Forever (12 page)

“Okay. I didn’t know the military offered psychology courses, thought the recruits weren’t encouraged to think, but hey. And I’m done talking
, too. For now. It made me tired.”

“Would you like to take a nap?” His cock hoped so. It would rock her to sleep. And he hadn’t missed her quiet challenge. For now. He wondered if he could keep opening up to her.

“Nope. Work. I’m disciplined.”

“I work different hours, so your job will fit in well with mine, I think. Especially if you work here. I can show you the den.”
And the bedroom.
She hadn’t shown any interest in his place and he wondered how she viewed it. Impersonal? Cold?

“I’ll take the guided tour another time, babe. We need to keep finding our way.”

Were those
his
words of caution coming back to bite him on the ass? They were. “I’ll take you home. I’ll be by tonight. Not as late.”

“Sure. You come on by.
Whenever
.” That snark was back in her tone.

“Old habits, sweetheart. Like yours. I say something you don’t like, you say so and we’ll talk. Otherwise, I cut to the chase and don’t play games. The soft shit, my history, just got said and I’m over it.” For now.

Bottom lip again caught between her teeth, Amy looked up at him through her lashes and nodded. He could see how she must have looked as a kid and that thing in his chest swelled and his throat tightened. This was way more than lust, and it was both exhilarating and frightening. Dean Chambray didn’t do scared. He tore his eyes away and grabbed his keys.

Randy exited his SUV, parked at the curb a couple of units down, and looked their way as they descended the stairs. He threw a casual wave.

“Randy.” Dean raised his voice a little. His lieutenant ambled over, shambling, loose stride deceptive, as was his size. Randy could move like a cat if he chose.

“Amy Copeland, this is Randy, my right hand. Randy—”

“Blondie. I remember.” The other man cut him off, offering a big hand to Amy, enveloping hers. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you, Randy. I understand you know far more about me than I do about you.”

Well, shit. Dean froze at the subtle threat in Amy’s tone, remembering she had some skill with computers, too. Randy heard it as well and carefully let go of her hand.

Amy smiled brightly, nodded, and stepped around his lieutenant to make her way to the truck. Randy held his eyes for a moment and Dean shrugged. “Later.”

Amy was once again impatiently waiting for him to open the damn door locks. He helped her inside, and this time she allowed it. As they drove to her place he put it out there. “Don’t put your nose into the business, Amy. You won’t find much about me because Randy takes most of the attention off me. But he’s private.”

When she didn’t reply, he tried again. “Part of what we need to agree on, sweetheart. A trust thing.”

Her head turned his way, and he took advantage of the red light to study her face, violet eyes enigmatic, features pensive. “I don’t betray my friends, Dean. Or my enemies. You’ll learn that about me.”

Thinking on that statement all the way to her place, Dean wondered if was possible to take her at face value, tell her everything. But he couldn’t do it, at least not yet. He knew it was a fault, but trusting someone wasn’t an intrinsic part of his makeup, and Randy was the only one he truly trusted, and then only with the business and his real identity. Randy didn’t know the shit that made
Dean. The package felt evenly split between his right-hand man and his woman, and was all he could manage at this point. He was feeling fucking overwhelmed, to tell the truth.

The sun was shining and the city bore up well under it, considering the summer heat would soon suck all the life out of it. They skirted downtown
, and the sidewalks were full of pedestrians, most of them women, dressed in a variety of outfits cut to beat the heat. He would normally be evaluating each one and enjoying the sight, but his attention was taken by the quiet, statuesque blonde sitting beside him. Wishing he knew her thoughts, but content to just be with her, another chapter in his life obviously opening, Dean took her home.

Kissing her goodbye, hearing the locks snick into place behind her
, made him gloomy and he stood, staring at the door until he collected himself. He wanted her in his home, available, easy access, yes, but also to spend time together. He wanted her to make his home their home, a real home, and wrestled with the notion, certain the long-put-to-rest little boy within had suddenly awoken, uncertain if it would make him a better person, or weaken him. In the end he got back in his truck and went to his main office. There was always work to be done, even if it wasn’t always what most businessmen pursued. And it would distract him from this bizarre need to consider domestication … what the fuck was that, anyhow?

Chapter Five

Well, that had been interesting. Interesting? Amy wasn’t certain what words described her day with Dean Chambray. Run over by a steamroller might be closer to the description. So he knew much of what made her tick
, and she knew some of what made him. There was one huge difference, at least she believed there was. Casting an eye at the clock, Amy called Sandra’s number. Time for a confab.

“On my way home now. And you can bring Thai here. I’m too tired to come to your place and leave again later.”

That was Sandra. No questions asked. Amy wanted to talk, she’d listen, but on her terms, being aware one needed to look after oneself in order to help others. Amy sometimes felt the gauche teenager around her friend. She called in the order and checked to see if she had the cash or needed to stop at the bank. She didn’t have credit cards, and rarely used her bank card. She hated the thought of being out there as a byte in the unseen storage units of information compiled by Big Brother and God knew who else. By the time she drove to Sandra’s her friend was home, changed out of her uniform and making ice tea.

“Long day?”

“Pretty much the same. Too many patients, not enough staff. But that new obstetrics surgeon does wonderful work, and his patients heal quicker, get to go home earlier. I like the hospital, overall. Glad we moved here.”

Amy couldn’t resist. “What’s his name?”

Sandra paused, in the process of placing a spicy shrimp in her mouth. “Who? Dr. Wyatt? I don’t know his first name.”

Dropping it, because Sandra really didn’t know, wasn’t playing it coy, they talked a little about upcoming events—a one
-man theatre production in Sandra’s case, a new movie release in Amy’s. They sat on little bistro chairs at a small, round table, inset with colorful tiles outlining a fantastical bird shape. Their plates covered its wildly beating wings and the takeout boxes nearly obscured the body, but she’d seen it enough times to know what it looked like. She carefully set her sweating glass down exactly between the bird’s head and shoulder.

“You still seeing him?” The casual question didn’t hide Sandra’s muted anxiety.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Yah, well, we’ve been together pretty much except for dinner with you. And we’ve been talking.”

Silence. Even the real birds in the miniscule yard Sandra’s home boasted, the manicured beds of flowers and lovingly tended trees making it an oasis, didn’t break the quiet. Amy hurried to fill it.

“I told him. Everything.”

“Okaaay. That’s out of your comfort zone. Trying to chase him away?”

“No, Dr. Freud,” Amy retorted. “The opposite. He’s fucked up, too, and I wasn’t going into this, whatever it is, without putting it out there. It felt right.”

Sandra drank her tea, a tremor visible in her hand. She wiped her mouth with a napkin featuring the logo of the Thai
House. “Felt right, as in you trusted your instincts?”

“Okay, I know my instincts with lovers can be shit. But I read people pretty good. You know that. Even guys. Hell, especially guys, at least the ones I don’t fall into bed with. That’s where I screw up.”

“And this is different how?”

“He hasn’t used it against me.”

“Early days, Amy.” Her friend’s big brown eyes were narrowed, full of concern, and Amy winced. Early days indeed. And if he used it against her it was going to hurt like a mother.

Gathering up her courage and organizing her thoughts,
she continued. “I trust him with it. With my stuff. And he shared, too.”

That had Sandra looking, eyes widening and her mouth opening to close with a snap. “Shared what?”

“I’m not gonna say all his stuff. But his childhood wasn’t any better than mine and he got out with a little help from strangers—sound familiar? He enlisted, and when he got out he, uh, got into business.”

“What kind of business?”

Okay, here it came. Amy didn’t want to say, didn’t know how much she
could
say, so she repeated what Dean said.

“Holy mother! You’re dating another criminal? You know what he does and you’re still seeing him?”

“That’s the least of my worries.”

“I can’t wait.”

Amy didn’t think she’d heard sarcastic Sandra before, at least not with her. She didn’t know what to share first. “We didn’t use protection once.”

Her friend stared
, and to Amy’s amazement, laughed. But there wasn’t an ounce of mirth in that sound. “What are you? Twelve? For God’s sake.” Sandra got up and began to clear the table.

This was probably what having a real mom would feel like, but it was bizarre, Amy decided. They were peers. Nuts. She picked up the remaining evidence of their meal and followed Sandra into the kitchen. They worked in silence for a few minutes, tossing the dregs of the food, wrapping up the good leftovers, stacking the dishwasher.

“There’s more.”

“I don’t doubt it. When you do something
, you do it big, honey. Is he twelve, too? Or just one of those macho men who leave it up to the woman? Hasn’t he heard about sexually transmitted infections?”

Amy had thought about those and hastened to tell Sandra Dean had reassured her on that count. She
was
twelve. She knew she was clean and believed Dean was, too. But if he fucked
her
without a condom … her belly clenched right along with her jaw and jealousy coursed through her veins. Had he lied to her? She didn’t know who she was angriest with at that moment.

“So
, want to tell me the more part?” Sandra sounded resigned and disappointed and Amy’s heart sank. She forgot to be jealous about all the other women.

“I’m sorry, Sandra. When are you going to get tired of picking up my pieces?” She heard the fear of rejection in her voice, and it clogged her throat.

“Never. Now tell me.”

“This is new to him, you know? New to me
, too, but I want it. I want to try it. And I’m pretty sure I want it with him. I feel it, and you said it at breakfast. It’s different. I know there’s more and I want it.”

“With a criminal? A man who ‘forgot’
to use protection.” Sandra’s air quotes looked ridiculous and Amy inexplicably wanted to laugh.

She crossed into the living area and folded herself into a tub chair upholstered in a paisley fabric of warm earth tones. She really needed to decorate her own living room, but all it did was contain her work.

Sandra took a seat on the couch, pulling her legs beneath her, regarding Amy with interest. So she quit stalling.

“I do pick ’em. I know. But he’s up front and real. And he’s competent.”

At her friend’s hitch of breath, Amy knew she’d coined it, so she continued with thinking out loud. “I’m good with him taking charge. It’s a relief. And if I slow down enough to listen and not react, he makes sense. If I don’t like it, he wants to know, so we can talk. No games.”

“Okay. So what’s the catch?”

“I want it all. I want to be optimistic. He keeps thinking in time limits. I called him on it, but I get the sense he’s thinking I’ll fuck up, and he’ll be proven right. It’s a big freaking worry.”

“As far as I know, honey, relationships evolve. They develop and strengthen and weather the bad times. We all have our breaking points and sometimes relationships suffer. But maybe you’re rushing.” Sandra was clearly dialing it back.

“Exactly! Different paces. But it’s weird. He wants me to move in—”

“Whoa. He’s thinking time limited but wants you to move in? I don’t understand.”

Amy hesitated. Sandra wasn’t going to like hearing this part, and she was surprised her friend hadn’t already picked up on it. Probably the possible pregnancy and definitely the criminal part distracted her. Funny how
she’d
honed in on the safety piece, maybe because she could be pregnant, but certainly because of her history, her awareness of the increased risk posed to people who hung out with other people who broke the law.

“I don’t want anyone going through me to get to him.”

“Fuck.” Sandra’s usually pristine language deteriorated badly. “So living with him keeps you safe. While you build this relationship, at least until you find out if you’re pregnant, or until he finds a reason to shut it down.”

“Yup. And it’s insane but I’m going for it.”

“Glad I could clarify it for you. And you
are
insane. Step back, build some space until you can think with your head, Amy. Give it two weeks
away
from Dean. Or at least until you get your period. Or not. Be objective. Don’t keep repeating the pattern.”

Sandra’s plea made total sense. Her friend knew her and understood her. But she’d also said Amy was happy, different. She felt conflicted, desperately wanting to go with her gut yet listen to Sandra too.

“I’ll call Dean. I’ll take a little time.” She didn’t know how long she’d hold out against the need for him, but she’d try.

“Okay, Amy. And just so you know? Whatever your choice, I’m always here for you. Although he might not allow it.”

“That won’t happen, Sandra. He’s arrogant and certain, sure of himself. That’s the appeal, well, part of it.” She couldn’t tell her friend any more about the sex and the incredible pull between them. It felt so personal between her and Dean. “But he won’t control me that way, cut off my friends.”

Sandra didn’t look convinced, yet nodded and offered more tea. But Amy needed to go home and make the call
without Sandra overhearing.
And
get that website finished. There were others to update, too, if she ever sat down and booted up her computer.

“I’ll call you.”

“See that you do!”

Momma Sandra.

****

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s voice was sharp, and she could hear the rumble of male voices in the background. No glasses clinking, or music, so he likely wasn’t in the bar.

“Nothing. Sorry. I didn’t plan to call you, really.” And she hadn’t, when he programmed his numbers into her phone, and stored hers in his fancier one. “I just wanted to let you know I’m having an early night, so I’d catch you tomorrow.” In truth, she hoped to get his voicemail, but this was probably better. Grab the bull by the horns and all that.

“What’s going on, Amy?” Even the sound of his voice, intense and full of appeal, had her pussy dampening.

“I need a little time, Dean.”

“You’ve been talking with Sandra.”

Thinking he was maybe too astute for her own good, she hesitated. If he was going to give her grief over Sandra… “Not about your stuff.”

A beat of silence. “I believe you,” he said quietly. A door closed in the background, but close, and she realized he’d taken the conversation private. “Talk to me.”

“I need a little time, Dean. We met three days ago and you’re talking about me moving in.”

“Because you’re worried about safety. As am I.”

So he was thinking about her, appreciating the shadow he cast might throw over her. Amy wavered. “I should think on this some more. This is my style, jumping in without looking, and drowning.”

“I won’t let you drown.”

No, he’d haul her out and leave her on shore, shipwrecked, desolate. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I don’t chase and I don’t beg, sweetheart.”

“Not asking you to,” she retorted. “Pick me up at eight and we’ll get breakfast.”

Silence. He was going to refuse. Over before it really began. Maybe Sandra was right but she was so scared of losing him, never seeing him again, she thought she’d go to her knees, and clung to the edge of the desk.

“Eight. And I’ll bring the fixings, make you breakfast. But Amy? This is once. Once.”

Okay, so he was bending for her. She didn’t want him to change, didn’t want him to break, but neither did she. She was already rethinking her request, the idea of sleeping alone in her bed vaguely repugnant.

“Amy?”

“Oh, shit. I’m so bad at this.”

Rich, rolling laughter, making her press the cell harder against the shell of her ear, wanting to absorb the mesmerizing sound. Something new about Dean. She’d be learning all kinds of things about him, if she didn’t screw it up. Or if he didn’t.

“Whatever we have going on, sweetheart, this, uh, relationship, isn’t going to follow tradition. I’ll see you at eight.”

The irritating beep of the phone, signaling the call was ended, had her pulling the damn thing from her ear, punching the off button before setting it carefully on the desk. Well, she had her slice of time, to
think
on this
thing
they had, and was now struggling with a wave of arousal and hardly inclined to work, let along think. Was her gut reaction to be trusted? Or maybe the reaction of an organ situated a little higher, in her chest? Romantic love. Who would have thunk it? Her eyes filled and one tear escaped to meander over the curve of her cheek, streaking its salty path across her jaw line to lose its integrity and smudge on her throat. Amy sniffed and blinked back the flood. Scary as shit. Maybe work would help—and pay the bills.