Fool for Love (Believe #2) (44 page)

W
ATCHING
G
ARRETT SHAVE IS
an experience that I never thought I’d be witness to.

With each glide of the razor, he’s revealing himself to me entirely.

His face, at least – and for a man like him, that’s saying a lot.

I get the sense that he’s not only doing this to placate me, and I wonder if he has something to prove to himself as well.

Even if there’s no real need to.

Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him as hard as I did, but I know myself now; this would keep bothering me until he’d given me all the answers, and time is running against us.

Against me.

The longer we’re together, the harder it will be to tell him goodbye in the end – but I’m prepared for it.

The hair drops to the sink, and we keep silent the whole time until he’s done. Quickly, he splashes water on his face, and I hand him a towel to dry off. My heart beats loudly in my ears when he holds the towel for longer than is necessary, but this time, I daren’t push him.

As he slowly lowers his hands covering him, I hold my breath and gaze into the mirror, waiting…

I release it on a long whoosh when his shuttered eyes meet mine, and I take in the face he’s been hiding from me for so long.

His cheeks are more hollow than I thought they’d be. His grooves are deeper. His lips are fuller, or seem like it now that they are not surrounded by the beard.

The scar is very wide and white against the redness of his cheeks, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.

“Happy?” he asks me, voice gruff and angry. I smile and turn to face him. His head remains in profile, as if he can’t break free from the mirror, so I nudge my body in between his and the sink, not caring in the least that the sharp edge bores into my back.

My physical pain is nothing compared to his emotional pain.

I let the blanket covering my naked body fall to the floor, and when his warm skin touches mine, I press my breasts flush to his chest.

“Yes.” I smile and reach up to cup his face. “You’re beautiful, Garrett.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“You. Are. Beautiful.”

Each word comes out strong and clear, and I let my passion for him shine through my eyes.

“Thank you,” I whisper before I lean up on my toes to kiss his lips softly. I trace his lips with my tongue, silently asking him to let me in, and I sigh in joy when he relents.

Our kiss is slow. Tender. Beautiful.

Perfect.

Time stands still as I try to convey how much his act means to me, and I angle my head to deepen it. A low rumble sounds from his chest and his hands fall to my ass, gripping on tightly.

In a quick and practiced move, he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his back, holding on with all that I am. Without breaking our kiss, he walks back to our bed, and he places me gently down, his body covering mine.

When he lifts his head and stares intently into my eyes, my breath catches from the lingering pain I see in them. But my heart flutters like mad when I also find the burning need he always reveals to me when we’re intimate.

“How do you say
‘my love’
in Danish?” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

I breathe, overcome with hope. This is the third time in only twenty-four hours that he’s called me that, and I know to the very deepest part of my soul that he means it.

“
‘Min elskede’
.”

He repeats the words slowly, hesitantly, and hearing him try to say something so beautiful and revered in my own language touches me right to my very soul. I tear up, but I don’t try to wipe them away. They trickle slowly down my cheeks, without a sound, and I let him kiss them away as they fall.

Then he begins to make sweet love to me, and I cling to him, telling him with every touch and kiss that I love him.

I see him.

I treasure him.

Forever.

The real world literally knocks on our door the next day. It’s late afternoon, and we’re lounging on the couch – me reading a romance novel and Garrett reading the newspaper – and I’m only wearing my faithful yoga pants and a black t-shirt. Every so often, my eyes lift from my book and linger on the hard planes of Garrett’s bare chest, and I shake my head at my inability to keep focused on the story.

I’ve never had this problem before.

I guess it
must
be love.

When the knock interrupts our lazy afternoon, Garrett quickly tosses the paper on the coffee table and grabs a T-shirt hanging behind one of the bar stools before he heads over to answer it.

Thinking that it’s probably Garrett’s dad who’s brought back Rufus, I get up and walk closer. My hope is dashed, however, when Garrett opens the door and I see the other detective, Eddie McCloud, in the doorway.

“I told you before, if you have anymore questions for me, you’ll have to arrange a meeting at your precinct with me and my lawyer present,” Garrett states in a firm voice.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson, but I’m here in an unofficial capacity.” Detective McCloud sighs and pushes up his glasses that’ve slipped down on his nose. His brown coat looks warm, but a bit worse for wear, and his grey suit pants are wrinkled.

The uncomfortable way he tugs at his tie makes me less apprehensive, and I walk to Garrett’s side.

“May I come in?”

“I’m sure there’s no harm done in letting him talk,” I tell Garrett as I take his hand in mine. I give the detective a friendly smile, and the way his apologetic gaze holds mine, I feel more reassured.

He’s a good cop, not a bad one.

Garrett’s hand tenses briefly in mine, but he takes a step back and juts his head.

“Thank you,” Detective McCloud says, entering our home.

A couple of seconds tick by and I almost cringe from the awkward silence. Then I remember what my mother has instilled in me from the day I was born.
“Always ask guests for coffee – even the unwanted ones. That always works wonders as an ice breaker.”

“Would you like some coffee?” I ask him. When he nods in thanks, I go to the kitchen to fetch a mug and the coffee.

“What’s this about?” Garrett asks him brusquely.

I turn to find them both standing on the other side of the bar.

Right. Informal it is, then.

Garrett crosses his arms, scowl firmly in place, as the detective’s eyes flicker towards me.

“Mr. Thompson, your father made a call to my Captain this morning that…concerns me,” he starts. I stiffen slightly.

“And?”

I set about placing mugs on the bar and pour the coffee, wanting to seem unaffected by where this is headed.

“Miss Christensen, am I correct to assume that my partner paid you a visit yesterday that was
unpleasant
?”

I set the coffee pot down and face the detective. His eyes are kind but sharp, and I get the sense that he’s good at reading people.

I wet my lips and rest my hands on the bar.

“Something like that,” I answer.

“I see.” He takes a sip of his coffee, and I glance at Garrett whose eyes are watching every move of the detective like a hawk.

“This is completely unofficial,” Detective McCloud starts as he sets down his mug. “So I won’t ask for any details. But…it’s not the first time that the Captain has received a call from someone about Detective Easton’s questionable behaviour.”

“Then why is the fucker still a cop?” Garrett’s growl makes me suck in a breath, but it doesn’t seem to bother Detective McCloud; he just shakes his head.

“Lack of evidence. The woman who claimed that he assaulted her recanted in the end, so there was no case against him.”

Garrett’s eyes meet mine.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Why exactly are you here, Detective McCloud?”

He takes another sip of his coffee, biding his time, and I narrow my eyes at him, wondering what he’s up to.

“Well, to tell you that we will, unofficially, try to look into his past – dig around – see if we can find something on him that will lead to an official investigation by IAB.”

Garrett’s scowl clears a bit, but his stance doesn’t let up.

“In the meantime,” McCloud continues, “I suggest you don’t open the door to him unless someone else is with him.” His head shifts between us. “That goes for the both of you.”

My answer is prompt. “Understood.”

He smiles kindly at me. “Good. Thanks for the coffee.”

He takes one last sip before he turns away and walks to the door, Garrett following him closely.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he’s gone, and the tension in my body slowly ebbs away. I look down at my rainbow-coloured socks and ponder what’ll happen next.

I doubt the detective will find anything on Easton quickly, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping that I’m wrong.

“Well, that was fast,” Garrett mutters as he walks back to me.

Lost in thought, I keep staring at my feet, but I give him a small nod when he comes to a stop in front of me.

“I don’t want you to be alone at any time, Suzy.”

He wraps his hand around my neck, his thumb pressing up on my chin. When I lift my head and take in the serious expression in his eyes, warmth fills me at his concern.

“I wasn’t planning to,” I try to reassure him.

His frown deepens. “You weren’t?”

The suspicion in his voice makes me narrow my eyes, and my temper spikes.

“No, I wasn’t; that would just be stupid. I’ve read enough books to learn that the minute the heroine goes against her man’s wishes, something dire and evil happens, and then she has to wait for the hero to come to the rescue. Uh, thanks, but no thanks.”

His lips twitch, and his eyes soften slightly.

“Books aren’t reality, waif.”

“I
know
that.” I get up on my toes and place my hand on his cheek. “But lately, I’ve begun to feel like I’m in my own private fairy-tale, and I prefer to remain there, thank you very much.”

His eyes lighten but then sadness fills them.

“I’m hardly a Prince Charming,” he whispers.

I shake my head, exasperated by his stubbornness, and roll my eyes at him.

“You’re right, you’re not. You’re something infinitely better, Garrett.”

Not giving him time to answer that, I give him a loud smack on the lips and fall back on my heels.