“Oh,” I breathe out barely above a whisper. My nipples tighten from the heat of his breath on my skin and his hands come from nowhere, sliding down my sides roughly until he reaches my hips and grips them in his palms. My panties become wetter with every second he makes contact, my breathing quickens. Shit, why does he have to feel so good?

The conviction in his tone has me questioning if I should bother trying to challenge him staying the night. Frustration mixed with desire reddens my cheeks.

“Last time I’m asking, sweetheart, want a drink?” Mason’s hands squeeze my hips, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Fine. I’ll have water. Thanks.”

“All right. Now get your ass back on the couch and relax.”

My mouth hangs open in shock. The hairs on my neck stand on end while my whole body tingles with need as a shiver of pleasure rolls through me.

“Good God, you’re bossy.”

He chuckles in response and leans in, his lips grazing my ear. “The way your body is trembling right now, sweetheart, I’d say you fucking love it.”

And I do. I can’t even deny to myself how everything about him seems to make me feel things I never knew I liked or even wanted. Maybe it’s just him, but we’ll never know because I’ll never show him. My body craves him while my heart defends itself by rejecting him. When my mind finally weighs in on the struggle, I want neither side to win. In this two-front war, is it possible to find equilibrium?

***

His voice soothes my soul. His laugh, such a welcome distraction.  For a short time, my mind drifts away from reality. I don’t think about work, Alison, or the repercussions of testifying. I relax into an easy routine of back and forth banter with Mason, which surprisingly comforts my heart.

A ringing sounds from the end table and Mason jumps up to answer his phone. I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but when a man answers the phone with a ‘Hey, baby girl’ a woman’s interest piques. I lean back into the couch to appear comfortable when really I’ve already zoned everything else out while I wait to hear what Mason says next. As he walks past me over to the floor-to-ceiling window, which is still within hearing distance, I force the superficial smile I’ve perfected after years of practice, and I sit, pretending, the one part of my life I excel at. I pretend my mind and my heart aren’t niggling at the fact I may have misjudged Mason after all.

“Okay. Goodnight, love you.”

I grimace, hearing the loving endearment and my mind continues to race a million miles per hour. It can’t be a girlfriend, or a wife. I’m sure of it. He wears no wedding band and everything I’ve seen from him proves he’s not like the usual type of man I cross paths with. My stomach feels queasy and my insides twist with self-doubt. Had I mistaken the kind of man he is because I’ve been blinded by this unfamiliar attraction to him? Mason clicks off and places his phone back on the counter before returning to my side, draping an arm around me.

Curiosity gets the better of me. “Should you be somewhere else right now?”

He rests back, making himself comfortable. “No, I’m right where I need to be tonight.”

I glance at him suspiciously, eyebrows raised. He must notice my concern because he quickly adds, “That was my daughter on the phone. She’s at home with the sitter.”

My eyes widen, head tipping to the side, “You have a child?”

He’s as calm as can be, completely relaxed.

“Yep, sure do.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage.

Detective Mason Cole just got impossibly hotter.

Mason

Pain shoots up my neck as I straighten it from its kinked position. Pins and needles weigh down my arm; it’s as heavy as fucking lead from being raised for so long. Lindsey’s sleeping form is tucked into my side and her hair feels like silk splayed across my bicep. I take the opportunity while I’ve got it and shift her into a more comfortable position for us both. Closing my eyes, I lay my head back, soaking in the softness of her smooth skin pressed up against mine.

I regret moving as soon as she moans in her sleep, wriggling herself somehow fucking closer, stirring my cock to life. Fuck. My dick swells in my jeans, aching for attention.

Picking Lindsey up, one arm underneath her knees the other around her back, I carry her to bed, my patience wearing too thin to sit with her any longer, listening to her make those sexy little sounds. I’ll go crazy and do something like strip her naked and fuck her.

Sliding back the covers, I gently tuck her in and a lightness I don’t often feel resonates from my chest at seeing her this way. So open, so vulnerable, asleep she seems at peace, relaxed. Once Lindsey digested the idea of Charlotte earlier, something shifted between us. I don’t really think either of us knew what it was. All I know is I sure as fuck didn’t want it to stop.

Every now and again her smile wouldn’t be hollow, her laugh would be real, and those steel blue eyes would bore into mine full of so many questions that I instantly hated whoever was capable of sucking all the faith out of this beautiful woman. They were short-lived flashes, like lightning in a storm. That was until the rain fell, showering reality down on us. But those moments of clarity proved something. The wall guarding Lindsey’s heart has cracks, and I was ready to knock it wide open.

I check the other rooms and locks in the loft before lying down to rest for a few hours. My heavy lidded eyes slowly droop, longing for sleep. Grabbing my gun from the back of my waistband, I dump it on the coffee table right in front of the couch, keeping it within reach. No one had come near the place, and although I didn’t believe anything catastrophic would happen to Lindsey tonight, there’s still a possibility Marino’s goons would strike, albeit a dumb move.

I lace my hands behind my head and glance around Lindsey’s living room. I take everything in properly for the first time. My lips curl up into a smile. It’s all Lindsey. Femininity seeps through the curtains, but not in an overstated way. It’s classic, all timeless furniture, pristine and cared for. It’s beautiful, like her. My eyes drift closed again, this time imagining blue eyes made of stone.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lindsey

Demons have a way of sucking us dry, pulling the life out of us until we have nothing left. His demons wouldn’t destroy him, but mine would.

I jerk my head up, still disorientated from sleep and reach across into the bedside drawer for my gun. Shouting rips through the air frightening me. Mason.

I jump out of bed but hesitate as I move. I glance down to the gun in my hand. Shit, I can’t let him see it. He’ll ask too many questions. I shove it back in the draw and run down the hall. My heart pounds in my chest preparing for what’s to come. Has Giuseppe sent people for me? Have they gone after Ali at the clinic too? A million thoughts travel through my mind in those few seconds it takes to get to the living room. It’s pitch black and I’m blinded by the night. No shadows, no other voices, just Mason’s. I halt in my step and bend in half, resting my hands on my thighs so I can catch my breath.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself, still trying to even out my breathing. His shouting stops and nothing but silence greets me. Walking through the darkness, I reach for the lamp on the side table near the door. Soft light illuminates the room and there is Mason, asleep on the couch. Sweat drips from his forehead, his muscles are tense. His face is so tight, marred with agony.

He thrashes his head from side to side. “No. Roam, get them out! Now!” His voice catches in his throat and the sight before me tears me to shreds. His nightmare surpasses any normal bad dream I’ve ever experienced. Watching his pain-stricken face, I inch closer to him and sit just on the edge of the couch beside his shaking body. Twisting sideways, my hand barely brushes his chest and in a flash, I’m lying flat on my back, pinned down by a heavy weight. My arms are restricted and all I can see and feel is the barrel of a gun pointed between my eyes.