Not as good as Stan, I need you. He'd see what he could do about fixing that. Those were the words he wanted to hear coming from her beautiful mouth. A mouth he'd sorely missed and wanted to feel pressed to his again something fierce. First, he had to gain back her trust.
Dumbass. It'd taken him months to get her to go out with him. They'd hit it off big time and had been nearly inseparable after that. Then he'd let his jealousy get the better of him and blown it with one stupid move.
When she'd called him, he clearly heard the fear in her voice, and he didn't like it. Not one damn bit. She didn't have a chance to tell him what was wrong, before the sound of activity came across the line. Only saying that the cops were there, and she had to go.
The cops! What the hell?
His jaw flexed. The fierce wave of protectiveness that'd surged through him had yet to diminish, and he knew it wouldn't. Not until he could see for himself that she was safe and unharmed. Then he was going to find out what the hell was going on.
It was early morning by the time he finally pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building. The sun's rays were slowly creeping into the dawn sky, shining on the damp asphalt from the rainstorm that'd passed through the area.
He jumped from the car, landing in a big puddle. "Shit," he muttered, ignoring his wet socks as he bounded up the stairs, two at a time. His finger hit the buzzer to be let in before his feet were even planted on the last step. A brisk breeze flowed over him, and he rubbed his hands together to ward off the chill. The forecaster had stated more rain was headed this way.
He glanced up and down the empty street. It'd probably be another hour before folks started stirring.
Shelly’s melodic voice came over the speaker. "Yes."
"Darlin’, it's Stan."
"Um," she faltered, then buzzed him in. "Come on up. Apartment 3B."
The endearment had thrown her. Too bad. She was his, even if she wouldn't admit it right now. It was up to him to convince her.
Stan had never been at her place, having always met her at the club. That was the way she'd wanted it. Memories of Shelly poured into that sexy outfit and those hot-pink fuck-me shoes had his heart racing.
She'd outshone every other woman there, and he'd been instantly smitten.
At first, she'd rebuffed him, stating she didn't date customers. He'd been persistent, but not in a stalkerish kinda way. Biding his time, he'd slowly courted her until one day she'd rolled her eyes in mock exasperation and agreed to one date, which had stretched into over a dozen.
He knew waitressing was a part-time gig for her, until she finished nursing school. That didn’t make it any easier for him to watch the customers at Club Vortex openly flirting with her, and some occasionally getting handsy, as if she were on the menu, too. She'd handled herself like a pro, laughing it off and reminding them of the establishments 'no touching' rule. Still, it'd bugged him.
He'd allowed baggage from his childhood to cloud his judgment, remembering the numerous brawls between his parents over his mother's cheating, until she'd finally run off with another man. That’d been the last his family had seen of her. Hell, they didn't even know if she was alive. And no one cared enough to find out.
After a particularly rough night of watching men coming on to Shelly, he'd made the mistake of asking her to quit her job.
They'd had their first big fight and he'd stormed out, running into an old girlfriend, who'd asked him out for a drink. Like an idiot, he'd accepted. Hoping to get Shelly off his mind, they'd headed across the street to a Brew Pub.
After nursing a couple drinks, Stan calmed down enough to realize he'd made a big mistake. Before he could call an end to the night with his ex, she’d leaned across the table and kissed him. For an instant he’d been too surprised to react. When she attempted to deepen the kiss all he could think about was Shelly.
Knowing he needed to find her and apologize.
As he’d lifted his head to do just that, he spotted Shelly near the bar. The hurt he'd read in her eyes made him feel like the biggest bastard alive. He’d rushed over to explain, but she didn't want to hear it. Instead, she'd shut him down, then turned and walked out of his life.
Knowing he'd screwed things up, and a bit ticked-off that she wouldn't listen to his explanation and apology, Stan had done his best to get over her.
He'd failed miserably. As hard as he'd tried, Stan hadn't been able to get her out of his mind and move on. Tired of his moping around, his buddies had told him to either get the fuck over it or go get her back.
He'd already decided to come for her when he'd received her call. Shouldn't have waited so long.
By the time he reached the third floor, Shelly stood in the doorway waiting for him. His body tightened. Barefoot, with neatly trimmed toenails painted a fire-engine red, she wore a black pair of skinny jeans that hugged her slim hips, and a purple T-shirt that read, I'm a waitress. What's your superpower?
She was gorgeous.
Stan wanted to reach out and wrap her up in his arms and beg for forgiveness. Place her in a protective bubble, away from whatever had put that scared look on her face.
Stopping at her door, he cupped her pale cheek and stared into her pretty brown eyes. "Are you okay?"
She nodded slightly. "Thank you for coming." Her voice trembled as she waved him inside.
His hand slid gently down her arm, and he didn't miss her slight inhale. Satisfaction swept through him. Her eyes might say no, but her response to his touch was saying yes. "You called. I came."
She wet her lips, and his gaze narrowed in on the sensual movement. It'd been too long since he'd tasted her.
She turned away and walked inside, and he followed.
His shoulders tensed when he spotted two men sitting on a brown leather couch. Who the hell are they? They didn't appear to be cops. And why the hell was one wearing pajamas?
A huge ball settled in his stomach. Had Shelly moved on already?
The living room was small and neat, filled with overstuffed furniture. On a square coffee table, he spotted a photo of Shelly with a pretty little girl about five years old.
Her daughter? Must be, the girl had Shelly’s same bright smile. That was where the resemblance ended. Where her mother had brown eyes and reddish-brown hair, the girl’s hair was blond and curly, and she had green eyes.
A muscle flexed along his jaw. He wasn’t happy she hadn't trusted him enough to tell him she had a child. An unfamiliar feeling of hurt squeezed his heart. In the past, he'd never cared enough for a woman for her to affect him this way.
A quick glance around showed a medium-sized kitchen and a hallway that must lead to the bedrooms and bath.
The men got to their feet. A big guy who could easily pass as a bouncer, with a strong square jaw and intimidating scowl, gave him an accessing stare. The other, shorter, baby-faced guy in pajamas grinned and walked over to shake his hand. "Hi. I'm Dave."
Grudgingly, Stan shook the man's hand.
Dave nodded toward the bouncer guy who was still watching him, and not in a friendly way. "That big lug over there is my husband, Bob. Ignore his glower, he's suspicious of any man who looks at our baby girl the way you do."
Married. Stan's tension eased. "Nice to meet ya." He gave Bob a nod of greeting, then turned back to Shelly. "What happened?"
"Someone broke in last night."
His nostrils flared as anger shot through him. Taking her by the shoulders, he scanned her body to check for any injuries. "Were you hurt?"
She shook her head, as a shiver ran through her. He could see she was badly shaken. He tugged her into his arms, pleased when she came willingly, her hands pressed to his chest. Her flowery scent washed over him, calming him. She was safe, and he would make sure she stayed that way.
Sliding one hand under the heavy curtain of her long, dark hair, he lightly rubbed the delicate curve of her neck. Meeting Dave's gaze over the top of her head, he asked, "Any idea who?"
Bob walked over, slipping his arm around Dave's waist. "No. We heard Shelly screaming shortly after one this morning and found her and Maggie hiding out in Maggie's room. Whoever broke in was already gone."
Stan glanced down at Shelly and met her defiant stare. Like he'd be upset because she had a kid. Hell, he loved kids. He had twin nieces who he adored. He nodded toward the photo. "Your daughter?"
"Yes."
The way she watched him, indicated his next words better be good if he wanted a chance with her. "Pretty. Just like her mother."
Her lips curve into a soft smile. "She's my everything."
His fingers made another pass along the nape of her neck. "Of course she is."
"Shelly's been receiving anonymous gifts," Dave stated, anger evident in his voice.
"Is that right, babe? Is someone harassing you?"
She nodded, her expression tense. "Yes. It started a few months back. Shortly after we broke up."
She was the one who broke it off, and he’d foolishly let her. After seeing her again the need to protect her thrummed urgently in his blood, even more determined to get her back.
What he felt for her was different. Stronger, more intense. Nothing like the casual hook-ups in his past. Hell, he hadn't even thought about another woman since she'd dumped him.
He wanted only her.
Yeah, he'd screwed up big-time. His jealousy was his issue, not hers. Stan knew she didn't sleep around, and she'd never given any of the men at Club Vortex any encouragement.
Somehow, he had to make it up to her. As soon as he eliminated the danger surrounding her. "What kind of gifts?"
She shrugged and stepped away, and Stan regrettably let his arm fall to his side. "Flowers were delivered to the club, along with a note to me. At first, I chalked it up to a secret admirer from work. Until a large bouquet of flowers and a box of fancy chocolates were delivered to my apartment a couple days ago."
"You never said anything about that." Dave frowned.
Shelly sighed, running slim fingers through her bangs. "I didn't want you two to worry."
"What did the notes say?" Stan asked.
"That, I’m his . . . we belong together." She shrugged one shoulder. “Crazy shit like that.”
"Damn, Shelly," Bob said, his brows knitted in concern. "You should stay at our place until we can figure out who this guy is."
"No," Stan said, his tone daring anyone to argue, "that's not necessary. I'm moving in."
refused to acknowledge the fluttering in her belly proclaiming she was happy to see Stan again.
He stood only an arm's reach away, just as big and sexy as she remembered. She hadn't forgotten how handsome he was, but still, the impact was forceful.
His light-gray eyes locked on her with laser intensity, and her heart thudded hard against her chest as she took him in, from tip to toe and everything between.
Her pulse raced. There was no denying the man was totally yummy to look at. His muscles had muscles, and there'd been many a night she'd wondered what it'd feel like to have all that hard, male heat surrounding her as he moved inside her.
Tendrils of heat slid through her.
He's not for me.
She reminded herself why she couldn't give in to her desires for this man. He'd cheated on her. Okay, maybe they hadn't been a real couple, and had only been going out for a while.
Doesn’t matter. I shouldn't have to spell out that he can’t see other women.
Shelly squared her shoulders. She wanted a one-woman man, and that wasn't Stan's style. No matter how hot and tempting he was, he'd only break her heart. And her heart wasn't up for the challenge, having suffered too many heartbreaks in her short life.
The hot flick of his gaze over her body nearly melted her resolve. "Darlin', do you have any of the notes this guy sent?"
The way he called her darlin', with that sexy southern accent, had always been a huge turn-on, and this time was no different.
She dug her fingernails into the palm of her right hand, the sting helping her to focus on why she'd called him in the first place. And it wasn't to rekindle old emotions.
"The garbage man picked up last night. Maybe at the club? Not sure when trash pick-up is."
Stan nodded, his gaze intent as he studied her. "Okay. I'll stop by there and check it out." In two quick steps he closed the distance between them to gently palm her cheek. Stare into her eyes. "I've missed you."
Her heart fluttered. His handsome face close enough that his warm, minty breath washed over her, made her body tingle in a purely feminine way. All she'd need to do to reach his lips with her own was to lean in a mere inch.
Swallowing hard, she braced herself against his devastating charm and edged back, breaking the too-intimate contact. "Maggie's sleeping, I need to get her up soon for school.
"What grade is she in?"
"Kindergarten. She has a half day today."
Shelly perched on the edge of the sofa, waving to the chair across from her. "Thank you for coming."
Stan sat next to her, close enough his thigh pressed against hers. He stretched one long arm across the back of the couch, peering down at her with a bit of concern, a hint of anger, and a whole lot of desire swirling in his possessive gaze.
"I— Um." She took a deep breath and almost moaned with delight at the familiar scent of his musky cologne she'd always loved. He's not for me, remember. With much effort, she managed to get her rioting emotions under control.
He’d hurt her, and she shouldn’t forget that. "I'd like to hire you to find my stalker and make him stop."
"I'm not taking your money." His expression turned deadly. "But I'll sure as shit stop this guy."
Scooting back, she came up against the arm of the couch. Her eyes narrowed. She wasn't a charity case. "I can pay you for your services, Stan."
There was a moment of silence as he studied her, and she fought the urge to squirm. He picked up a few strands of her hair and gently rubbed them between his finger and thumb. "You're more than a client to me, Shelly. I care about you. And even though you dumped me, your safety matters."
Shelly opened her mouth to deny dumping him, because it sounded so bad, then pressed her lips together before saying anything. Because she had broken up with him.
Totally his fault.
He continued, "Whether we get back together or not, I'm not letting some asshole terrorize you. And I'm not taking your money. End of argument."
Her stomach knotted. The idea of getting back with him was tempting. Stan was freaking gorgeous, loads of fun, and a really, really nice guy. Then she reminded herself why she broke it off with him in the first place. He didn't do relationships. She'd only be fooling herself to believe otherwise.
"I'm sorry, Stan." Her words came out rushed. She almost regretted having called him for help. Being near him again was harder than she'd imagined. "There can't be anything between us. That's not why I called."
He gave her a soft smile as he twirled her hair around his finger. "No worries. Let's concentrate on finding out who this guy is first. We can talk about us, later."
There was no us, but she didn't have the heart to address that at the moment, more than happy to let it go. "Okay."
His expression became serious. "So, why don't you tell me everything that's happened. When did this all start?"
"A little over two months ago. It started with a single rose being delivered to me at work. No note. Just the rose. A week later another rose came, this time with a note that said, 'To new beginnings.’ Then the deliveries escalated, the rose became a bouquet of roses, then small gifts showed up with the flowers. A delicate golden chain, a gold and silver hair-clip, an exquisite heart locket."
She shivered.
Stan frowned, quit playing with her hair, and instead slid his hand to the base of her neck and stroked gently with his thumb. A gesture she'd come familiar with the short time they'd dated. One that had always made her feel cherished.
Even now, it had a calming effect on her. “That's when I started to really worry. The locket held a photo of me from the club."
He swore softly. "Do you still have the gifts?"
"No. I threw everything in the trash at work."
Stan raked a hand through his hair, his expression one of displeasure. "Shelly. You should have called me right away."
Her eyes narrowed. "I went to the police. I'm not stupid."
"And . . .?"
She shrugged, thinking about the creepy policeman she'd spoken with. The same one who'd just left her apartment after the break-in. Still a creep. "They weren't any help."
"What'd they say?"
"Nothing really." She wrinkled her nose. "Not enough proof. Keep my doors locked. Call them if anything happens. Yada yada." She clamped her mouth tight, irritation flaring inside her. Call them. How stupid was that? How could she call them if she was dead?
"I won't let anyone hurt you or your daughter."
Continuing to make little caresses against her nape, the sincerity of his words was evident in his eyes as he stared down at her
She might trust him with their safety, she just couldn’t trust him with her heart. Getting to her feet, she put some distance between them. "I need to get Maggie up. After I drop her off, I have an early morning class."
Stan stood, determination evident in every tense line of his body. "We'll take Maggie to school together, then I'll drop you off and pick you back up. We have more to discuss. "
Shelly had to admit she enjoyed his company. "Thank you, Stan. I really appreciate your help.”
His tense expression finally eased, and he returned her smile. "I'd do anything for you."
At the tenderness in his voice, warmth flooded her. She knew he'd do anything for her. Stan was at heart a true gentleman, and he'd come to the defense of any woman who was in trouble. That was the kind of guy he was.
He'll never love me. Not enough, anyway.
The reminder was enough to get her moving, nodding her thanks as she turned away from him to get Maggie ready for school.