“How was going back to work?” His drawl was honeyed and warm as he guided me along the silent streets. I don’t think I knew anyone else that was a grown-up yet didn’t own a car. It was just one more piece of the puzzle that was Asa Cross.
“It’s been tricky. I’ve never partnered with anyone but Dominic, so it’s strange being on patrol with someone new.”
My temporary partner was a guy named Barrett. He was quite a bit older than me and most definitely the strong, silent type. I was used to letting Dom take the lead, to following his moves, so it was strange trying to adjust to being the more vocal partner. So far my shifts without Dom had been pretty uneventful and I hadn’t had to pull my gun or really wade into any danger. I was dreading the day it happened, even though the department shrink told me that was normal. She was convinced I was suffering from some low-grade PTSD symptoms and that my guilt at being distracted and seeing Dom almost die was tied to the fact that I had escaped the shootout unscathed.
I leaned into Asa’s side when I noticed that he was shivering in the cold. A thrill raced through me when he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and huddled into me. Sure, it was probably for warmth, but my libido didn’t care.
“How is your partner doing?”
I hated to think about Dom being laid up and healing. He was a guy that liked action, that liked to be hands-on, but in his current state all he could do was lie in bed and watch endless hours of Netflix while his sisters hovered over him. It also rankled me every time I put my uniform on that I was the one that got to go to work, that I was the one who ended up all right, while Dom was the one stuck not knowing what his future was going to look like. The unfairness of it all grated across my skin and sat heavy in my gut every single shift.
“He’s getting there. He’s going to need a lot of physical therapy once he’s back in fighting form. That broken femur is no joke.”
“If you need a name, I know a guy.”
I looked up at him from under my eyelashes. “You know a guy?”
We reached a very nondescript and frankly crappy apartment complex and I followed him up a few flights of stairs. This isn’t ever where I’d picture him living.
“Well, Rome knows a guy. He used to date Rome’s younger brother, Rule’s twin, Remy. His name is Orlando Fredrick and he’s some big-shot sports physical therapist. I’ve met him a few times when he popped into the Bar to talk to Rome. He seems like a pretty cool guy, and according to Rome, he knows his shit.”
Rome didn’t strike me as the type that handed out praise or respect lightly, so I made a mental note of the name to pass along to Dom and followed Asa into the apartment. It was tiny, really tiny, and there wasn’t much in it. I mean it was a studio, so there wasn’t a lot of space to keep stuff, but beyond the bed, a decent-sized flat-screen TV, the little bistro set, and a well-worn recliner, there didn’t seem to be any part of him in the apartment.
If he was concerned or interested in my slightly startled reaction to his place, he didn’t show it. He flipped on the lights, tossed his keys and his cell on the itty-bitty little table, and shoved his hands through his thick, blond hair.
“Let me dig out some clean sheets and you can change the bed while I take a shower.” He inclined his head toward the chair. “I’ll crash in the recliner since I can sleep anywhere and you can take the bed.”
I opened my mouth to argue. It wasn’t a king-sized bed but it was definitely big enough for both of us to share. Yet there was a glow in his gold eyes, a warning light that had me clicking my teeth together in frustrated silence. I always felt like he was trying to say something to me without words, like he had an unspoken message for me I was just too thick to pick up on. Something was working behind those jungle-cat eyes and there was a coiled tension in him that I could feel vibrating and waiting to spring loose. I shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the back of one of the chairs that sat at the table. I took the sheets and blanket he shoved at me before he turned and headed to what I assumed was the bathroom.
I sank to the edge of the bed and stared blankly at the cracked-open door. I set the bundle in my arms down next to me and tried to get my head around what was happening. This was absolutely not what I had pictured coming home with the sexy southerner to be like. I was sure once it was just the two of us, alone, the undeniable heat and chemistry that popped and sizzled between us would reach a bursting point. Then I would finally get all that I knew Asa had to offer directed at me. I wanted that smooth charm, that effortless sexiness, and all the turbulent desire I knew was lurking just below the surface of his good-ol’-boy façade. I sighed and looked at his abandoned cell phone, wondering if I really should call someone to rescue me. It was starting to seem like Asa’s desire to save me from what he clearly thought was going to be a mistake was far stronger than my desire to make that mistake.
I got up and went to crack open the door to the bathroom enough that I could tell him I was going to call a cab and head home. I wasn’t going to kick him out of his bed when he obviously didn’t want me here. I already had enough things in my life making me feel bad about myself; I didn’t need to chase after more rejection from Asa.
“Hey, I’m just gonna …” I trailed off as my tongue suddenly forgot how to work and all thought fled.
Of course there wouldn’t be a full-sized bath and shower in this tiny apartment. Just a shower stall enclosed in barely frosted glass that hid nothing. The steam from the shower wasn’t enough to obscure the sight before me, and my hand pushed the door open the rest of the way like it was operating independently from the rest of me.
He had one arm bent above his head with his forehead resting on it as the water cascaded down around him. He turned to look at me as the door opened. Even with the shower steam and the hazy glass between us, I could see his brilliant gaze lock on mine as his other arm moved to work his fist up and down an impressive erection that was obviously meant for me.
I knew I should shut the door and turn away. It was his space, his private moment, but I couldn’t do it and I was equal parts turned on and furious watching him as he worked himself over all while he watched me unblinkingly. He was beautiful; it was beautiful. Yet I was so mad that after all the ways in which I had made it clear to him that he could have me, he would rather self-gratify than take me to bed, that I was having a hard time appreciating all that beauty even if I was transfixed by the sight. He was wasting something that was rightfully mine and I wanted to scream at him to stop, to ask me to join him under the water and put that throbbing evidence of his arousal to better use, but I was stunned into silence, rooted to the spot by twin spikes of passion and fury.