Dark Blue (South Island PD Book 1) (33 page)

He laid awake every night, worrying until the drugs knocked him out.

“Sure it is – you’re always accusing me of babying you.”

“Doesn’t mean I want you to leave. I hate the thought of you alone at night, Princess.”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that in a while; you must be getting back to your regular self.”

Fuck, he hoped so.

“Seriously, what’s it gonna take to get you to spend the night?”

She gave him a sober look. “I can’t do that – not with your wounds so fresh. I might bump your leg and hurt you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not made of glass.”

He chose not to tell her about the fifteen minutes he’d spent cursing himself and every son of a bitch down his family line, all the way back to Adam, after he’d bumped his left leg on the couch that afternoon.

“I know you’re not.” She touched his shoulder. “You’re made of muscle, but some of those muscles have holes in them. There’s just not enough room in your bed for us both, with the way you have to prop up your leg.”

He frowned. “If I buy a bigger bed, will you stay?”

She laughed, as if he were joking.

He sighed.

“What if I come over to your place? Someone should be there with you after dark. Who knows what kind of sick fuck left you those flowers?”

“You’re supposed to be resting, not playing security guard.”

“Listen, if you’re going to be stubborn…” He pulled his shorts back on, picked his crutches back up and got on his feet – a process that took nearly five minutes. Then he went to his closet and punched in the code on the small fireproof safe he kept on the shelf.

Inside was his spare Glock, the magazine beside it. “Do me a favor?”

“What?”

She removed the gun and magazine from the safe when he asked her to, keeping an eyebrow arched the whole time.

“Do you know how to use this?” he asked.

“Basically, yes. My dad taught me, years ago. I haven’t fired a gun in a long time, though.”

He instructed her on the basics. “Remember, it’s a Glock – there’s no safety. Be careful.”

Now, she raised her other brow. “You want me to take this?”

“Borrow it. Unless you have a gun of your own at home?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then yeah, I want you to take it.”

For a second, she didn’t say anything.

“Belle, please – take it. I’m gonna go crazy worrying about you if you don’t.”

She frowned, and his heart picked up pace. Why wouldn’t she take it? Didn’t she want to be safe?

“Okay,” she said. “I don’t have a permit or anything, though.”

“You don’t need one to keep it in your home, and that’s all I’m asking you to do.”

She nodded, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

She set the gun down on the dresser – unloaded – and looked at him. “I’m being careful, Jackson. I promise. I can’t even tell you how much data I’ve burnt checking that camera feed on my phone, and I hate that you’re stressing out over this.”

“How can I not? If someone hurt you, I’d go fucking crazy. I’ll go crazy now if I don’t do everything in my power to keep you safe, no matter how pathetic it may be.”

“It’s not pathetic. I know you’ve been harassing the other officers to keep an eye on me – they’ve been by for a couple wellbeing checks during the past week. It’s like I have my own security detail.”

It wasn’t like that at all, but she didn’t understand. Didn’t understand how dangerous the world was, or how much she meant to him.

He didn’t want her to be confronted with the first reality, but the latter…

He eyed the gun, all black steel, and then her. The contrast was striking, and it made him realize just how fucking unpredictable life was. Of course, the bullet holes in his leg helped, too.

There were no guarantees in life, and it was stupid to wait for a tomorrow that might never come.

“Belle, I want you to know something.”

“What?” She tipped her head, and her hair brushed one bare shoulder. She was still naked.

“I love you. That’s why I’m making such a big deal out of this. The extra patrols and the wellbeing checks are going to keep happening, and I’m going to keep breathing down your neck about your personal safety. You can either get used to it or get rid of me, because I can’t help myself.”

Her eyes widened, and then her entire expression seemed to soften. She stopped pressing her mouth into that hard line, letting it go soft and lush instead.

“I love you too, Jackson.”

An ache flared in his chest, pressure rising beneath his breastbone. “I didn’t tell you I love you because I expect anything in return – not even for you to say it back. I told you because it’s the truth, and I want you to understand why I care so much about this.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” She held his gaze. “I love you and I’ve been wanting to say so; I just didn’t know if the time was right.”

Well, that made two of them.

The tight feeling in his chest eased enough to let him breathe. He touched her face, brushing her cheek with his knuckles, and felt nothing but wonder and her soft skin. There was no pain to distract him from absorbing the meaning of their exchange.

He was adept at detecting bullshit, and she’d been sincere when she’d said she loved him. She was his. And he was hers, for whatever that was worth. It meant something to her, and that was all that mattered.

The woman who’d haunted his dreams for years was here and real. And as long as he kept her safe, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Belle sifted through her lingerie drawer, pushing bras and panties aside, searching for blue lace.

Every once in a while, she went on an organizing binge and carefully arranged her dresser drawers. For about a week, everything stayed neat – bras lined up by style and panties stacked in separate heaps of cotton, satin and lace. Then, gradually, it all went to hell.

It was in that stage now – badly in need of organization. She couldn’t find the bra and panty set she was looking for, and she’d been looking for a solid minute. It was like panning for gold – if gold was sea blue Chantilly lace.

She knew the set she was looking for wasn’t in the dirty laundry – she hadn’t worn it in months. Actually, she’d hardly worn it at all – mostly because the panties were uncomfortable. Sexy, but uncomfortable. Today though, she was willing to suffer a little pain for the pleasure of pleasing Jackson.

The deep shade of blue was right for her complexion, and the delicate lace was all but transparent. Ever since she’d come home last night with damp panties – and Jackson’s Glock – she’d been planning to wear something sexy next time, as a celebration of their rekindled sex life.

Last night had been such a relief, physically and emotionally. Nearly twenty-four hours later, she still felt close to him in a way she hadn’t since before the shooting. They were definitely on the right track.

“Damn it.” She huffed and started tossing intimates onto her bed by the handful. Bras flew – demis and push-ups, convertibles and strapless numbers. By the time she was finished, her bedspread was heaped with B cups and assorted panties.

Still no blue Chantilly lace. Which didn’t make sense, because she remembered seeing the set in her drawer last time she’d organized it, which had been just a few weeks ago.

Jackson, Mariah and Elijah were the only people who’d been in her apartment since then, and it wasn’t as if any of them would pilfer her underwear.

As she started shoving her lingerie back into the drawer, a cold trickle of realization ran down her spine: they weren’t the
only
people who’d been in her apartment.

For a second, she just stood there. Had whoever had been in her apartment really stolen her underwear?

It seemed a little farfetched, but was it?

Her gut instinct was that whoever had been in her home was probably some kind of pervert. They’d left her flowers, and if they were the same person who’d been in the admissions office, they’d also left a giant dildo.

Compared to that, sneaking underwear out of her bedroom was almost mild.

The temperature seemed to drop by a few degrees. Clutching her lingerie to her chest, she turned and eyed the bedside stand where she was keeping Jackson’s gun. For the first time, the shock of someone having invaded her home truly hit.

As her heart raced, Mariah and Jackson didn’t seem so paranoid anymore. She was doubly glad she’d gotten the surveillance camera. She was even glad that Jackson had talked her into taking a weapon.

At least she knew no one had been in her home since the day she’d found the flowers.

Sifting through her drawer more slowly than before, she picked out something else to wear – a black bra and matching panties. It wasn’t as pretty as the blue lace, but that was no longer her biggest worry.

She’d promised Jackson she wouldn’t keep anything like this from him. Tonight, instead of jumping straight into another encounter like they’d had yesterday, she’d have to tell him her suspicions.

He wouldn’t be happy. He’d want to protect her. She loved that side of him, but realistically, what could he do that he hadn’t already?

* * * * *

By the time it was five twenty-five in the afternoon, Jackson had a hard-on.

Not that he was doing anything to justify it. He’d spent the past half hour sitting on the couch and staring at an e-reader without really seeing the words on the screen. Elijah had leant it to him so he’d have something besides watching TV to do during his recovery, but Jackson couldn’t remember anything he’d read.

All he could think about was Belle. She’d promised to stop by after work, as usual. He couldn’t fucking wait. What they’d done the day before had renewed his enthusiasm for existing. He’d gone a week without getting off until the day before, but it’d felt much longer.

It was amazing how easy it suddenly was to stay awake when he thought about Belle lowering her head into his lap and closing her lips around his cock. If he could just channel this sort of focus into the rest of his day, he’d actually be able to get shit done.

When a knock came at the door, he grabbed his crutches and made his way there, ignoring the ache in his leg.

A wave of heat hit him when he opened the door, defying the apartment’s AC. Belle wore a short purple dress with no sleeves.

“Come on in.” He maneuvered out of the way, less awkward on his crutches than he’d been just days ago. “You look great.”

She smiled. “So do you – you’re getting good at using those things.”

“I hardly even notice I have two giant toothpicks jammed into my armpits anymore.”

“Oh, really?” She crossed over to the kitchen and set her purse down on the table.

“Yeah, I’ve gotten pretty fast. They’re like the wings I never had.”

She arched a brow. “Those pain medications are really working, huh?”

He straightened, putting more weight on his good foot and less on the crutches. “I’m down to nothing but the ibuprofen. The other stuff kept me in a constant state of exhaustion, and I can get by without anything stronger now.”

“I’m impressed. But don’t make yourself suffer needlessly, okay?”

“Do I look like I’m suffering?”

She eyed his leg, still wrapped with bandages that showed white beneath the hem of his shorts. “Possibly.”

“I’m all right. I’m getting the stitches out in a few more days, too.”

She crossed the space between them, and his next breath was full of the scent of her perfume.

It was sweet and slightly spicy – hard to describe, but so good it made his cock ache.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood, is all,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this positive since before the shooting. Which is completely understandable…”

“What about last night? I was feeling pretty damn positive then.”

Her gaze locked with his, and light flashed in her eyes as she smiled. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Uh-huh.” It was one-hundred percent what it was about. He still had shit on his mind that wasn’t positive – the pain in his leg and the prospect of a months-long recovery, to start with. And then there was that fuckface Sanders, who was still on suspension while his role in the shooting was investigated. Lastly and most importantly, he was still worried about Belle’s safety and home security.

But for a little while, none of that would matter. She’d be safe with him, and he felt close to her for the first time since he’d taken those bullets. They were on the same wavelength, at least sexually. That wasn’t everything, but it was definitely something.

She took another step closer to him, then stopped. They were nearly touching, and it was easy to see the indentation that appeared in her lip when she bit down on it.

“What’s wrong?” This close, the scent of her perfume was intoxicating.

“Believe me,” she said, “I’ve been thinking about yesterday too, and I can’t wait to try it again. But there’s something I need to tell you. I thought I’d wait until afterward, but I don’t want you to think I’m hiding it.”

“What?” He stiffened, all but forgetting about the spicy-sweet smell of her perfume in an instant. Fuck, had something else happened – had someone been in her apartment again?

He looked her over again, this time with concern instead of lust. There were no bruises – not a single mark – visible on her body.

Still, his heart picked up pace.

She picked up the edge of her skirt and raised it until she bared the curve of one hip, where a jet black panty strap lay against her skin.

He groaned. Was this some kind of game? The thought filled him with confusion and a fresh wave of lust. If she wanted him to put on his uniform and role play with her – well, he’d damn well try.

“This wasn’t what I planned to wear,” she said, stroking the satin strap.

He could just see where the material clung to her pussy, dark and thin. If she got wet, he’d probably be able to feel that wetness – and her heat – through the satin.

“What did you plan to wear?” He didn’t have a problem with what she had on. Far from it, actually.

“I have this bra and panty set I wanted to wear. Blue lace – really pretty. But I couldn’t find the set in my lingerie drawer and I’m sure it was there not long ago. I don’t wear it very often. I’m not sure, but I think someone may have taken it.”

His heart dropped, straight to the bottom of his gut. “You mean whoever trespassed into your apartment and left the flowers?”

She shrugged. “Who else? I don’t have a lot of guests over. You, Mariah, Elijah… None of you would get into my drawers, let alone take any of my things.”

That was true. A frisson zipped down his spine – cold at first, then angry-hot. If someone had taken underwear out of Belle’s drawers, he’d gladly choke them with the strap of the very bra they’d stolen if he ever caught them.

The look must have shown on his face, because Belle placed a hand on his chest.

“I’m not sure about it, Jackson. But I think it’s a possibility, and I promised I wouldn’t keep anything like this from you…”

He nodded. “I’m glad you told me. I’m just pissed it happened.”

“
Might
have happened.”

“You’re sure the missing items should’ve been in your drawer?”

“As sure as I can be. Like I said, I almost never wore them. The panties were pretty uncomfortable – just for show, really. But after last night, I wanted to look good when I came here today.”

“Belle…” He sighed as emotion slammed into him – so much of it he wanted to grab her, hold her tight and fall into bed with her.

Of course, that wasn’t an option.

She frowned. “I know I just rained all over your good mood. Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He leaned into her touch. “I’m just worried about you. I’m still glad you’re here, though. Will you stay the night?”

He watched her expression for the flash of doubt he expected, ready to argue. Her suspicions about the missing lingerie had rekindled the smoldering embers of his worry into an inferno of protective instinct.

“Let me watch out for you,” he said. He had to get her to agree. By being alone – even with the Glock – she was playing with fire. Someone could be out to hurt her.

It was so fucking frustrating not knowing who was bothering her or why, that he wanted to punch something. Break something.

But he just stood there, anchored by her soft touch.

“I have a better idea,” she said. “Why don’t you stay the night at my place? If you think you’re up to riding over there, that is. I have a bigger bed.”

“All right.” He agreed before she could change her mind. He’d go anywhere if it meant she’d let him be there for her. If she’d asked him to spend the night with her on a sandy blanket under the pier, he’d have done it.