After We Fall (8 page)

“Thanks. I'll take care of that as soon as I can,” I assure her, then end our call.

My lawyer is a great one, very competent and highly recommended, but I can't help but feel that everything is on me. That nothing is required of Penn but to get healthy again. Oh, and to stay the hell away from me, which he's done. Physically, at least.

The first time he hit me, it shocked us both. He swore never to do it again, blaming it on the drugs he had to take in order to keep his PTSD under control. Except he did it again and again. Eventually, he stopped making excuses and started blaming me.

Then, he stopped getting high at all before he hit me, and that's when I knew he would end up killing me one day. The last time he put his hands on me, he almost did.

Something inside of me snaps and I start screaming, my hands covering my ears to drown out my words. “I don't need your forgiveness. I did nothing wrong.
Nothing.
”

My words become a chant, filling the car, filling my brain until my entire marriage is playing in my head and I'm reliving every moment. Every slap and every bruise. Every excuse.

Everything.

Suddenly, the world is tilting. A hard tug has me standing, then pressed against a hard, warm wall. Strong hands run up and down my back, whispering words that I can't make out at first.

“It's okay, Evangeline,” the low, rumbling voice tells me. “You did nothing wrong.”

I break down, sobbing and not caring who's touching me. As long as it's not Penn, I don't give a damn.

“Shh, it's okay.”

Tipping up my chin, I open my eyes to see who's holding me. Warm green eyes meet my gaze. “Hunter?”

“Yeah.” He continues to stroke my back even as it starts to pour. “What the hell happened?”

I swallow, mortified that he's seeing me like this. “My husb—ex called me. Someone gave him my new number.”

Hunter's warm eyes turn into shards of ice, but I know that look's not directed at me. “Son of a bitch.”

“I'm fine.”

He gives me a look.

“Okay, I'm not fine. Happy?” I snap.

“Why in the hell would I be happy about that?” he asks, his head dipping dangerously close to mine.

“I don't know,” I say brokenly. “I don't know anything anymore.”

“Damn it, sweetheart. I—” He shakes his head. “If you don't like this, tell me no.”

“If I don't like what?”

His lips crash into mine, hot and demanding before turning gentle. Before turning into something unbearably sweet. My mouth opens under his, our tongues automatically tangling, like we'd done this a thousand times before. Desire rushes over me, making my skin hot and my nipples tight. Hunger for him races through me like fire, and for the first time in years, my body feels alive.

I feel alive.

He presses me against the side of my car, one arm around me while the other caresses my face as we kiss. Every inch of my body is touching his and I can feel his erection, feel how much he wants me. It feels as though I'm falling into a pool of hot bliss.

I want more. I
need
more.

I need to slow down.

I gasp, pulling back a little even as my arms steal around his neck.

“Is that a no?” he asks, panting like he's just run for miles and miles.

I'm breathing just as hard. Opening my mouth, I attempt to speak, but I can't say a thing.

“Just nod if you want more.”

My heart slams against my chest at the thought of
more.

“Angel, it's all up to you.” His fingers trace the curve of my cheek. “I want you, make no mistake about that, but I won't force it. I won't get mad if you say no, either, but give me an answer. Let me know if I have a chance.”

Cold rain beats down on us, steaming as it hits my skin, while I wait for her answer. Growing up with an asshole of a dad, I thought I'd learned patience, to control my temper…to wait it out through the storms of his abuse. I thought it was one of the qualities that made me a good cop.

But at this moment, I don't feel any of those things. I'm tightly strung, my muscles taut.

She peers up at me, through lashes that are heavy with raindrops. Her lips are swollen from my kisses. Her cheeks are flushed pink.

“I want…” Her mouth closes abruptly.

Fuck.

“Hunter,” she says right before giving me a tiny nod.

Oh hell, yes.
“Let's get you inside.” I run my hands down her arms. Her skin is soft, slick with moisture, and cold as ice. “Warm you up.”

She doesn't say a word as I lead her inside and up the stairs to my apartment. A gentleman would take Evangeline to her own apartment, but I'm no gentleman. I'm half afraid that as soon as she got inside, she'd come to her senses and send me on my way. Besides, she likes Jake, and when I'm stressed from work, he always calms me down.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“No—I mean”—she glances up at me—“yes.”

“I hope you like spaghetti,” I say, trying to keep her mind off of everything but me. “Made a big batch of it.”

“You like to cook?”

“I like to eat.” I open the door and usher her inside. “I freeze the leftovers.” What I don't tell her is that I was forced to learn to cook at a young age. Whenever my dad got into one of his moods and took it out on my mother…let's just say she was in no condition to prepare a meal. So I did it. Later, she taught me the right way to fix tortillas, rice and beans, and fried chicken—my father's favorite meal.

Jake comes barreling toward us, his tail wagging.

“Looks like he's happy to see you,” she says.

“Nah, that's all for you.”

Jake jumps up on Evangeline, putting his paws on her legs. As I let go of her to shut the door behind us, she bends over and begins to croon at Jake. “You're such a good boy. So handsome.”

His tongue lolls to one side. He's eating every bit of her attention up.

“Better stop that,” I warn, giving Jake a narrow-eyed look.

Automatically, she stops and stands, holding her body defensively. “I'm sorry.”

Cupping her shoulders to turn her around, I nudge Jake away with my knee. Pretty blue-green eyes widen as I kiss the tip of her nose. “Only teasing you, honey.”

Dark lashes fall, hiding what she's thinking from me. “I knew that.” She sighs. “I should have known that,” she adds hastily.

“Not yet, but you will,” I assure her.

Her eyes snap open. There's a bit of fire in them. And that's exactly what I want to see in her. “You're very sure of yourself.”

“Don't know any other way to be.” I give her a friendly smile. “Wait right here while I get some towels.”

I don't wait for her answer, merely stride off to the laundry room and grab some fresh towels out of the dryer. When I return, she's standing in the same spot where I left her.

Wrapping a towel around her shoulders, I begin to dry the water from her arms. “Doesn't feel like August anymore, does it?”

She shakes her head and water drips from her hair. Her hands go to her head, fingers pulling at the band of elastic holding her hair back.

“Let me help you,” I offer.

Her light brown hair tumbles down, settling around her shoulders and falling over them, too. I can't help but stare at her. She's so damn gorgeous.

“If you're done staring at me, I could use a towel for my hair, too,” she says.

I shake my head, holding out the second towel I had grabbed. “Not done, but here you go.”

She leans her head to one side, the ends of her hair curling. “You're not going to apologize?”

I could flatter Evangeline in this moment. Tell her that I think she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. But words won't work with her. Words don't work with me. Only actions.

“No.”

Smiling a little, she finishes drying her hair and hands back my towel. “I think I'll keep the other one until I can change.”

“You can wear one of my shirts.”

“That's too intimate,” she says softly.

“I
want
to be intimate with you.” Taking the towel she's still wearing around her shoulders between my fingers, I tug her closer. The scent of rain and a floral shampoo invade my senses. “Not just for sex, either. I want to get to know you.”

“Sex seems a whole lot safer.”

I cock my head to one side. “You'd be okay with a benefits-only type of relationship?”

She shrugs.

“What if I don't want that with you?” I say slowly.

“What if I can't give you more than that?” she counters, her jaw turning stubborn.

Letting go of one of her shoulders, I stroke my fingers over her cheek. She flinches a little, her eyes blinking rapidly. “Was this his favorite spot to hurt you?”

“One of them,” she says evenly.

“My mother has a scar here.” I trace an imaginary line from her temple to her chin. “Courtesy of my father.”

Her eyes widen. She licks her lips. “How long did she…when did she leave?”

“Sixteen years later.”

Unable to take the look of horror on her face, I turn her away from me and begin to rub her shoulders. They are so tense and knotty that I'm surprised she can lift her arms at all.

I dip my head, placing my mouth close to her ear. “She couldn't leave him before then. He threatened to destroy her visa and passport.”

“She's not American?”

“Mexican.” I work my fingers against her muscles, concentrating on making them relax. “When he would leave, he'd take them with him. Then I came along.”

“Penn didn't want children. He said if I got pregnant that he would force me to get rid of…it. That with enough money, he could get rid of all his problems.”

I can imagine the conversation. The threats…the manipulation and mental torture. Impotent rage fills me. “Did he…did you…
fuck,
Evangeline.”

She sways against me. “No, but I was late once, and he drove me to a fancy clinic in Charleston. They gave me a pregnancy test. When it came back negative, they gave me a prescription for more birth control pills and sent me on my way.”

“No one said anything, noticed anything?” I ask, although I already know the answer. An image of Evangeline fills my head, her face pale and her eyes full of terror.

“No.” Another deep sigh. “I think he was disappointed.”

“That you weren't pregnant?”

“That he couldn't force me to get rid of anything.”

I have no words for this. No words of comfort. There isn't a curse word strong enough to vent my anger for her. Fighting the urge to cross myself, I take a deep breath and attempt to remain professional. The last thing she needs is for me to show my ass.

“It's what he did to me all along. Anything that mattered to me was cut out of my life. Didn't matter if it was something as simple as my first pair of pointe shoes, or my entire family. Friends. Church. He didn't like the competition for attention.” She turns slightly to look up at me. “Now do you see why I'm so hesitant to become involved with anyone? Penn took everything away from me. I
refuse
to let that happen again.”

“I don't want to take anything from you, except your time. I want dinner. Conversation. We can start slow.”

“While I'm flattered you want to be around me so much, it's scary. Penn was too much for me. He was—”

“I'm not him,” I say flatly. “My dad abused my mom and me for years, Evangeline. The last thing I would ever do is lay a hand on another person.” I still have nightmares about my past. Still can't get rid of the memories. The scent of blood. The sight of it on my hands. How heavy his body was. My mother pleading with me to help her.

Evangeline doesn't look away from me, merely stands there like she's weighing my words. Testing them for truth.

“Give me a chance.”

“I'll give you dinner.”

Challenge accepted.

“Do you want to go home and change first?” I ask as I let go of her and walk to the kitchen. If I'm asking her to trust me, the least I can do is trust her to go home and come back.

“My jeans are only a little damp, but I'll take you up on that offer to borrow a shirt,” she says.

Astounded, I fill up a pot of water, add a pinch of salt, and then set it on the gas burner before replying. “Give me a second and I'll grab one.”

“Anything I can help with?” she asks, coming to stand at the edge of the kitchen. Our bodies are only separated by a couple of feet but it feels like she's crossed the ocean to be in here.

“Turn the burner on for me?”

“Sure.” As she moves toward the stove, I walk away, hurrying down the hall that leads to my bedroom. Yanking open my top dresser drawer, I grab the first shirt I can touch.

“Here you go,” I call out as I return.

With a small smile, she takes the shirt from me and gives me a questioning look. “Bathroom?”

I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “Down the hall. Third door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

While she changes, I stir the sauce, make a couple of scotch and Cokes, and get the ingredients out of the fridge to prepare a salad to go with our meal. There's garlic bread in the freezer, but I won't toast it until after the noodles are in the pot.

There's a soft click. Her footsteps are light on the floor. “I took my shoes off, too,” she says, rounding the corner.

My eyebrows go up. Apparently, I grabbed one of my police academy shirts. It's too big on her, coming down past her thighs, but it highlights her long, pale legs.

I blink and almost cut my finger off while I'm chopping lettuce. I've never seen her bare legs before. My guts clenches. “Jeans, too.”

Her gaze slides away. “They were a lot wetter than I thought. I hung them over the side of the tub to dry.”

“Fine with me.” I dump the lettuce into a wooden bowl and begin to cut up cucumbers. “Dinner should be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“I can help.”

“You can sit.” Setting my knife down, I grab one of the drinks and slide it her way. “Thirsty?”

She nods. “Very.”

“Let me know if I need to add more ice.”

Taking a sip, she pulls a face—it's slight and if I hadn't been paying attention to her, I wouldn't have noticed.

“Too much scotch?”

“It's fine,” she says, but when I go back to chopping, she pushes the glass to one side.

Fine, my ass. “It's not fine.” Taking her drink away, I redo it, sans the scotch. “Better.”

This time her eyes close as she takes a sip and her face stays neutral. “Yes.”

“You're allowed to not like something I make, you know…and tell me as much.”

“I don't know that.” Her fingers wrap tightly around the glass.

“Now you do,” I say softly.

She glances around my apartment before settling into a barstool with a low back.

Jake's in his bed, snoring away now that the excitement of a new person is over. “He can sleep through anything.” I resume chopping up vegetables and adding them to the lettuce.

“You can't?”

“Hard to do when you've been a cop for so long.”

She nods. “I'd kill for a good night's sleep.” Her gaze flies to mine. “Not literally.”

I grin at her. “Cops are familiar with sarcasm, honey.”

“How did you…know about me in the car?” Her forehead creases. “It's obvious you were in the middle of fixing dinner.”

“One of the windows in my living room has a view of the parking lot. Happened to see you pull in, but I never heard you come up the stairs. Got a little concerned and decided to check things out.” Actually, it was more like I got a lot concerned and hauled ass downstairs after twenty minutes passed. The minute I stepped outside, I could hear her muted screams from inside her car. “Don't be embarrassed.”

“Why, because you've seen me much, much worse?” she asks, laughing bitterly.

I set the knife down and place my hands on the counter, leaning in. “I will never forget holding you that night, never forget the way I wanted to protect you from everything and everyone. It's my job to protect people, but from the first time I met you, what I feel is so much more than that.”

“I don't remember much about that night, but I remember you.”

“Is that one of the reasons why you pushed me away?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

She nods.

“It's not your fault.”

“I know, but—”

“It's not your fault.” Pushing away from the granite countertop, I move to stand in front of Evangeline, ignoring the way my shirt is riding high on her thighs. “It's not your fault.”

“Sure does feel like it sometimes.”

Gently, I frame her face with my hands. “It's not your fault. I wish someone had told my mom that. I wish someone had helped her.”

Her eyes are shiny with tears. “I'm not a case for you to solve.”

“No, but you are a woman who needs protecting. A woman who needs a man to stand up for her instead of stepping on her.” Lowering my forehead to hers, I breathe in her intoxicating scent and admit what I refused to acknowledge all along. Until now. “I'm the man for the job. I'm the man for the long haul.”

“Stop saying things that sound so…
good.
”

I lean back a little. “It's true. You need honesty, and I can't get more honest than that.”

“If you can be honest, then I guess I can, too.” She rises up in her seat, her mouth finding mine with a practiced ease. I close my eyes, sliding my hands to the back of her head. She tastes of scotch and soda. Her tongue rubs against the seam of my lips and I part them, letting her in as I take our kiss deeper.