Текст книги "Once Kissed"

Автор книги: Cecy Robson

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 16

Tess

“What happened to you last night?” Father demands.

His expression tightens to that look of loathing he’s often given me. The one that tells me I far exceeded his lowest expectations. I gather my robe around me and make my way into the kitchen.

He didn’t recognize Curran, but I’m not surprised. To him, Curran was an insignificant boy, one who defiled his daughter and was soon forgotten after the incident was taken care of.

I wash my hands at the sink, realizing that if Curran came from a prestigious line of well-bred tyrants, Father would have overlooked our encounter instead of strong-arming me into attending an all-women’s college the following year.

“I asked you a question, Contessa.”

I shut off the water and reach for a hand towel. “I had to leave. I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Unless you were soaked with your own blood or vomiting as you once so enjoyed, you should have stayed!”

His words strike me like a slap. “How dare you,” I snap. “I never ‘enjoyed’ what I did.” My eating disorder was my one attempt at control during my high school years and partway through college. Father manipulated everything in my world. I was certain my weight would be the one thing he couldn’t touch.

I learned the hard way that he could when my stepmother realized how much weight I’d lost following the incident with Curran. I spent my summer break at an eating disorder clinic, only for him to now restrict my calories and tell me that I’m getting fat.

“This was Spencer Woodworth—Philadelphia’s next mayor!”

It’s as if I didn’t even speak. “I don’t care who he is. He’s nothing more than a perverse bastard who fondled me despite my telling him to stop. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Father’s eyes widen, but it’s not because of Spencer’s wandering hands. It’s because of my tone. “You should have stayed and played the role of the lady I raised you to be,” he responds, gritting his teeth.

There’s no reasoning with a man this cold and heartless. No thread of kindness to work with or touch to give me comfort. So instead of wasting energy I don’t have, and breaths I desperately need, I revert to lies, just as I have all my life. “I told you. I wasn’t well.”

He regards me then. “Well, you look dreadful.”

Curran didn’t think so.

I move to the dining room table, arranging my law books and scribbled notes so he’ll take the hint that I have more important things to do than be insulted.

“Is it true, what that simpleton of a police officer said?”

It’s all I can do not to fling one of my texts at his face. Five more months, I remind myself, taking a full breath. “Yes. You probably passed the officer he was replacing.”

“I meant about you assisting with an important case.”

Okay. Now I see where he’s going. “Yes. But it’s a case I can’t discuss.”

“Even with me?” he challenges, his seedy grin firmly in place.

That may work on his flunkies, but following his obnoxious remark about Curran, I’m done playing nice. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the dealings within the DA’s office.”

He expected me to tell him, and is now pissed I denied him. “At least tell me who you’re working under.”

“Declan O’Brien,” I answer, thinking I’m tossing him a meaningless bone. But when his eyes widen, I realize I made a huge mistake.

“Assistant District Attorney Declan O’Brien?” he repeats.

I close my eyes, realizing what I did, and what he’ll expect. “Yes,” I bite out.

“He’s rapidly making his way up the political and professional ladder, a rare feat considering the amount of intellect and talent under Miles Fenske’s watch.”

His voice seems to fade. My father is no longer there, too caught up in another opportunity for gain and prestige. “There’s been talk that Fenske is grooming him to take over his position when he steps down. Others insist that with his charm and astuteness, he’ll have no problem gaining momentum in the political arena.” He laughs without humor. “That is if one of the more renowned firms doesn’t acquire him first. The possibilities are endless,” he mutters.

I can see the wheels turning, and it makes me sick.

He glances up, appearing almost surprised I’m still there. But then something shifts in his gaze and he edges closer. “How well do you know him?”

“Not well,” I lie. “I’m only helping him with research—”

“Then get to know him, Contessa,” he hisses. “Are you that blind? This is a golden opportunity—being shoved directly in your face. Use it to become something of worth for once.”

I shove my hands deep into my pockets when I realize how badly they’re trembling. “I’m trying, Father. Don’t you think I know that this can lead to job opportunities I’ve only dreamed of—”

“Job opportunities?” he scoffs, eyeing me with enough scorn to force me back. “Don’t think you’re better than what you’re intended to be.”

A strange chill encircles me like a ribbon, making its way up my throat. “Which is what?”

My whip-sharp tone does nothing to ease the escalating strain between us. If there weren’t a counter separating us then, I think he would have lunged at me. “Stupidity isn’t an attractive quality on you, Contessa,” he says, dripping venom into each word. “Not if you ever stand a chance at becoming a governor’s wife.”

Curran

My phone buzzes an hour after Newart leaves. It’s a text from Tess.

I’m not going to be able to see you tonight.

I stare at the message for a beat. This time, I’m not backing down or letting her off easy. I text back, Why?

There’s a pause as she works through the numbers of the old cellphone.

I have a lot of work to do. I have three exams this week and still have some research pending on the Montenegro case.

I groan before responding. So do it now while I’m out here freezing my ass off. That way, when I’m off, we can grab a bite to eat.

It’s not a good idea, she writes back.

You thought it was a good idea this morning, I point out.

Her next response takes longer than it should, considering how short it is.

I’m sorry, but I’m too busy.

I start to get mad, real mad. But I do my best to keep my head. So you don’t eat when you’re working? I fire back.

When she doesn’t answer, I send her another text. We’ll get something to eat like we planned, and then I’ll bring you back to your place afterward. I don’t have to spend the night.

I think I’ll leave it at that, but then I remind myself that I’m not letting her off easy: Besides, I’m tired. I didn’t sleep last night because of all the wild gorilla and banana-eating baboon sex we had. By the way, ballerina school paid off. You’re amazingly flexible.

Funny thing, this time she texts right back. You had to go there, didn’t you?

I laugh, picturing her blush. Just speaking the truth, angel face. Hey, what was that thing you did around three a.m.? What’s it called? A pirouette?

I believe you know it as a blow job.

I crack up, knowing she’s pissed. Settle down there, princess.

Don’t call me that.

Okay, nerd.

You are an absolute JACKASS!!!

A jackass you pirouetted at three a.m., and one you’re having dinner with at nine. See you then.

When she doesn’t text back, I start thinking I went too far, until that familiar buzz vibrates in my hand and I read her text.

Fine, it says.

–

I figured Tess would be distant when I came for her, and I figured right. She barely speaks to me. As I maneuver around town, she stares straight ahead with her hands folded over her lap. I roll into the parking lot of my apartment building and turn into my assigned space.

I don’t look at Tess until I jog around and open the door for her. “I thought you were taking me to dinner,” she says quietly.

“I am. This is me taking you to dinner. But tonight I’m your chef, server, and busboy all in one smokin’-hot package.”

She doesn’t move. “Okay…but I can’t spend the night. I have a– I have an early class tomorrow, and then I have to stay late and help Declan.”

“I’ll drive you back as soon as we’re done. Promise.”

She nods, and allows me to help her out. I hold on to her hand until we reach the doors to the foyer. I pause and nod to the rookie watching her for the night. He’s new. Brand new, but seems all right.

He nods in response, not that Tess seems to notice our exchange. She stares at the pattern along the gold-and-sand tiled floor as we cross the foyer and step in front of the elevator. “This is a nice building,” she offers almost silently.

Jesus. I thought we were beyond all this bullshit. “It wasn’t before, but we put a lot of work into it.”

She considers me then. “ ‘We’?”

I punch the security code to the elevator and lead her inside. “Declan and Seamus—our other brother—we own it. We bought it a couple of years ago, but we’re planning to sell it in the next few months. The realtor we spoke to says we’ll get at least five times what we put into it.”

“Why are you selling it?”

I shrug. “It was an investment. Something we did with the money our father left us when he died. Deck, Seamus, and I are thinking about buying a parking deck next. No tenants to deal with, minimal maintenance, and a cash cow that will carry us into retirement.”

I wait for a beat, then ask, “Did you delete our text exchange earlier? Considering you have a county phone…”

Her cheeks pink up and it’s not from the cold. “Yes. I deleted it.”

No one’s checking in on her, and the phone will soon be tossed, but it’s better to keep things professional. “Okay. Good.”

The doors swing open and we step out. I release her hand and dig around my pockets for my keys. I didn’t realize we were holding hands again—I must have done it without thinking—but I do notice she doesn’t seem to mind.

I shove my key into the lock. “I’m not in the penthouse,” I admit. “But it’s nice, and I hope you like it.”

I lock the door when we step in and take her coat, hanging it with mine in the closet. “Make yourself at home,” I tell her. I walk past her to give her some space, not liking how uncomfortable she seems.

After everything we did, there shouldn’t be all this tension between us. It’s as if she’s a different person from the one who fell asleep in my arms.

I wash my hands in the kitchen and reach for a pot and pan from one of my bottom cabinets. “This is beautiful,” she says, taking a seat on the bar stool directly in front of me.

Okay, maybe she’s warming up. I fill the pot with water and add some salt before placing it on the stove. “The building’s old, but it has wood beams, crown molding, and high-tiered ceilings that a lot of the new places don’t have. We paid Seamus, and our oldest brother, Angus, to refinish the floors, replace the countertops with granite, and modernize the bathrooms.”

For all I planned to ask and say, I’m just shooting the shit now. Truth is, I want to know what’s up. I’m a cop and that’s what cops do, investigate what’s wrong.

I walk around the counter to where she sits, trying to work through what I think I should say. But then I find myself reaching for her hips and pulling her to me for a long, lazy kiss.

I expect her to be the one to pull away. But her hands smooth over my chest, and her tongue sweeps mine with equal aggression, letting me know she’s not going anywhere.

She wants this kiss.

She wants me.

I feel that now familiar stretch in my pants, but I can’t shake the feeling I’m maybe taking advantage of her. She’s had a rough day. Her father made sure of that. So I pull away, only to find her eyes glistening with tears.

This time my mouth won’t stay shut. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

She covers my hands where they remain fastened to her hips. “I’m not the best person for you. But I really wish I could be.”

I lift my brows. “Is that what your father says?”

Her bruised expression makes it clear that I hit a nerve, and that I’m treading on thin ice. But something changes then, a flicker of defiance she probably didn’t realize she had in her. “If I tell you something, do you promise to let me, and not judge me for it?”

I watch her for a spell, not sure where this is headed, just sure it isn’t anyplace good. “Yeah. I promise.”

She releases a small breath, working to keep those tears in check. “I’m not supposed to be a lawyer, Curran. I’m not supposed to help amend laws to make our community safer, prosecute offenders who hurt innocent people, or change the world for the better in any capacity. That’s not what I’m meant for.”

My focus remains intense, but my hold on her hips loosens.

“Since the day I was born I’ve been molded to be the next Jackie Kennedy or Michelle Obama,” she says. Her voice cracks, but I can tell it stems from anger more than anything. “All the times I gave up attending your frat parties to study, all those dances I ditched to read through stacks of books in the library, all those extra classes I took—when I didn’t have enough hours in the day for the ones I already had—they weren’t for me. They were meant to shape me into the perfect prop. That fundraiser I attended last night was an opportunity to make nice with a man I think is a complete asshole, or to find someone else like him clawing his way up the political ladder, so that one day I can stand by his side and watch him become everything I thought I was supposed to be.”

The first of her tears roll down her cheeks. It’s then I realize the day will come when I’ll knock out her dad. But this girl is spilling her soul. She doesn’t need to hear that. She needs to be heard and to know someone’s listening.

“But you’re not going to be her, are you?” I say. “Because last night when you were supposed to make nice with someone else, you took a stand and spent it with me—a cop with no political aspirations, no connections, and no desire to be anything but himself.” My voice lowers. I have her attention. “You have to admit, in breaking that mold we had one hell of a time.”

She takes a moment, absorbing everything I said, although I don’t think I’ve said that much. But from the look in her eyes, I think it might be enough.

She smiles softly. “Do you know you’re the only person I’ve ever been able to be myself around?”

“Good,” I tell her. “ ’Cause I like who you are. If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t have fucked you like I did.”

Her stunned face locks on to mine. On a different day, I would have grinned. But just because I can be an asshole, that doesn’t make me an ass. She’s hurting, and after all the shit she unloaded, she probably needs a moment. So I walk away, stripping out of my shirt and making a beeline for my bedroom.

“I’m going to get a quick shower,” I say. “Watch the water in the pot so it doesn’t boil over. When I get out, I’ll make you dinner.” I stop beneath the doorframe and shoot her a glance over my shoulder. “One more thing. Don’t ever think you’re not good enough for me, because you always have been.”

I cross my bedroom floor, yanking off what remains of my clothes, and walk into my bathroom. I blast the hot water, waiting for the steam to rise before stepping in.

My hands are making quick work of lathering my chest when the bathroom door opens. Through the thick wall of hot mist, I watch Tess stroll in naked, her hips swinging with every step. She opens the glass door and shows me the condom tucked between her two fingers.

“I turned the stove off,” she says. “Do you want me to wash your back, or would you prefer I take you from the front?”

Chapter 17

Curran

Declan polishes off his sausage stew. “What’s going on with you and Contessa?” he asks me. “You barely talk to her, and she keeps her distance.”

That’s because she doesn’t want you to know what’s going on between us. “Nothing. She’s a good kid.” I take the last bite of my sandwich. Damn, it’s good.

“Did you piss her off?”

“Not lately,” I say, truthfully.

“Then what’s up? Every time you’re in the same room, there’s all this goddamn tension between you.”

“Nah. It’s just your imagination.”

My phone buzzes. I have to work not to grin when I see the text from Tess.

Thanks for dinner again, cop.

Speak of the devil in argyles and corduroy. I glance at the time. Looks like she’s on break between her Torts and Civil Liability classes.

Last night, I cooked her my specialty: Velveeta Shells and Cheese smothered with sautéed mushrooms and onions, just like I did the first night she spent at my place. I tap on the keyboard. You’re welcome. If you’d like, I can make you ravioli tomorrow night.

Ravioli? Is this another secret recipe passed down from your ancestors—like your gourmet grilled cheese?

Oh, yeah, I type. It was given to me by our great uncle, the Chef of the Boyardee.

I hit send, only to catch Declan watching me. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Who?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know who. Contessa.”

“You mean Tess? Yeah. I told you, she’s a good kid.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” he tells me, pushing his empty bowl aside. “The problem is, you can’t have her.”

I roll my neck from side to side. “Why? Because she works with you?”

“No. To be honest, I’m willing to ignore that fact.”

“Is that so? Why the change of heart?”

“Because I think she might be good for you.”

This makes me grin. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Problem is, I don’t think you stand a chance at getting her.”

“I did before,” I shoot back, reaching for a leftover pickle.

“Back then you had a keg and Jell-O shots working to your advantage. That’s not the case anymore.” Declan leans back in his chair, one of his more arrogant smirks playing across his face as he swirls the glass of water in his hand. “You know what your problem is?”

I scroll through my phone. “Nope. But I bet you’re going to tell me.”

“You don’t know how to treat a lady.”

This time, it’s my turn to meet him with a cocky grin. “I don’t?”

“Nope,” he says, emphasizing the “p.”

“Is that a fact—but I take it you do, right?”

“Damn right. Curran, you may have your moves. You may get laid, but you don’t know how to treat a classy broad. A woman like Contessa—”

“Tess,” I clarify again.

His smile widens. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. A woman like Tess is used to a certain guy—refined, highly educated, and driven.”

He’s starting to piss me off. “Like you?”

“That’s right. You need to put on the charm. Open doors, shit like that.”

“Shit like how?”

His smile fades. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m trying to teach you something here, so pay attention.”

I show him my phone. “Oh, I’m taking copious notes, believe me. Teach me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

“Women love me,” he says in the same way I ask for the time.

“Do they?”

“They do. I get dates. All the time. You know why?”

“They think you have money, and want you to be their sugar daddy.”

“No. I—”

“They lost a bet.”

“No.”

“They prefer men with small dicks.”

It’s then that Assistant District Attorney O’Brien loses his cool and nails me in the face with a roll. To his credit, he does it when no one’s looking, or because no one at Rhonda’s Bistro gives a shit.

“My dick is bigger than yours, and you goddamn know it.”

I laugh. “Says you.”

“Look,” he says, adjusting his tie. “You’re pissing me off, but I’m still going to give you some free advice.”

“You’re a hell of a guy.”

“Do you want the goddamn advice or not?”

I’m kind of curious what Declan has to say, even though it’s probably straight-up bullshit. “Sure. Let ’er rip.”

He leans back again and spreads out his hands. “Treat her like she’s a goddess.”

“Goddess?” I repeat.

“Yeah, you know, like your world isn’t the same until you see her smile, touch her skin, and breathe the same air she does.”

Holy God.

“Bring her flowers for absolutely no reason. When she asks you why, let her know it was because you missed her, and couldn’t stop thinking about her.”

And couldn’t stop thinking about her?

Declan continues like this is the greatest advice ever despite my WTF expression.

“Take her hand, interlacing your fingers with hers. Draw her close to you when it’s cold to shield her from the bitter wind.”

“Jesus, Declan.”

“You say Jesus. I say help her off with her coat, and you’ll be helping her out of her panties next.”

I nod. “Okay. Got it.” I go back to eyeing my phone, grinning when I see Tess’s reply. If I pick up her list of ingredients, she’ll make me dinner tonight. Sweet.

“You already fucked her, didn’t you?” Declan asks, looking stunned.

He can’t see my phone, but he knows me well enough. “Oh, hell yeah. And I didn’t even have to shield her against the bitter wind.”

In fact, Tess and I have been spending every night together for the past month. The last few nights have been at my place; tonight I’ll be at hers. But that’s my business, not his. My phone buzzes. Another text, this time from Wren. “Hey, Wren wants to hit Merve’s next week for brews and wings. You want to go?”

“You think I’m full of shit.”

“Yup. So you up for it? She’s thinking either Wednesday or Thursday.”

He ignores me. “Pick a woman here. Anyone between the ages of twenty-two and forty-two, without a ring.”

I know where he’s headed, but I ask anyway. “Why?”

“I want you to watch me pick her up. By tomorrow night at the latest, her legs will be locked like a vise around my hips and she’ll be calling to God, Jesus, and anywhere from three to four disciples.” He scoffs when I laugh. “Come on. I’m serious. Pick one out and watch me work my magic.”

Declan’s always been a player. Always. Political aspirations aside, he doesn’t commit, and I’m not sure he ever will. But if he ever does, one thing I know: he’ll never cheat, and he’ll never look back. Nope. If Declan ever falls for someone, it’s going to be hard and there won’t be anything to cushion his landing.

So for now, I’ll play his game.

As a cop, even one out of serious commission, I have certain ingrained skills that will never leave me. Even though I’ve been talking, flipping through my phone, and lookin’ like I’m bored out of my mind, I’ve checked out everyone in the bistro, cased the emergency exits, eyed those wandering in, watched anyone who’s left, paid attention to who follows who into the bathroom, and kept tabs on everyone who passed by the large picture window across from us. I expect everything, and maybe nothing at all.

I do another sweep of the small room. There are lots of women here who fit Declan’s criteria. Some have given us the once-over a handful of times. Even now, one smiles my way. She’s pretty, no denying it, but I don’t really care. A fact that gives me a shitload of pause. My attention wanders to the smaller group of tables on my right. It’s there I find her: the right gal for Declan to release his mad moves on.

She’s a brunette, with thick hair that curls just below her shoulders. She walked in alone and is flipping through the pages of a paperback in between bites of her salad. She’s not Declan’s type. In a red dress with tiny white polka dots that hug her hourglass body, she’s more fifties pinup babe than the Barbie dolls Declan usually goes for. Her profile is to us, giving me only a small view of her deep red lips and creamy skin. She might be plain or she might be beautiful; the way her dark hair veils part of her face, there’s no real way to tell. That doesn’t matter, though. Declan never said anything about looks.

I motion with a tilt of my head. “Brunette, red dress. Tucked in the corner.”

Declan angles his body in her direction. He sighs, clearly uninterested. “Fine. But I thought you’d give me a challenge.”

He stands and fixes his jacket. I adjust my seat in the small booth to get a better look, but not enough that it’s obvious I’m watching the show. I chuckle when she crosses her legs and turns the page of her book just as he reaches her. Declan’s right; this girl won’t be a challenge. She seems lonely, defenseless even. Yeah. Glad we didn’t make a bet. This girl’s going down.

Probably on my brother.

“Hello, miss,” he says, keeping his deep voice quiet. “Forgive me, I don’t usually approach women this way, but you look stunning in that dress.”

“Polka dots” turns another page without so much as smiling.

Declan cocks his head, probably dumbstruck as to why this chick isn’t giving him the eye and why she’s still in her panties.

But big bro won’t be deterred. “I apologize for being so forward. But my position as assistant district attorney doesn’t allow me time to meet many women, especially one as lovely as yourself. Would you mind if joined you?”

Holy Mother. He went for the kill and threw in the DA card to seal the deal. Declan’s not messing around.

The chick sighs and turns another page. I straighten. She still hasn’t even glanced up. Declan makes a motion with his hand like, “Don’t worry. I got this,” and lowers himself into the seat opposite her. He chuckles when the woman lifts her chin and finally acknowledges him. He holds his smile, showing off his perfect teeth. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen in a red dress,” he tells her.

She knits her brows.

He laughs again. “Come on, you’re not deaf, are you? I’m trying to tell you you’re beautiful.”

She drops her book and stiffens, using her hands to sign. The term is “hearing impaired,” asshole, she snaps.

It’s then that Declan pales whiter than my ass. Before his mouth pops open and his face turns a serious shade of red. “Miss, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

The woman rummages through her purse and throws down a twenty. “Save it for someone who’ll actually swallow your bullshit, loser.”

She doesn’t bother signing this time—her hands are too busy snagging her book, purse, and coat. She stomps past me, fire practically shooting out of her heels.

Contrary to popular belief, I’m a sensitive and classy guy. So I wait for her to storm out of the bistro and cross the street, and for Declan to plop down in front of me, before laughing my ass off—at him.

“That’s not funny,” he growls.

“Holy shit, you went down in flames.”

“Shut up, Curran.”

“I mean like a fighter plane doused in gasoline, shot with a bazooka, into a burning field.”

“Are you done?” he asks.

I wipe my tears with the back of my hand. “No, dickless. Did it ever occur to you that she might actually be deaf? I mean, come on, Declan. Didn’t you learn anything from all those sensitivity classes you were forced to take? People have special needs—”

“No kidding—I know that. Fuck, I’m going to hell for this one.” He leans in close. “Look, I thought she was, you know, playing me. I’d never insult anyone like that, especially someone who has issues like her—”

“Issues?” I repeat, no longer laughing.

His face tightens. “Someone like her must have struggled. It can’t be easy being a non-hearing person in a hearing world.”

I throw out a hand. “Maybe if you would have started off with something more like that, you would’ve actually stood a chance at getting those legs wrapped around you.”

“I was going for charming,” he says, rubbing his face.

“No. You were going for someone you thought could hear that charm. Maybe you should have gone for sensitive. Then you would’ve had your ass spanked like you wanted to, instead of having it handed back to you.”

“Do you mind? I already feel like a big prick.”

“Well, you should.” I start to laugh again, but then back off when I see just how bad he feels. “Look. The important thing is you didn’t mean it.”

“Of course I didn’t mean it. I would never intentionally mistreat someone—especially a woman.” He curses again and glances in the direction she disappeared. “I should try to find her and apologize.”

“Nah. If it looks like you’re stalking her, it’ll only take you from asshole to creep and you’ll end up on some list. Trust me, if you want that promotion into Homicide, you’re better off just letting it go.”

“I don’t know,” he says, keeping his focus outside. “That was a total shit move, Curran.”

“Declan, relax. Say a few Hail Marys, donate your next paycheck to the church, and thank God that you’ll never see her again.”

He goes quiet. Real quiet, likely thinking things through. “Maybe you’re right,” he finally says. “Some things are better off left alone….”