MAC 

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I WAS USED TO UTTER stillness in the house, a heavy cave-like quiet. I was hyper aware of my new guest and I sensed movement in the front room. I yanked on some pants and grabbed my pistol from the drawer of my nightstand. I flipped on the light and she startled at the sight of me, her eyes watching the gun warily. I shoved it into the back of my waistband.

She was complicating the fuck out of my life; this curvy, little witch with the flowing pink hair and long-lashed blue eyes. I stared at her profile as she went back to rummaging in the box, trying to ignore my presence. She had a slightly turned up nose that made her cute as well as beautiful. I bet she wished she could twitch that cute little nose and send me straight to hell.

Outwardly she’d always been so serene and well-mannered with me. Now she was letting her dislike of me shine through. I hadn’t heard a kind word out of her since her father had been shot. I’d seen her with Jarvis at a company party. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Jesus, sobbing through the whole damn ceremony like that. Not even trying to hold it together. But what could I have said to the old man? What choice did I have? He’d risked everything for the investigation. Now his daughter was looking at me like I’d done the deed myself. Like I’d pulled the fucking trigger.

She pulled something out of the box and got to her feet. Clutched in her delicate hand was something black and silky with a price tag dangling from it. Her chest was heaving, her breasts rising and falling above the line of the towel.

She frowned up at me. “How did you break the news to him?”

“Fuck, are we talking about Jarvis again? Why did that slip make you think of him?”

“It’s a nightgown and I bought it for our first night together.”

I scrubbed my hand through my hair. This was not computing. “But it still has tags on it.”

“Exactly.” She yanked on the tags, snapping the thin plastic fasteners.

She’s a pretend wife for fuck’s sake, leave it be asshole. But, of course, I couldn’t. “Jarvis told me you’d been dating for over a year.” When I’d informed him of the marriage, instead of trying to break my jaw, Jarvis had rattled off the details of their courtship, as if he was owed a reprieve because he’d been the ideal boyfriend.

“Thirteen months to be exact,” she said.

“And you expect me to believe you haven’t spread your legs for him yet.”

Her mouth pulled down at my crude phrasing. “Frankly, I don’t care what you believe. Can you leave, I’d like to go back to sleep.”

When I didn’t leave, she reached over and tugged on the chain of the standing lamp, throwing the room into darkness. I felt the wall for the dial and turned the overhead recessed lighting all the way to high.

“Have it your way,” she said and peeled off the towel and then slipped the black nightgown over her head. She struggled to pull the material past her tits. I watched the sweet bounce of her breasts as she tugged harder on the hem.

Holy fuck, what had I gotten myself into? The little witch had nipples that made my mouth water and a waist so tiny I could wrap my hands around it and have the fingers touch. Christ, there was even more to make me crazy. The prettiest pussy I’d ever laid eyes on, shaved completely smooth. Something glittering caught my eye and my gaze flicked upward. She had a diamond piercing in her belly button.

When she finally got the hem down to her thighs she was blushing like a schoolgirl.

“Did you get that piercing for him?” I was choking on the words.

“No. For me.”

“Want to explain that?”

“It’s none of your business.”

She curled up on the couch and pulled the blanket over her. I stopped myself from telling her that it sure as fuck was my business, that I had a paper to prove it. How many men before me, who’d married for reasons other than love, had felt this instinctual right of ownership?

I was clearly losing it. I’d been on this assignment far too long. The paper was as fake as the marriage. I’d expected Tully to come up with a license that looked more official. The jackass had just used cheap copier paper. It was a good thing she’d resented marrying me as much as she had, because she hadn’t even spared the fake license a glance.

The pink-haired beauty snuggled into the pillow, and closed her eyes, her long black lashes resting atop her cheeks.

“Enough of this bullshit. I can’t sleep with you out here. You can take the other side of the bed. It’s a big fucking bed.”

She opened her eyes, cast me a look of contempt then threw off the blanket and headed down the hallway.

I followed her into the bedroom, my eyes glued to her perfect ass swaying beneath the silky nightgown. She climbed into the bed, choosing the side where the covers weren’t messed up. She took up very little space. It was an ultra-king sized bed that made sense for the room.

I switched off the light and lay down and tried to forget about the bed’s other occupant. After all, she was miles from me.

I heard her shift, her silky hair sliding over the pillow. I tried not to think of her sexy overbite, her beautiful tits and tiny waist and the fact that she wasn’t wearing panties underneath that nightgown.

I’d been absolutely fucking delusional, thinking that having her in my bed would make things easier.

I went into the bathroom and ducked my head under the faucet. When that had no effect, I took a frigid shower.

I heard her crying as I settled back in bed. She was burying her face in the pillow, I could tell by the smothered sobs, but still, Jesus, I didn’t think I could bear it—she’d been crying on and off all damned day.

“Serena, come here.”

It shocked the hell out of me when I heard her glide across the sheet toward me. Before she could change her mind, I reeled her in and tucked her to my side. She clutched me and pillowed her face atop my chest and continued sobbing, her tears trickling down my sides. I stroked her hair and gritted my teeth against the pleasure of touching her.

“Have you ever lost someone you loved?” she asked between hiccupping sobs.

“No.”

Her narrow shoulders shook and I hugged her closer. “You’re so lucky to still have your parents,” she said.

“Now when did I say that, darlin'?”

She braced her forearms on my chest and looked down at me. The moonlight made her skin even paler. I could see her frowning in confusion.

Strands of her hair were sticking to her wet cheeks. I brushed the hair away with my fingers. “I have no memory of my mother except for the shit my father told me, about her heroin addiction, and her sleeping around. Bottom line, according to my father, she hadn’t given a flying fuck about me and that’s why she’d OD’ed.” What the hell had come over me? Why was I telling her about the shit-show that was my childhood?

“How sad,” she said in a trembling whisper.

“I was eighteen when my old man keeled over from a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes glistened with tears.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” I tucked her hair behind her ear. “I helped myself to his bottle of prized, aged-whiskey to celebrate. I have yet to encounter a meaner son-of-a-bitch.”

“Oh, Mac, how terrible for you." She pulled in a shivering breath then settled back down, nestling against my chest again. It took a good hour before her sobs wound down to sniffles.

The pink-haired witch snuggled closer to me. I always slept alone. Didn’t matter how mind-blowing the sex, I never stayed the night. And I’d never brought anyone here to this house. Now the soft, silky, sweet smelling nuisance was falling asleep in my arms. This job was growing exponentially more complicated.