Chapter 14
The gallery was slammed with customers all afternoon. Two commissions finalized. A last-minute framing issue. A tourist couple who couldn’t decide between abstract blue and abstract slightly less blue.
By the time Erica walked in her front door, she had only thirty minutes until Coop arrived. They hadn’t seen each other since that kiss, and the days in between had dragged more than she wanted to admit.
Twice, they’d rescheduled this dinner, both times because he was buried under the fallout from the jail deaths.
She’d seen the headlines, even the brief quote from Rangers Lt.
Cooper saying he couldn’t comment on an active investigation.
She understood. Really, she did. But it didn’t stop her from missing him or from feeling like they’d left something unfinished.
The house smelled of basil, garlic, and slow-simmered tomatoes. The chicken she’d thrown into her slow cooker that morning had clearly done its job. “One thing is under control, at least,” she muttered.
Upstairs, she stripped out of her clothes and slipped into the shower, leaving her hair alone. It took too long to dry, and she didn’t have time to wrestle with the straightener. She washed quickly, scrubbing away the day.
By the time she got out, her hair had taken on a wild, humidity-born life of its own. With the clock ticking, she brushed it into submission, twisted it up, and secured it with her favorite clip.
Her dress was a pale summer blue, sleeveless, fitted through the bodice, and flowing from the waist. She slipped into sandals and was halfway down the stairs when the knock came.
Her heart flipped when she opened the door. He looked freshly showered, hair still damp, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Slow and unapologetic, his gaze swept over her. She felt it like a caress.
What sparked in the gallery hadn’t ended. They’d just hit pause.
He was inside before her next breath, shutting the door with his foot. His hand slid into her hair, finding the twist. The clip slipped free, and her hair fell around her shoulders.
“I spent ten minutes on that,” she breathed.
“Waste of ten minutes,” he murmured.
His hand stayed tangled in her hair, the other sliding down past her waist and under the light fabric at her hip.
She gasped when his fingers skimmed the bare curve of her thigh beneath the hem. He hooked her leg around his hip, pulling her flush against him.
She felt him hard and insistent against her, his heat bleeding through the thin layers between them. Her breath came out shallow and uneven, her fingers curling instinctively into his shirt.
“Vince,” she whispered.
“I’ve been thinking about kissing you for the past forty-eight hours.”
“Me too,” she breathed, straining on the toes of one foot to reach his mouth.
Then he did, nothing careful about it. It was hungry and possessive, enough to weaken her knees.
The hand tangled in her hair tilted her head.
His mouth left hers only long enough to trail along her jaw, down her throat, teeth grazing lightly over sensitive skin.
Warm palms glided upward; rougher fingertips traced the edge of her panties.
Breathing hard, he dragged his mouth away like it took effort.
They were both flushed. Slightly wrecked.
She blinked up at him, dazed. “Good to see you,” she said breathlessly. “Would you like to come in?”
He huffed a quiet laugh, sheepish now that oxygen had returned. They both glanced around, as if remembering the foyer existed.
Then he sniffed. “Is something burning?”
Her eyes widened. “Cheese and rice. Not again.”
She ducked under his arm and bolted for the kitchen.
Dinner wasn’t ruined. The sauce had thickened and caramelized a little. They sat across from each other at her small kitchen table and tried to exercise a little self-control like civil adults.
They failed.
Every look lingered. Every accidental brush of hands sparked.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “How was your day?”
She talked while they ate, about her class, the new students, the artist who’d shown up a week early and stood in the middle of everything with his portfolio like that was perfectly reasonable.
“And the traffic on the way was impossible as…”
Coop lifted his water glass, throat working as he swallowed. That alone, the flex of muscle beneath tanned skin, one unguarded second of something entirely ordinary, was so distracting, so utterly devastating, the same as the man. It took her a moment to realize she’d stopped speaking mid-sentence.
“You were saying?” he prompted, his deep voice having a similar effect to his swallow.
“I, uh, yes… I was,” she stammered, making zero sense.
His lips quirked up, slow and knowing, and heat coiled in her belly.
She pushed away from the table a little too fast, the chair legs scraping. “Dessert?” she asked, grabbing plates.
He leaned back in his chair and looked at her in a way that made her pulse throb. “I think dessert’s standing in front of me.”
For a second, she could only stare at him. Then she crossed to the sink and set everything down harder than she meant to. Stoneware clattered against steel. She braced her hands on the counter, pressing her thighs together as the ache intensified. She took a slow breath. Then another.
Without turning, she said, “You’re direct tonight.”
He was behind her a second later. Three strides, no hesitation. His hands on her hips turned her to face him.
“Do you mind?” His voice was rougher, a current of urgency curling through it.
“No,” she whispered. “I like it. Almost as much as I like… dessert.”
His blue eyes flickered with surprise then heat. The tan lines beside them crinkled as his mouth found hers again.
The kiss turned hungry, like they hadn’t just eaten, picking up where they’d left off in the entryway. Her hands slid up his chest, fisting in his shirt as her mouth opened beneath his. His tongue swept inside, and the kiss ignited.
A soft sound slipped from her throat when he lifted her onto the counter in one smooth motion.
Cool tile met her back, the solid weight of him settling between her thighs as if he belonged there. It nearly undid her.
Clothes became a problem they solved together. Buttons came undone, a zipper dragged open, fabric was shoved aside without apology. The gauze of her dress bunched high under his hands, and the brush of denim against her inner thighs pulled a soft, helpless sound from her throat.
When everything stopped suddenly, it turned into a frustrated whimper.
“Hang on,” he said, lips brushing her cheek.
She heard his wallet hit the floor then the brief, unmistakable crinkle of practicality.
“Hurry,” she urged.
Erica dared a look down when he spread her legs wider, trembling when the tip of his shaft glided through her wetness. When he sank into her, she went still, breath catching from the fullness and the realness of him after so long.
Her arms wound around his shoulders, fingers sliding into his hair, holding on as she waited for her gift to reassert itself, drowning her in everything he was feeling instead of letting her have this.
She’d been bracing for it since he first touched her.
But there was nothing. Only the heat and stretch of him, and the pull of intense need already building at her center. She almost laughed with relief.
He’d gone still, too, his breath warm at her throat. His lips brushed her pulse point. “Still nothing?”
“Yes.” The word came out certain. “And it’s amazing.”
She felt it before she heard it: the small exhale, the way he relaxed into her by degrees.
Then his breath warmed her throat, and something in her pulled taut.
Her hips pressed closer before she’d thought to move them, her body answering a question her mind hadn’t finished asking.
Her fingers slid into his hair, and she brought his mouth up to hers, kissing him open-mouthed and unguarded.
He needed no further reassurance and moved. She gasped, a ragged sound she couldn’t contain. Then every lucid thought in her head dissolved. It left only rhythm, friction, and anticipation that climbed and climbed until it had nowhere left to go.
He murmured her name like it meant the world. Erica.
That, on top of everything else, triggered her unraveling. Sensation crested, her fingers curled hard into his shoulders. Her body shuddered with the force of it, and she came apart in his hands, right there, on her kitchen counter.
He followed her over, groaning low and rough, open mouth pressed to the bend of her neck.
Wrapped around each other, breath uneven, time seemed to freeze. He moved first, spreading kisses up her neck, along her jaw to her mouth.
“You taste like basil and trouble,” he murmured.
She let out a breathless laugh. “I hope that’s a good combination.”
“On you, it’s phenomenal.” He kissed her once more, with more control but no less passion.
After cleaning up enough to resemble civilized adults, they drifted out to her porch. The sun had set. Crickets chirped in the near-dark, and fireflies blinked around the yard.
They sat close, the boards creaking beneath them as they gently swung. Her head rested on his shoulder, fingers loosely laced with his. Stars pushed through the Texas sky one by one. Her mind was quiet, blessedly so.
A car door slammed somewhere down the street, bringing reality into focus.
“The news was ugly this weekend,” she offered quietly.
“I often think it’s best to stop reading it if you don’t have to.”
She absorbed that, her expression tightening. “The jail deaths seem… convenient.”
He exhaled. “The sheriff doesn’t think so.”
“I meant for Kedrov, who couldn’t have been pleased, and I’m sure didn’t want them talking.”
“That kind of world doesn’t leave loose ends.”
Silence stretched before she spoke. “I’m a loose end. Should I be concerned?”
“No,” he said immediately. “They don’t know about you.”
She searched his face. “You’re sure?”
“You wouldn’t be sitting here if I weren’t.”
She considered that briefly. “I’m not sure I like that answer.”
He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “I won’t let anything touch you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise to do everything in my power not to let Kedrov’s world into yours.”
She leaned into him again. “I’ve felt nothing from Cheyenne since the rescue.”
“That’s good. Isn’t it?”
“I suppose. But not knowing leaves me hanging. It’s unsettling when you’ve been that close to someone.”
He squeezed her hand. “She’s safe. And you’re not on anyone’s radar.”
“Except yours,” she said, returning the squeeze. “It’s… nice.”
He turned toward her, the porch swing creaking with the shift. “I’ve wondered how this works for you.”
She hesitated then let out a shaky breath. A self-conscious laugh escaped her. “Obviously, this wasn’t my first time, but it has been a while.”
His focus keyed in on the last part. “How long?”
“A while,” she repeated, meaningfully. “I’ve had to make careful choices. Men who didn’t broadcast too loudly.”
One brow lifted. “Accountants and programmers?”
She huffed a laugh. “Actually, yes. One of each.”
“Snooze fest,” he murmured. “No wonder it didn’t work out.”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “They were nice. Just not… this.”
His thumb brushed her knuckles. “Good. Because I don’t want to be a safe choice.”
“You are, but in the best ways,” she said, and the reality of it sank in, calm, undeniable, and slightly unnerving.
The neighbor’s lights went out, plunging them into darkness. He checked his watch. “It’s later than I planned.”
They didn’t move for a long moment. Then he stood, taking her hand. “Walk me to the front.”
In the foyer, something skittered off his boot. He bent and picked up her hair clip. She reached for it, but he slipped it into his pocket.
“Don’t bother,” he said, eyes darkening. “I like it down.”
Her pulse fluttered as he cupped her chin and kissed her again—deep, lingering, and full of promise.
“I want to see you again.”
“Me too,” she said, leaning in.
“There’s a cookout Saturday. A few of the Rangers and their families.”
“Sounds like fun,” she said. “Should I bring something?”
“Nope. We’ll talk before then.” He kissed her once more. “Lock up behind me.”
She did it out of habit: dead bolt, chain, set the door alarm. Then she walked to the living room window and watched his taillights fade. She smiled; date number two was very much in the books.
As she looked across the street at the Wilson house, the warm, gushy feeling Coop had given her disappeared. The streetlight glinted off the yellow police tape stretched across the door. Otherwise, the stillness and silence should have been comforting. Instead, a subtle unease crept into her mind.
She told herself it was proximity. Anyone living across the street from the site of a violent murder would feel unsettled. But she suspected her part wasn’t over yet, no matter what Coop thought.
She double-checked the locks on both doors. Only when the house was sealed tight did she head upstairs.