Tess

I don’t see Curran for the remainder of the week. But what did I expect? He didn’t follow when I left Declan’s office, nor did he try to stop me from leaving. I told him not to call me, but it’s not because I didn’t want him to. It’s because I’m not sure he ever will.

And it hurts.

Curran adds color to my world. Loud, bold, obnoxious color mixed with arrogance and often disturbing references, but color nonetheless.

He’s also a really great kisser.

Among other things.

Dear Lord, that tongue.

Declan laughs. “What are you smiling about, Contessa?”

I pass him a criminal file and reach for another one, hoping to give my cheeks a moment to cool. “I’m just happy your hard work is paying off, and that we’re getting closer to justice being served.”

Okay. I might have laid that on a little thick.

To my relief, he nods as he flips through the file, one of many he’ll be reading this weekend. “Snagging the mistress and finding all that evidence was our big break,” he agrees. “Can’t believe all the crap the search and seizure turned up. I owe Curran big-time.”

I fix the loose pages dangling from the next folder, trying to keep my tone light. “How is Officer O’Brien? He hasn’t been assigned to guard me lately.”

Declan pauses in the middle of stuffing his briefcase. It’s Friday, and almost midnight. Aside from our guards who are waiting in the hall, we’re the only ones here, having just finished the pending motions and depositions. “His testimony took a lot of his time,” he says, carefully. “He needed to debrief with his superiors about the trial and then had to collaborate with the Sheriff’s Department with regard to the multiple arrests and charges that resulted from the altercation following the sentencing.”

It’s what he claims, and I believe him, but I can’t help thinking he’s also making excuses for his brother. I force a smile and pass him the last file, realizing that around Curran, my smiles always seem to come naturally.

It’s not until the following day that I finally see Curran. It’s late in the afternoon and I’ve spent the day catching up on my law classes. The briefs I had to write took all day. Now I’m rushing to tidy my apartment and prepare for Spencer’s fundraiser.

I open my door to find him waiting in the seating area at the end of the hall. My arms are filled with my recycling and I’m wearing my oldest pair of pajamas—a Hello Kitty set, for heaven’s sake!—while strands of my unwashed hair dangle from the messy bun perched on top of my head.

He’s dressed in dark slacks and a royal-blue shirt that brings out his striking features and spellbinding eyes.

He looks sexy.

Damn sexy.

I don’t.

Dear God, kill me.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” I teeter back and forth awkwardly because hey, I’m clearly not awkward enough. “How are your hands?”

He holds them up. “Good. No warts. That shit really works.”

I trip over my words trying to formulate a decent response—something witty, funny. Yeah, I have nothing. With a sigh, I let my door shut behind me and head to the opposite end of the hall.

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked like that.”

I slow my steps at the approach of his heavy feet. “I’ll be right back.”

“That’s not the point.”

I stop and turn around to face him. “Curran…what are you doing here?”

He surprises me by smiling. “I’m back on duty.” He frowns. “Something wrong?”

Yes. I’m not sure what’s going on. I think you like me, but you won’t talk to me about anything that matters. I can’t get you to open up, even though it seems like you really need to. I want to be your friend, yet I don’t think you want my friendship. And I want to be your lover, but not only when it suits you.

“No,” I answer.

I resume my quick pace until I reach the disposal chute and feed it my recyclables. I fiddle with my hair, for all the good it does, then march back in the direction of my apartment. “I have a fundraiser to attend this evening,” I say when he catches up to walk beside me.

“For Hello Kitty?”

My blush answers for me.

“Just asking,” he says, doing a horrible job of squelching his grin.

I glance down, but despite my embarrassment, my clothes, and my absolute shock to find him here, I can’t hide my smile. I’ve missed him and his stupid jokes. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” he tells me, his voice gruff.

My eyes widen. Slowly, I walk back to my apartment with Curran close beside me. He follows me inside and turns the deadbolt, stopping in my living room.

I stroll into my kitchen and wash my hands. It’s when I’m drying them that I realize he’s staring at the hideous dress my father bought me. I draped it over the couch when the dry cleaning service dropped it off earlier. I didn’t think to hide it. But maybe I should have.

He lifts his chin. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I almost lie because it’s just that ugly. “Yes.”

“Oh,” he says like it pains him.

“You don’t like it,” I say, not that I’m surprised.

“No, it’s a nice dress. We buried my Grammie—God rest her soul—in something just like it.”

Of course he did. Of course…

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I…” I rub the back of my neck, feeling uneasy. The stress of my classes this past week and the late hours working with Declan have taken their toll. But it was the constant calls from my father that pushed me to my breaking point. He’s phoned twice a day, sometimes more, to “help” me become better acquainted with Spencer. He told me his likes, dislikes, favorite political influences, even the way he prefers his coffee in the morning—no, that wasn’t a hint or anything.

My father doesn’t know my favorite color, nor does he care. But he made certain I knew Spencer’s. Blue. No wonder he’d selected that hideous dress.

“Tess?”

I drop my hand away, detesting the awful way my voice shakes when I speak. “I hate the dress, Curran. I don’t want to go to this function. And I think Spencer Woodworth—my date for the evening, and Philly’s probable next mayor—is a complete and utter asshole.”

I’m certain Curran will laugh, or poke fun at me or Spencer. But all signs of humor are lost from his face.

“So why are you going? And why the hell are you wearing that dress?”

I place my hands on my hips and look down. “I have to go. It’s not something I can get out of.”

“Why?”

“I promised.” I didn’t really. It’s more of a forced expectation. But the truth will trigger more questions that I’m not prepared to answer, and I’ve already said enough.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re wearing something that belongs on one of your elderly neighbors,” he bites out. “I mean damn, you have a body that won’t quit and you hide it beneath layers of goddamn tweed and polyester.”

“You like my body?” I’m not trying to redirect him, but it’s the one thing he said that I fixate on. “Even after the weight I’ve gained?”

Curran crosses the room to stand in front of me. “You didn’t gain weight. You gained curves. Men, real men, like curves, not fucking angles.”

I place my fingertips over my smiling lips. “Swearing aside, that’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Good,” he says. “Come here.”

There’s no hesitation. I go to him easily, greeting lips as eager for me as mine are for his. Curran lifts me, carrying me to the couch and placing me on his lap.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he gasps, before quickly returning to attack my mouth.

My hands link around his neck and my teeth graze his jawline, nibbling their way across and stopping below his ear. “Okay,” I whisper, biting on his lobe.

He curses. Twice. His grip to my hips tightening. “Scratch that. We can’t do more than this.”

“Mm-hmm.” So I do more of this.

“I have to be ready if something happens,” he mumbles.

He startles when my tongue slips inside his ear.

“We can’t get naked,” he insists through gritted teeth. Or at least he tries to.

He pulls me back to his mouth, this time more fiercely, his heart ramming hard against his rib cage and his hand skimming up to knead my breast.

My phone rings. Curran ignores it. I do, too.

But I shouldn’t.

The voicemail feature booms with Spencer’s voice. “Hello, Contessa. It’s Spencer, your date for the evening, but you probably already know that.” He laughs in that rehearsed way of his. “I look forward to seeing you. I’m expected by seven, so kindly be prepared by six-fifteen—oh, and Contessa, be prepared for a long night. I’m sure you have suitable lingerie you can surprise me with.”

He disconnects then. His call was brief, but the damage is done.

Curran pulled away at Spencer’s reference to a “long” night. Yet it’s Spencer’s final comment that sparks his fury and deepens his scowl. “What the hell is that about?”

His sudden anger catches me off guard and adds to the humiliation triggered by Spencer’s call. I slip away from his lap and stand, crossing my arms.

I try to offer an explanation, but I can’t find any words to justify Spencer’s disgusting remarks. Probably because none exist.

“Are you sleeping with him?” Curran demands, rising to his feet.

I raise my chin. “No.”

“But you plan to. Tonight, I take it?” He scoffs. “Come on, Tess. Don’t look at me that way. You asked for honesty. So I’m telling you the truth when I say I haven’t been with anyone since you. Don’t you think you owe me the same truth back?”

“I’m not going to sleep with him. I told you, I don’t even want to go to this function.”

“But you’re going, with some guy you claim is an asshole, knowing he’s expecting a lot more than your company.” He motions to the dress. “Did he pick that out for you?”

This time, it’s my anger that flares. “What are you accusing me of?” He squares his jaw. “I’m not some hired escort, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“No, I’m not. But let’s not pretend that any of this makes sense. You’re a grown woman. If you don’t want to attend this thing, don’t. If you don’t want to be with a man, you say no. If he shows, and you don’t want him here, I’ll throw his ass out on the street. And I could give a shit if he becomes the president of the goddamn world.”

He means well, but he doesn’t understand what could happen if I don’t attend this fundraiser. Five more months, I remind myself. Only five more months. “It’s not that simple, Curran.”

“Yes it is, Tess.” He closes the distance between us and strokes my chin until I meet his gaze. “Call him back. Tell him you’re not going. And stay with me.”

I swallow the lump building in my throat, but it does nothing to ease the sting in my eyes. “I can’t. I promised.”

His hand drops away. “Yes, you can. You just won’t.”

He marches away from me. I call to him, my voice pleading. “Curran.”

He stops directly in front of the door. “You don’t owe me an explanation or a commitment. But I don’t need to hear lies. You have a choice. If you’re choosing to be with him, it’s because you want to.”

I wait for him to shut the door before I allow the first of my tears to fall.