Took him all of ten seconds to do a visual sweep of her bachelor apartment. Bathroom to the immediate right. A kitchenette with harvest-yellow appliances that probably dated back to opening day for the building beyond that. In the living area on the left side she had a futon, an old steamer trunk and a floor lamp. A rolling rack full of clothes stood in one corner, bordered by a row of footwear and a couple of plastic storage totes. Talk about minimalist living.
He glanced over his shoulder at the lock on the door. The metal was so old, it was practically black. Like the appliances, it was probably original to the unit. Who knew how many people had lived here over the years, and how many keys fitting that lock were floating around out there.
“See?” she asked when his gaze returned to her face. “Deadbolt. Perfectly safe. I’m fine here. Alone.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening. Crash at a friend’s place. Or go to Conn and Nia’s. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind having you in residence for a while.”
“Only one person in my friends column, and that’s Nia. As for interrupting the newlywed sex-a-thon? No way, dude.”
Dude. He had pretty decent powers of observation, and one of the things he’d noted since the first day he met Sara was her use of that word. He’d heard her address Nia that way. Not her parents, Conn, Lindsay, or anybody else throughout the wedding weekend, though. Kind of a weird word to show fondness, but clearly that was its purpose. And a handful of times, including now, she’d used it toward him.
Things were about to get a lot more interesting. “If you won’t go anywhere else, then I guess you’ll stay with me.”
“What?” Her perfectly suckable bottom lip dropped nearly to her knees. “No. Make that a hell no.”
“You’re cute when you lose your shit.”
“Oh my god, you are such a—”
“Prince?” He winked. “Don’t freak out, we’re talking short-term stay only. While we deal with your neighborhood graffiti artists, get your lock changed, or ideally, find you a new apartment.” He did another sweep of her current digs, focusing on the double-size-at-most futon. “Or I can stay here with you. For as long as it takes.”
Chapter 11
Sara
Insane, that’s what she was. Certifiable. No other reason existed for following Curtis to his condo. She could bail at the next corner. Hit the accelerator hard, double back to her apartment and lock the deadbolt he didn’t deem safe enough. Only he had her stuff in his trunk.
“I’ll take that,” he’d said, plucking the duffel bag from her hands the moment she closed the zipper. “Insurance that you don’t ‘get lost’ on the way to my place.”
She could wear other clothes and replace the toiletries easily enough. Not the laptop, one of her two valuable possessions.
She clutched the steering wheel of the second thing she treasured and focused on the road. The rain had lightened up some, but the asphalt was slick and her tires were as bald as a Brazilian wax job. The tires were another expense she’d have to squeeze into her budget somehow. Before the snow hit, four short months from now.
Except she’d have to delay tire shopping if she planned to move. Socking away first and last months’ rent wasn’t going to be easy. One of the reasons she’d taken her current apartment was the fact she hadn’t needed a deposit. Her building—and neighborhood—catered to the severely down-on-your-luck crowd. God, she was sick and fucking tired of being in that demographic. Things needed to change. Somehow.
Curtis led her up Charles Street and across Francis Street. She didn’t need to follow him—she’d known where to go as soon as he’d told her he lived in the Kaufman Lofts. Kind of surprising that a city cop would choose to live near the heart of downtown, rather than put some distance between himself and the people he probably arrested on a daily basis. But that was Curtis—surprising her at every turn.
The more she pushed him away, the more determined he seemed to pull her in. Maybe that was the answer. If he was interested in her for the thrill of the chase and challenge she presented, she’d be the opposite—clingy and smothering. Needy. This ought to be a trip.
She followed him into the lot. He used the Mustang’s turn signal to direct her to a parking spot, then continued on to another. Rather than get out of the car and meet him, she turned off the engine and waited. Let the game begin.
“Everything okay?” he asked while opening her door.
“Now that you’re here to save me from dangers lurking in the dark, yes.”
He grunted and shook his head. “Let’s go, smartass.”
Okay, so solid fail on her first attempt at playing the frightened damsel. She’d just have to step it up a notch. By the time morning rolled around, Curtis would regret going alpha hero on her and bullying her back to his condo. She’d be free to go back to her normal life without a cop looking over her shoulder.
She lifted his free arm and tucked herself underneath. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah.” A one-word answer to go with the shock on his face. Excellent.
She dialed it up a level, circling her arms around his waist and snuggling into his side as they walked to the building. A total girlfriend move, something she never did. But she could see the appeal. Especially when the big, solid man she was trying to scare away wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Kissed the top of her head while they moved together in comfortable silence. Another fail in her plan, on several levels.
By the time they arrived at his door on the second-floor, Curtis’ chuckling was vibrating beneath her ear. Apparently he found her continued clinginess amusing, not annoying.
Fine. She’d dig deeper.
“After you,” he said, pushing the condo door open with his non-occupied hand. When she failed to disengage and walk through the single-wide entry, choosing to hug tighter instead, he snorted and shook his head. “Point made, troublemaker.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to be close to you. That horrible trauma at my apartment caught up with me on the way over here. Now I’m in a cuddling mood. Do you have Netflix? We can spoon on your couch and watch The Notebook.”
Forget chuckling, he burst out laughing. So hard, she thought he might actually strain those very hard abdominal muscles of his.
Shit. Maybe she’d dug a little too deep that time.
“I see how it is.” He’d barely gained control of his laugh factory, yet he scooped her into his arms, honeymoon-style, and carried her inside. “This what you wanted—to play? I told you I don’t role-play, but maybe tonight, I’ll make an exception.”
“Ooh, what should we play? Virgin bride and impatient groom? Angry landlord collects his rent in sexual favors?”
He moved through the unit, head shaking with every step. “Your brain is a busy place.”
“You have no idea, lawman.”
“You should write them down.”
“What? Like a how-to sex-fantasy guide?”
He snorted. “No. Like a story. My sister has stacks of romances at her place. She’d buy it, for sure.”
“Oh yeah, Lindsay would be my biggest supporter.” She copied his snort, though for reasons other than Lindsay’s obvious lack of friendly feelings toward her. In a million years, she wouldn’t have expected Curtis to randomly touch on the one thing she dreamed of doing, if ever she worked up the nerve. Seriously, what were the odds?