Katie

Nighttime sounds rush in from my open hotel window, lifting the curtain and sending it fluttering into the room. I haven’t bothered turning on lights, because the moon is bright enough and the shadows it casts in the room feel dreamlike.

It occurs to me as I stare back at my reflection in the mirror, I have no idea what American girls wear on dates. My dating experience is literally just what I’ve seen on the telly and I’m not so naive that I think real-life people wear designer clothes on a regular basis. There must be a happy medium and I’m praying I’ve landed on it. At the fundraiser last night and most of the events I’ve attended, I’ve been required to wear my proper Garda dress clothes for endless rounds of photographs with high ranking NYPD brass and officers from other countries traveling with the exchange program. Finally being out of the starched uniform makes me feel like Cinderella heading to the ball. Although, she was dressed by a fairy godmother and I’ve been left to my own awkward, unskilled devices.

Worrying my lip, I turn to the side and wonder why everyone doesn’t just sign a pact to wear leggings all day, every day and do away with the angst. Jack seemed to like me just fine in my workout gear, hadn’t he?

Remembering the way I kissed Jack yesterday in plain view of anyone who might have turned around, my cheeks flush bright red and I press my hands there to cool them down. What an utterly reckless move and—God help me—that was part of the reason it was so thrilling. Concentrating during the shooting lesson had been more difficult than the Olympics. Watching Jack help instruct his fellow recruits, I’d checked the urge to touch him several times. Just rub a circle into his back or squeeze his hand. I wouldn’t have to hold back tonight, though.

When I realize I’m smiling in the mirror, I up the stakes and dance in a circle, kicking my legs like a showgirl. This is what it feels like to have no restraints. Apart from the sexy stuff, I think my brother would be proud of me right now. I’m really living. By going on a date with Jack—by going to Brooklyn!—I’m having the adventure we’d promised ourselves.

An image of my father’s weary face pops into my mind. Am I trading my father’s happiness for my own? What is he focusing on now that he doesn’t have me to train? With a large helping of guilt, I stow the worries away for the evening, promising an extra-long phone call to Dublin in the morning.

I take a final look at myself in the mirror, smoothing a hand down the front of my rather snug green dress. The tall, black leather boots were the only special purchase I made before coming to New York and they feel so daring, with their three-inch heels. No more obsessing over what American girls wear, I decide with a nod. Maybe I’ll be the trendsetter.

My cell phone goes off with a series of complicated xylophone jangles and I nearly hit the ceiling. Jack’s name blinks on the screen. I bounce and squeal a little, then calmly answer.

“Hello?”

“Snaps.” His low voice turns my knees to butter. “Nice place you got here.”

“Where are you?”

A piano tinkles in the background. “Downstairs in the lobby.”

I look around at the room I’d tidied after my shower. On the bus ride home from the field trip, Jack texted me and asked for my room number. Answering him in the middle of the other recruits had charged the air around me, made the secret situation feel so real, but I’d responded fast enough to break land speed records. “Oh, I wasn’t sure if you were meeting me at the door.”

His low hum travels through the phone and makes my stomach lining feel heavy. “I was going to. You deserve to have me pick you up at the door.” He sighs. “But I’m not sure we’d make dinner if I got you that close to a bed.”

Reaching down, I smooth my palm over the fluffy white comforter. “Why does that sound like it embarrasses you?”

“It does and it doesn’t.” His words are stilted, like he’s trying to work an explanation out in his mind. “I want to get you underneath me, Katie. Bad. And I’m not embarrassed by that. But it’s not the only reason I’m here. I don’t want you thinking I’m the Big Bad Wolf, you know?”

My hand presses to my stomach to chastise the butterflies. Needing to see his face and reassure him, I stuff my room key into my clutch bag and head for the door, closing it behind me. “I wish I’d never said that to you. It was silly.”

“Was it?” The strain in his tone makes me super aware of my femininity. More than I’ve ever been in this lifetime. “I think about mauling you pretty frequently.”

Bloody hell. “There’s a difference between you and the wolf, though.” I hit the call button for the elevator and silver doors slide open to my right. “You’ll always stop if I ask you to.”

“Damn right I will, Katie.”

Not for the first time, I’m struck by how serious he takes my consent. As it should be. But I’m not sure most men are so vocal about the importance of it. “I loved the way you’ve touched me so far. Kissed me. There’s nothing bad about any of it.”

The doors roll open and the elegant lobby spreads out in front of me. Gleaming floors, pleasing piano music, lush greenery and sophisticated guests rolling luggage in crisscross patterns. There’s Jack. Leaning against the wall, just inside the entrance, as if he couldn’t go any farther than one step inside. And oh Jesus, he’s wearing a hat. One of the brimmed types that make him look like a young Sinatra. The hat is pulled low over his brow and his shoulders are hunched protectively. Beneath the brim, he looks so deep in concentration over our conversation, my mouth goes dry.

“I know you loved it.” He shifts against the wall. “But sometimes we don’t get a choice in what our bodies like. Sometimes it’s confusing. And I don’t want you to be confused by anything I make you feel. Does that make sense?”

Desolation ghosts through his tone and I walk faster, stopping in front of him and hanging up, searching his face frantically for an explanation of what he means. But as soon as Jack sees me, he appears to snap out of some trance, hanging up his phone, straightening off the wall and . . . freezing. Not moving a muscle as he looks me over, head to boots.

“Damn, honey.” He drags a hand over his open mouth, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Is it too late to pick you up at the door?”

Feminine pleasure prickles every inch of my skin. “You had your chance.” I force myself not to fidget as he eats me alive with green eyes. “I tidied up and everything.”

He deflates against me with a gruff sound, pulling me into the bubble of happiness that is his worn leather jacket. I just kind of bask there as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, sucking in a heap of my scent through his nose. “No. This is better. I want to take you out.” He nods as if trying to convince himself. Threading our fingers together, he pulls back and plants a kiss on my forehead. “But I’m walking you to the door later, so start thinking about whether or not you’re going to invite me in.”

With that warning echoing in my head, Jack leads me out of the hotel. Night has landed and the air is crisp, but I’m enjoying the feel of it on my arms. I’ve ventured out of the hotel at night for quick bites or a turn around the block, but it didn’t feel like this. Like possibilities. Going out. Way outside of my comfort zone. None of it seems daunting with my hand enfolded in Jack’s, though.

“Are we taking the subway?”

“Thought I’d give you the full New York experience.” He grins down at me. “Are you up for a short walk in those boots? Or do you need a piggyback ride?”

“Tempting, but I can manage.”

He throws an arm around my shoulder, guiding me through sidewalk traffic, which is considerable. “Good. We’re going to walk west and catch the N at 23rd Street. It’s express so we should be in Bensonhurst in no time.”

My cheeks hurt from smiling. “You might as well be speaking in Latin.”

His laugh turns every female head on the sidewalk. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

Just like the last time he asked, I can sense his awe over my answer. The walk to the train goes by in a heartbeat because I’m caught up in the romance and frenetic pace of the city. Sure, the sidewalk and streets could use a good scrubbing, but the sound of trains rumbling beneath our feet, the colorful shopping bags, dressed-up people signaling for cabs, it’s so alive. It’s happening now. Strangers are right alongside me having their own adventure and I feel a kinship with all of them. Every block, Jack bends down and whispers about some landmark or another in my ear, using his chin to indicate it.

The subway is packed because it’s running late, giving time for the platform to fill up, so we cram onto a train like sardines, rubbing shoulders with people blaring headphones or having conversations about their Saturday evening plans, the screeching of the breaks and hum of the engine gathering together to create a symphony. I’m flush against Jack, the fronts of our bodies rubbing as the train jostles. His eyes are smoky, studying my mouth, that gaze sliding down to my breasts. After only one stop, we’re breathing heavily, sexual awareness filling every scant available inch in the subway car.

“Say something to distract me,” he murmurs, just above my mouth. “Anything.”

“Um . . .” I swallow with difficulty. “Actually, there’s something I did want to mention.”

His palm molds to my hip. “Now would be a good time.”

“Right.” Deep breath. Pretend your nipples aren’t spikes and they aren’t riding up and down his richly grooved stomach. “Yesterday at the range, you proved me right. Jack, you’re a natural.” His eyes sharpen and shoot down to meet mine. “Everyone tried harder after they saw what was possible. Through you. Did you notice they were looking to you as a leader?”

“Nah, they’re just competitive assholes.” He pauses to clear his throat. “A few of the guys asked for some help outside training, though.”

“And did you say yes?”

A curt nod from Jack. “Told them I’d think about it.”

Which was probably as good as they were going to get from Jack. For now. “How did it feel to be asked?”

He thinks about brushing it off or being flippant, but I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “Weird, I guess. Not in a bad way. It was . . . different.”

“If I recommended you for ESU training—”

His scoff cuts me off. “Come on, Snaps. They would veto that shit with a quickness.”

“Why?”

He avoids looking at me for a moment. “Look, you’re better off recommending Charlie or one of the other guys.” Even as he makes the statement, I can tell hearing the words out loud bother him. “I’m not in the academy to be shaped into Captain Save the Day. It’s not about that for me.”

“What is it about?”

“A paycheck.” Eyebrows raised, he seems to be waiting for judgment from me, so I keep my features neutral. “Saving for the day my mother can’t work as a receptionist anymore.”

I desperately want to ask about his mother, about her experience as a sex worker, but I sense I’m already pushing too hard towards something with the conversation. Not knowing what is opening a pit in my stomach, but I don’t want to ruin our night, so I change the subject in the only way I know how. By rambling. “I was worried I wouldn’t be dressed to blend in with the American girls. I don’t mean I want to look like part of the wallpaper, but I didn’t want to look like a parade float coming down the street, either. And these boots aren’t that great for walking, actually. I lied by accident. My feet didn’t start hurting until I was standing still.”

His lips jump at one corner. “Piggyback ride to the restaurant.”

“My toes thank you.” Jack seems to have forgotten about the uncomfortable conversation and decided to focus on playing with my hair instead, picking up strands and rubbing them between his big fingers. “I’m kind of a planner. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

“I have.” He pressed a fistful of my hair to his nose and inhales. “And I fucking love it.”

“Try to remember that . . .”

Jack drops my hair and tips up my chin. “What’s going on in that head, honey?”

“Well . . .” Lord, he’s distractingly gorgeous. His smell is wrapped around me, he’s seconds from kissing me and I should just keep my bloody gob shut. “My plan is to pay my half of the bill after dinner. If you could just agree to that, I wouldn’t be anxious about it.”

“Explain why first.”

Honesty is always the best policy, right? And it had worked for us so far. “Because when I invite you inside my room later, I want everything on equal terms. So you’ll know I want you there whether or not you bought me a nice dinner. Is that crazy?” Slowly, Jack shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “Are you less anxious knowing I’m going to invite you in later?”

“Fuck yeah.”

I smile. “That worked out nicely for the both of us, then.”

The amusement in his eyes makes them twinkle, but there’s a hard layer of lust underneath. He leans down and presses his lips to my ear. “You’re in trouble later, Katie. I remember those sexy thigh shakes of yours from having you pantsless on the gym floor. I won’t stop until they’re too tired to move and I have to hold them up around my waist.” His tongue treats my lobe to the barest of grazes, before he eases back. “What if neither of us had to pay for dinner?”

It takes a few heavy seconds for my pulse to return to normal, so I can focus on his question. Maybe I should worry about being an accessory to robbery—or a dine and dash—but I can only vibrate with anticipation. “I’m listening.”

Jack’s pirate smile broadens and almost sends me melting to my knees. With a wink, he plants a kiss on my cheek, then removes his hat. A split second before he begins singing, I cop on to what he’s planning and a laugh flies out of my mouth. I turn slightly and find the train car has emptied somewhat while I’ve been wrapped up in Jack, passengers disembarking at each stop as we make our way farther into Brooklyn. This extra space gives Jack room to walk through the train, singing “New York, New York” at the top of his lungs, holding out his hat to everyone he passes.

Holding on to the silver poles, he swerves around them, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he throws his head back and hits a high note. By that time, women are actually getting up out of their seats to throw money into the hat, earning themselves such perfect, roguish winks that I can’t even be jealous. Every woman should have the privilege of one of Jack’s winks.

When he tosses me a devilish smile over his shoulder, I send him one back and quickly take out my camera to snap a picture. We have only seven more days together. And suddenly that doesn’t seem like nearly enough time to understand what makes Jack tick, find out what he’s been through . . . or convince him he’s got potential.

When did those things become so important?

As the train screeches to a halt, Jack jogs back towards me triumphantly—jingling hat in hand—capturing me around the waist and hauling me off the train in a sea of applause.

“I think we made enough to cover dessert, Snaps.” He sets me on my feet and spins me in a pirouette with his free hand. “Not bad for one stop, huh?”

“No.” I go up on my toes and press a kiss to his mouth, my bones liquefying when he ceases all movement and throws a monsoon of passion into kissing me back, before pulling away with a contented sigh. “Not bad at all, Jack.”

He turns around and jerks a thumb in the direction of his back. “Hop on, honey.”