Chapter Fifteen #2
I part them anyway and scan the yard. Porch light fading into black grass. Trees beyond it. No movement along the line where Wren claims her strange little friend stands watching the road.
Only then do I let the curtain fall.
Wren whispers, “Prickle doesn’t come inside.”
“Good.”
“He says houses are people nests.”
I turn around slowly.
Twila’s face has gone blank.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Nope what?”
“Not discussing that at midnight.”
“Thank you.”
Wren yawns again.
Twila leans over the bed. “Go to sleep.”
Wren looks at her. “You staying for breakfast?”
Twila pauses.
I stop breathing like an idiot.
Then she says, “Yeah.”
Wren closes her eyes. “Okay.”
Five minutes later, she’s actually out, breathing slow and deep while her hand stays curled beside her cheek.
Twila and I step into the dim hallway. Wren’s night-light spills purple across the floor behind us, and the rest of the house is quiet enough that I can hear the refrigerator kick on in the kitchen.
My daughter is asleep six feet away.
Suddenly every dirty thought I’ve had about Twila since she bled on my damn thumb feels loud enough to wake her.
Twila whispers, “You’re staring again.”
“Yeah.”
“What now?”
“You fit.”
The words leave before I can stop them.
Fuck.
Her smile disappears. “What?”
I look past her toward Wren’s room, then back at the blonde standing barefoot in my hallway with helmet-mussed hair and one of Wren’s purple marker stains near her thumb.
“Means you walked into my house, made my kid laugh, cleaned up after her, helped put her to bed, and somehow none of it felt weird.”
Twila’s expression softens. “Kitchen,” she whispers.
“Why?”
“Because standing outside your daughter’s room while you look at me like that feels really fast.”
We make it to the kitchen without touching, which feels like more of an accomplishment than it should.
Twila leans against the counter beneath the dim light over the sink while I deliberately put the island between us. The house is too quiet and she’s too close, even from six feet away.
She notices immediately.
“What?”
“You’re over there.”
“Observant.”
“You avoiding me?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
I fold my arms. “Because if I come over there, we ain’t talking.”
Her eyes drop to my mouth. “Maybe I don’t wanna talk.”
“There’s the problem.”
“You keep finding problems tonight.”
“Got one in my kitchen wearing jeans tight enough to violate county ordinance.”
“Deputy’s off duty.”
“Still illegal.”
She smiles. “I could leave.”
The words land exactly where she means them to.
I stay on my side of the island.
“I know.”
“My house is ten minutes away.”
“I know.”
“Daddy would come get me.”
“I know.”
She watches me another moment. “Cal would too.”
My tongue presses against the inside of my cheek.
Her smile turns mean. “Jealous?” Twila laughs.
I finally come around the counter.
She doesn’t move.
“You ain’t kidnapped anymore,” I tell her.
“I know.”
“Door ain’t locked.”
“I know.”
“You got your phone.”
“Eventually.”
“Clothes.”
“Some.”
“Enough attitude to cross three county lines without stopping.”
“Probably four.”
I plant my hands on the counter, one on either side of her, but leave enough room that she could duck under either arm and walk away.
“Why’d you come here?”
“For Wren.”
“Bullshit.”
“Prickle.”
“Bigger bullshit.”
“Kaylee.”
“Try again.”
“Pearly Gates.”
“Closer.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re insufferable.”
“Been established.”
“I need to know what happened to those girls.”
“True.”
“I don’t know if somebody in my department is leaking information.”
“True.”
“I need access.”
“To me?”
“The club.”
“Sure.”
She glares.
I lean closer. “You stayed because you wanted to.”
“You sure?”
“You fucked me.”
“Evidence of poor judgment.”
“Could test the theory again.”
Her mouth opens. Then closes.
I grin.
She grabs the front of my shirt. “Bedroom.”
Every smart thought disappears.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Thought we were discussing your questionable decision making.”
“We are.”
“And?”
She pulls me closer. “I’ve decided to make another one.”
I kiss her.
Quietly at first because Wren is asleep down the hall, and that changes the whole damn house. Every floorboard suddenly matters. Every creak. Every breath we don’t keep under control.
Twila feels it too. She kisses me before I can say more. We make it down the hall without knocking anything over.
My bedroom door shuts softly behind us. The room is dark except for the bedside lamp I left burning earlier, a low pool of amber light spilling across rumpled sheets and the nightstand where Wren’s school picture is tucked beside my alarm clock.
Twila should look out of place in here, but she doesn’t.
She turns toward me. I lock the bedroom door.
Her eyebrows rise. “That for me?”
“Wren believes knocking is optional.”
“Smart kid.”
“She gets it from me.”
“Definitely your mother.”
I laugh.
Twila starts pulling off her shirt.
I stop laughing.
“Jesus.”
“What?”
“You give a man warning.”
“You’ve seen me naked.”
“Still deserves preparation.”
She tosses the shirt at my face.
I catch it automatically.
Then stand there holding it like a fucking idiot because it smells like her.
I’m fucked.
She notices. “What? You’re holding my shirt like it proposed.”
I drop the damn thing. “Happy?”
“No.”
“Woman, you ain’t happy unless we’re fighting.” My hand lifts toward her jaw, and I wait until she looks back before letting my fingers touch her. “I like fighting with you.”
Her mouth threatens to move. “Healthy.” She slides both arms around my neck. “Whiskey?”
“Yeah?”
She pinches my side.
I catch her hand before she can do it again.
I smile. “Blondie, first time I watched you throw a woman across a ring, I damn near fell in love.”
Her fingers stop against the back of my neck.
The words hit my own ears about a second too late.
Fuck.
That ain’t what I meant.
Twila just looks at me.
The only escape route I’ve got is being an asshole. “Then you opened your mouth and ruined it.”
She shoves me.
I laugh.
“You’re an asshole.”
“You were getting emotional.”
“You said love. That’s way too fast.”
“I said damn near.”
“That ain’t better.”
“Technically is.”
“You’re sleeping on the couch.”
“This is my house.”
“Your daughter likes me better.”
“Probably true.”
She tries not to smile.
Loses.
I kiss her forehead before I think better of it.
That stops both of us.
A fucking forehead kiss.
Christ.
Sex I understand. Forehead kisses are where men start losing property and making terrible financial decisions.
Twila looks up at me. “You just…”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Forget it.”
“That was sweet.”
“Take that word out of my house.”
She laughs quietly.
I put one finger against her lips. “Shh.”
She gives my finger an offended look. Then she bites me. Not hard.
Still.
I pull my finger away. “Violent.”
The next kiss is slower, without a fight or an ex who’d just been standing in the hallway to fuel it. That makes this feel more dangerous than the first time.
Twila’s fingers slide into my hair while mine settle at her hips. We move together quietly, trading kisses and smartass whispers because apparently neither one of us knows how to be normal for more than ten seconds.
“You’re staring,” she whispers.
“You’re in my bedroom.”
“I noticed.”
“In my bed in about thirty seconds.”
“Cocky?”
“Very.” I kiss her neck.
Her breath catches, and she immediately clamps her mouth shut.
I grin against her skin. “You trying to be quiet?”
“Your daughter is asleep.”
“Thought you weren’t loud.”
“I’m not.”
“Prove it.”
I bite softly at the spot beneath her ear, and her fingers tighten in my hair.
“That’s cheating,” she whispers.
“Ain’t heard anything yet.”
My hand slides down between us, rubbing over her through her jeans. Her hips jerk into my palm before she catches herself.
“Still quiet, Deputy?”
Her eyes narrow. “Take my pants off and find out.”
Twila grabs my face. “You’re enjoying this.”
“More than I should.”
“You’re evil.”
“Biker.”
“Accountant in leather.”
“Quit ruining my image.”
Her laugh gets trapped against my mouth.
We end up in bed tangled together, covers shoved halfway down, her hair a blonde mess against the sheets and one leg hooked around mine. Her skin is warm beneath my hands, and every time the mattress creaks, we both freeze and listen for Wren.
Nothing.
Then we start laughing quietly into each other’s mouths like teenagers trying not to get caught.
I peel her jeans down her legs while she gets my belt open, both of us trying to do it without rattling the damn bed frame. She shoves my jeans and underwear down just far enough to get her hand around my cock.
I bury my face against her shoulder before the sound in my throat gets loose.
She whispers, “Thought I was the one who had to be quiet.”
“Keep your hand moving and neither one of us is making it through this quietly.”
Naturally, she strokes me again.
Smartass.
I hook my fingers into her panties and drag them down, slow enough that she has to lift her hips for me. She kicks them somewhere off the side of the bed.