Chapter 9 Puzzle Pieces #2
He chuckled softly at her abrupt admission.
“Bossy is good, though. But my concern is what all of this says about me. I know better than to allow a client to spend the night in my office, on my dying father’s couch, while I prepare them warm beverages and stand guard in front of the bathroom while they shower. And yet.”
“Here I sit.”
“There you sit.”
“And you’re questioning your fortitude.”
He nodded, chewing his pencil. “Weaknesses are dangerous in my profession.”
“And rejections are dangerous in mine,” she said, shoulders slumping.
“I should’ve been more careful about how I let down actors.
Now I’m being tortured for it. How will I ever go back to feeling normal at work?
At this point, I should turn myself over to the American Psychiatric Association. Donate my psyche to science.”
“The stalker isn’t your fault,” Wes reminded her. “You have to know that.”
“But what if it is? What if I really hurt this man? Said something that stuck with him, or hurt him? I feel like I’m losing my mind.
” She twisted her hands together in her lap.
“I’ve always been so in control. Since I was a kid.
I know how to do everything. By the way, I could repair that drip in your bathroom sink, if you want. ”
Wes looked surprised. “There’s a drip in there?”
“Being efficient made me confident,” continued Sasha. “It made me tough. But now I feel broken and exposed. Like, I have no skin.” She lowered her voice, shaking. “I’m terrified.”
“I know, Sasha. I’ll get him. This’ll be over soon, I promise.”
“I’m only here because I have nowhere else to go. Truly. No siblings, no cousins. My mom’s in Houston, but we’re not close. She has a sister, but she’s MAGA.”
“Seriously?” He winced, as if chomping into a raw onion. “Man, Black MAGAs never feel real to me. It’s like, are you an actual human, or are you three-D printed?”
“Three-D printed,” she repeated with a weak, thin laugh. “Funny.” After a lengthy pause, she said, “Wes, I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Appreciate it,” he said evenly. “It’s weird, you know? I’m grieving. But it hasn’t happened yet.”
He folded his arms across his chest. Something told Sasha not to pry. “I’m still in shock that I’m going to be running this agency alone. No one ever thought I could be a detective. I’m too open with people. I like whimsy and devilry a bit too much.” He paused. “One more infraction, then I’m out.”
She looked up at him, curious. She couldn’t imagine Wes committing any “infractions.”
“It’s weird that I’m confessing all this to you,” he said. “It’s usually the opposite. I’m the one people tell everything to.”
“In my life, I’m that person, too. The holder of other people’s secrets.” Her eyes shone in the near darkness. “What makes you trustworthy, do you think?”
“Hmm. I’m legitimately interested. I can ask probing questions without seeming nosy. I don’t judge. And I never tell.” He chewed on the pencil, again. “I’ve also been told I look dumb, so that may be it, too. Folks think their deepest, darkest secrets are being tossed into the void.”
“You don’t look dumb. That’s looks-ism. Or some other -ism.”
He let out a short, soft chuckle. “What about you? Why do you think people tell you things?”
Sasha settled back into the couch cushions, drawing the blanket up under her chin.
“I navigated most of my childhood alone. Part of my survival in school, with friends, or out in the world, was understanding people and what they wanted. Quickly. So, I learned early to ask a lot of questions and listen.”
Wes squinted at her, as if trying to see her more clearly. Get to the bottom of her. “What were you like in high school? Student government? No, head cheerleader.”
“Majorette captain.”
“I was close.” He looked fascinated by this information. “Majorettes twirl batons, right? You got good reflexes?”
“Well, I used to.”
“Catch,” he said, tossing her the Dane anything to stop this noise, this terror.
Thrashing and sobbing, she tried to swim out of dreamworld, but it was like being stuck in sludge.
Finally, she felt strong hands on her shoulders, pulling her up and out.
And then, a voice in her ear, drowning out all other noise—You’re safe, I’m here, I’ll save you, wake up, wake up.
The deep rumble of his voice, the warmth of his hands, and his magnetic strength broke through the fear.
And he pulled her out of dreamworld. He saved her, just as he said he would.
With a terrific gasp, Sasha’s eyes flew open and locked with Wes’s. He was kneeling on the floor next to the couch, hands gripping her shoulders. Without thought, just the wild desperation of adrenaline, she flung her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her.
Later, she’d be surprised at her desperation. Sasha wasn’t a clingy person. But she didn’t feel like herself. All she felt was a tremendous, powerful need. So, she clung to him and buried her face in his neck, eyes squeezed shut. Reflexively, Wes wrapped her in his arms and pulled her even closer.
After who-knows-how-long, he pulled away. “I shouldn’t do this.”
“Don’t leave me!” she demanded with a powerful force that shocked them both.
“I won’t. Okay? I won’t. Look, I’ll sit over on the chair. I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”
Sasha looked up at him with damp, red-rimmed eyes. “Can you just lay with me?”
“I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Please,” and her voice broke. “I’m so scared. I can’t calm down. Please. Please. Pl—”
Before she could finish the word, he took a huge breath and made a gravely unprofessional decision.
Wes climbed on the couch with her. Sliding his arm under her shoulders, he pulled her into him so they were flush against each other.
Sasha burrowed her face into the hollow under his chin, itching to crawl inside of him; inhale his strength.
She couldn’t get close enough. A week ago, Wes Dane was a stranger. Tonight, he was her safety.
He rocked her, whispering, “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.
” His voice was so low and steady, it became almost meditative, lulling her into a hazy stupor.
She didn’t realize she was trembling until he told her.
She didn’t know she was weeping until she felt the dampness on his shirt.
But she was aware of the heated thrumming at her core.
She felt a frantic, desperate urge inside her, building and building.
She arched against him, knowing this was wrong but needing it.
Needing him. Mindlessly, she released a small, impatient whimper.
Wes drew back a little, giving them air. “What do you want?”
Sasha shook her head. She couldn’t speak and wasn’t even sure how to answer—but it didn’t matter.
Wes knew. He slipped a strong thigh between her legs, pressing his knee up against her warmth.
Pleasure flooded her. She drew in a staggering gasp.
She slipped her hands up under his shirt, hungrily, feeling the planes of his back.
Tentatively at first, she rolled against his thigh.
“Go ahead,” he murmured into her hair. “Take what you need.”
So she did, grinding against him, over and over.
Wes allowed her to use him, to come apart against him.
His hands slid under her sweatshirt, gripping her back tightly.
Sasha could feel how unbearably swollen he was in his pants, but his hands never traveled below the small of her back.
This was about her comfort, her needs. Her mouth parted against his neck, her choppy moans thrumming against his skin.
Her hips stuttered against his thigh, riding him, taking and taking—until she let out a choked sob of unbearable pleasure, sinking her teeth into his skin.
“Let go,” he said, his voice a deep gravel. “Let go, you’re safe with me.”
And so she did. Electricity spiked through her, each wave blurring into the next, until she lay absolutely spent in his arms. Wes rolled onto his back, taking her with him.
She’d fall asleep that way, with her head resting on his chest. But as she drifted off—wrapped in this warm cocoon of safety—it occurred to her that she’d practically mauled this man.
This man she was paying to help her. What kind of person was she?
“Wes . . .”
“Just sleep. I got you.”
She nodded, fading.
“I got you,” he repeated. It was the last thing she heard him say for years.
The next day, she woke up to Phyllis.
“Good morning,” she said, with her usual disapproving side eye. “Junior, I mean Detective Dane, is out in the field. But he wanted you to have this note. I assume you’ll be leaving today?”
Bleary-eyed, Sasha nodded and took the note. She tore it open, reading hungrily.
“Good morning, Ms. Cruz. Everything’s taken care of.
I staked out your apartment, photographed the accused, and I’ve already submitted the proper paperwork for a restraining order.
He’s exactly who you thought he was. I pulled some strings in the police department, and they were on the scene immediately.
He’s in police custody, with stalking charges and facing up to three years in prison.
Please follow up with Phyllis for any further questions. All the best to you, Ms. Cruz.”
And, with distance, her indiscretion with Wes became like a hazily remembered dream.
It had all the elements of dream logic—her, in a place beyond thought, just clinging, grasping desperation, and him, her knight in shining armor, swooping in to save her.
She assumed Wes would live in the threads of her memory, only.
How wrong she was.