for my boxers, because having this conversation naked felt like a disadvantage. "Nadia, don't say that. Not after last night."
She turned, zipped herself up, and then braided her hair as if to confirm playtime was over. She stood poised, shoes clutched in one hand, ready to flee.
"Daemon, we both know this shouldn't have happened. You know my situation. The business, my family. I can't afford to be linked with someone who—"
"Who, what?" I already knew. "Say it."
"You know what people say about you," she whispered. "I can't risk my reputation on someone who—"
"Who's slept with half the women in Coogan's Break?" I finished for her. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? Because that's my reputation. Daemon Booth, the construction guy who can't commit. The man who's good if you want to get nailed."
"I didn't say that—"
"You didn't have to." I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building. "And maybe that reputation is fair. But last night wasn't like that. You know it wasn't."
She looked at me with luminous green eyes that saw too much. More than I wanted them to. "What was it then, Daemon?"
The truth was too big, too soon. Months of wanting her and last night had only made it worse. The itch was scratched, and I still wanted her. More, if anything.
And for the first time in my miserable life, it was about more than sex. That alone was enough to scare the shit out of me. I wanted mornings like this without the panic of her leaving.
I wanted to know what she looked like when she woke up every day. To be the guy she called when things went wrong, not the guy she regretted sleeping with.
But I couldn't say any of that. Not when she was doing her best to escape.
"It was real," I said at last. "Whatever else it was, it was real. And you felt it too."
"Daemon—"
"You felt it," I insisted. "I know you did. So don't stand there and tell me it was a mistake, like it was the champagne talking."
"I have to go," she said, but she didn't move toward the door.
"Fine. Go." I crossed my arms, trying to ignore that I was standing in my boxers, surrounded by ceramic cats, arguing with a woman who already regretted sleeping with me. "But this isn't over, Nadia. Last night was about more than screwing our brains out, and we both know it."
"You don't know what you're talking about," she said, but her voice wavered.
"I know you've been avoiding me. I know you turned down every date I suggested but never told me to stop asking. I know last night you looked at me like—"
I stopped. Finishing that sentence would show too many cards.
"Like what?"
"Like you wanted to eat me. And you sure as hell didn't mind when I returned the favor." Crude, but I was desperate to break through the walls she'd been rebuilding since the minute she woke up.
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her expression was neutral. Professional. The same face I suspected she wore for difficult clients and last-minute catering emergencies.
"I need to go. My vendor delivery—"
"I'll drive," I said, grabbing my jeans off the floor.
"That's unnecessary—"
"In case you forgot, your van's not here. You need a ride to work." I pulled on my jeans, then a fresh T-shirt. "I'm up. Let me drive you."
"Daemon—"
"As friends," I said, the word tasting bitter. "A ride. Nothing else. Unless you want to call an Uber and wait outside in the cold."
She hesitated, weighing her options. Then she sighed. "Fine. But just a ride."
"Just a ride," I agreed, knowing it was a lie.
Because last night had changed everything, despite what she thought. And I had no intention of letting her pretend otherwise.
Now I had to figure out how to prove it.
The drive to Nadia's commercial kitchen was awkward and silent. She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window while I navigated the empty early-morning streets of Coogan's Break.
"Thanks for the ride," she said when I pulled into the lot behind her kitchen. She had a death grip on the door handle before I'd come to a complete stop.
"Nadia, wait—"
But she was already out, slamming the door in a move that said I'm done with this conversation. She crossed the lot in long strides, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside without looking back.
"Well," I said to my empty truck. "That went well."
My phone buzzed with a text from Sofia before I'd even put the truck in reverse. That threw me. Sofia preferred to ambush me in person or use the landline. A text meant that something was wrong.
Saw your lady friend. About time, bambino. Come have breakfast. We talk.
I groaned. There wasn’t a chance Sofia would miss seeing Nadia and me leave. The woman would've been at her kitchen window with her coffee and newspaper at 5:30 a.m., same as every morning.
But refusing Sofia's breakfast invitation was pointless. She'd show up at my door with enough food to feed a small army and stay until I told her everything.
Be there in 10 minutes, I texted back.
I took one more look at the door to Nadia's kitchen, hoping she'd come back out, say something, give me a sign that last night hadn't been a mistake.
But the door stayed closed.
"This isn't over," I said to no one in particular.
Then I put the truck in gear and went to face Sofia's interrogation. Getting Nadia to admit there was something between us might be the hardest fight of my life.
Good thing I had plenty of experience with those.