Chapter 24
She woke not to noise, an alarm, or the panic of a vision, but to warmth surrounding her.
For a few disoriented seconds, she didn’t know where she was.
The ceiling was different. Her bedroom didn’t have a fan.
The sheets were softer, the scent not her usual lavender but clean, fresh cotton.
And this mattress was firmer, not her pillow top.
Memory slid into place. Vince had helped her into his truck near dawn, his hands at her waist, lifting her in when her knees threatened to give out.
He’d said something low, the tone reassuring, but she was half asleep and hadn’t caught the words.
She remembered his hand brushing her hip when he fastened her seat belt.
After that—nothing.
She registered what she was wearing. Or rather, what she wasn’t. Her dress from last night was gone. In its place, jersey knit, oversized, the hem twisted around her thighs. Not her T-shirt. One of his.
He’d changed her clothes and put her to bed.
His bed. She should’ve been embarrassed about passing out, but he’d taken care of her.
She liked her independence, her business, the life she’d built on her own, but she’d always wanted more.
Someone to come home to, to trust, to love.
She’d just stopped believing it could happen.
Carefully, Erica turned to face him. The brush of his thigh and the line of his boxer briefs told her everything that hadn’t happened. Not that she believed he’d ever take advantage.
He was still asleep, and she took the chance to study him.
Without the tension lines around his mouth and the ever-present focus, he looked much younger. His lashes were long, dark fans against his cheeks. A light scruff of beard shadowed his chin. He had one arm curved around her waist. As if, even in sleep, he wanted to keep her close.
A bifold frame sat on the dresser. On one side, a younger Vince posed with a smiling older couple—his parents, from the resemblance. Opposite that, a photo of him at thirty, maybe, with a gap-toothed little girl perched on his shoulders, grinning like she owned the world.
Family. Something else she’d given up on.
The digital clock beside the frame read 11:02.
She blinked to make sure she’d seen it right. She never slept this late.
His breathing changed, and the arm around her curled, bringing her in tighter. “Morning,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
“Barely. It’s past eleven.”
His eyes opened, a clear, deep blue, and immediately focused on her. Shadows lingered beneath them; he hadn’t slept much either.
“You stayed with me,” she whispered.
“Where else would I be?”
Her heart skipped a beat. That answer was far too easy to fall for. But it was pure Vince Cooper.
She must have stared too long, definitely tongue-tied, because he asked, “You with me, darlin’?”
“I… uh…” She cleared her throat.
Focus, Erica.
“Gruzinsky?” she said at length. “Did he flip?”
His grin came slowly. “Like a gold medal gymnast.”
She exhaled. It had worked. But the hollow feeling inside her remained.
Of course, he noticed. His hand slid up her spine. “Now answer my question.”
She had to rewind to remember the question. “I’m good. Tired.” She hesitated. “And… a little raw.”
He heard the slight catch. “You scared me last night.”
“It was intense,” she agreed. She’d never touched such darkness.
He shifted closer, his lips against her temple. “You won’t have to do that again.”
She didn’t answer. They both knew that if it became necessary to keep someone alive, she would.
“With everything that’s going on, shouldn’t you be at the station?”
“O’Reilly’s with the feds,” he replied. “My job is to keep our confidential informant safe.”
It took a moment to sink in. “That’s me?”
“That’s you.”
“But your boss—”
“Cap signed off.”
She took a deep breath. “What now?”
“You’re safe here,” he said. “But I want you out of town.”
She pictured her house as she’d last seen it. Would she ever feel safe there again? She also had a business to run. Bills to pay.
Her brow furrowed. “My gallery… I have a show next month.”
“Can your assistant handle it?”
She sighed. “No. But everything’s already set up. The pieces are framed. Invitations sent. I’ll need to be home in time for the event.”
“And your students?”
“I can reschedule. Or Zoom for a week.” She paused. “It’s not ideal.”
“Your safety is important.”
“Right.” She exhaled. “What do I do in the meantime?”
“Come with me to Austin.”
“What’s in Austin?” Her gaze drifted to the photograph on the dresser. “That little girl?”
“That’s Tasha, my daughter. Not so little anymore. She’s a freshman in college.”
“She favors you.” Erica hesitated to ask but needed to know. “Where’s her mother?”
“We divorced almost ten years ago. Tasha lives with her in Austin. My folks are there, too.”
Shock rippled through her. “You’re taking me to meet your family?”
“Yes,” he replied, no hesitation. “They’ll love you.” He paused, studying her. “What about your family? Where are they?”
“I was a foster kid. I don’t have any.”
He waited, giving her space she had no intention of filling.
She forced a small smile. “It’s a long story. And not a very interesting one.”
A little panicky, she steered them to the matter at hand. No man had ever brought her home to meet the parents. No man had ever gotten that far. She wasn’t sure she was ready.
“Isn’t this soon?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You know where this is headed.”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
He leaned in slowly, his hand sliding into her hair and around the nape of her neck. “You. With me. In my bed,” he murmured against her mouth, “permanently.”
Heat spread through her. It was all happening fast, but she wanted him enough not to care. His lips on hers chased out the panic and the last of the chill from the night before.
Her hand slid up his chest. “We should get right on that, then.”
That was all the agreement he needed. He kissed her again, deeper this time. Not rushed or desperate. Controlled.
His tongue slid inside, exploring, tasting, both unhurried and thorough, like he meant to take his time. She was thinking about more than kisses when he raised his head.
“I didn’t bring you here for this,” he murmured, his breath warm on her lips.
She smiled, fingers curling into his shoulders. “I know. But there’s nothing I hate more than a missed opportunity.”
His restraint disappeared. He rolled her onto her back, one arm bracing beside her head, his other hand sliding beneath the hem of his T-shirt, fingers tracing slowly up her bare thighs.
This wasn’t adrenaline after an emotionally charged night. This was deliberate, and she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more in that moment.
He traced the line of her jaw with his lips, down her throat, lingering where her pulse fluttered.
“Arms up,” he directed, voice husky with his rising desire.
When he pulled the shirt over her head, her nipples tightened from the coolness of the room. Braced on his arms above her, only his eyes touched her, taking his time.
“Are you only going to look?”
“For now,” he said. No apology. “You wanted slow, and I was trying to oblige us both.”
Her soft laughter dissolved into a gasp when his mouth closed over a nipple, tongue circling, drawing it tight. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there.
He stayed, but not for long, moving to give the other side equal attention. She arched, craving more than his mouth. By the time his hand slid down her body, she was already lifting for him.
His fingers hooked into her panties. With a tug and a whisper of fabric, they joined the discarded shirt somewhere in the room.
With her now completely bare, he perused her body with an intensity that stole her breath. His hand traced a path down her stomach, between her thighs, parting her. His thumb found her clit. She lifted instinctively, her head falling back, composure gone.
“Just like that,” she breathed into the charged air.
He listened, moving with little flicks and circles. A finger curled inside her then a second, finding the place that made her thighs clamp tight around his hand. She rode the motion, her breath coming faster, the tension coiling.
“Look at me.”
She did, and the intimacy of eye contact, the deliberateness, the way he watched her face like her pleasure was information he wanted to memorize, undid her more than his touch.
Erica gave in to it and came, a low moan slipping free before she could stop it.
He stayed with her through it, not rushing or pulling away but holding her there until she came back to him.
“Perfect,” he murmured, as if she’d confirmed something.
“Now it’s your turn.” She wanted to give him the same pleasure.
There was no need to ask him twice. He rolled off her and stripped, giving her a moment to peruse, too.
She dragged a palm over his shoulder, across the expanse of his chest, and down the rippling muscles in his belly. Then she saw all of him, long and thick, and had to touch him there. She took him in her hand, stroking slowly.
He lost it for a second. “Erica…”
Her name, low and strained, in his deep voice, was one of her favorite sounds.
A passive role wasn’t his style, and it was over.
He drew her toward him, wrapped her leg over his hip, and aligned himself with her.
He slid inside, watching her face. The stretch pulled a sharp exhale from her as she adjusted to the weight and fullness of him settling deep.
She took all of him, the sensation daunting and perfect all at once.
His hand splayed over her bottom, and, at the same time, his lips found hers again. She moved with him as he set up a rhythm, sinking deep and withdrawing in a long pull.
It was wonderfully intimate, but he soon wanted more.
He rolled both of them this time, with her on her back and him rising above her. His hands slid up her body, lifting her arms, lacing their fingers together above her head and pressing them gently into the pillow.