Mind Sweeper (24 page)

“Ohhhhh, so you are one of
those
.”

“One of what?”

“One of those annoying people who can fix things.”

“Yep. I even sanded my own floors.”

I rolled my eyes. “Now you’re just bragging.”

He laughed and opened his front door for me. The inside was…beautiful, in a guy kind of way. The living room had a fireplace with finished, but empty, bookcases on either side. There was very little furniture, just a well-worn brown leather couch, a wooden coffee table and a TV.

“A little stark, Dalton.”

“Yeah. I haven’t had much time to do anything with the inside, except the kitchen. The furniture is left over from my last apartment, and it’s seen better days.”

“I see you had enough time to go out and buy a huge flat screen.”

He grinned. “A guy has to have a vice or two.”

I walked over to the fireplace. There were two pictures sitting on the mantel. One was of an older woman who had Dalton’s nose and mouth, but her eyes were a dark brown.

“That’s my Grandmother Marie, who raised me.”

I reached for the other frame, hesitating until Dalton nodded and then I picked it up. A woman with long dark hair and a man with Dalton’s eyes stared back at me. “How did your parents die?”

He stared at the frame and I passed it to him. “My parents were murdered. My dad was FBI, and he was working a mob case. They threatened my mom and me, but my father wouldn’t back down. They broke into our house and killed my mom when my dad wasn’t home to protect her. Afterwards he went after the guys who did it, but they killed him, too.”

My throat tightened and I had to swallow hard before I could speak. “I am so sorry. Were you in the house?”

He shook his head and placed the frame back on the mantel. “I was spending the night with my grandmother. She definitely would have liked you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He shrugged. “I just am. Are you hungry?”

I took that as his hint to change the subject. “Yeah. Do you have good takeout around here?”

“Wow, I think you’re a closet sexist, McKinley.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Sounds like you assume just because I’m a guy I don’t know how to cook.”

I shrugged. “I don’t cook very well, so my phone is stuffed with restaurant numbers.”

“Well, I thought I would make dinner, if it’s okay. Do you like chicken?”

“Yep.”

“If I give you a knife, can I trust you to chop up some vegetables? I’d rather not visit Doc again today.”

“Very funny.”

We walked into the kitchen and
now
I was impressed. It was understated and simple, but he had installed stainless appliances that gave it a sleek look. “Good job on the kitchen.”

“Thanks. This was the first room I worked on when I moved in.” He washed his hands and then opened the refrigerator and took out carrots, celery and lettuce. “Can you put together a salad for me?”

“Sure.” I also washed my hands and he set a chopping block and knife on the counter. I chopped while he worked on the chicken at the sink. “So what’s on the menu tonight?”

“Chicken Marsala.”

My eyebrows shot up in shock and he laughed. “My grandmother taught me to cook. She said a man who cooks is a good catch.”

“Your grandmother is a smart woman.”

“Yeah, she was. She’s been gone for three years now, but I still think about her a lot.” He got a bottle of white wine and a container of mushrooms from the refrigerator. “Want some wine before I use the rest of it in the sauce?”

“Sounds good.”

He poured me a glass and then hesitated before handing it to me. “Chop up the veggies before you have too much of the wine.”

“Good Lord, cut me some slack.”

“When you cut me some slack, I’ll cut you some.”

A comfortable silence followed while Dalton floured the chicken and placed it in the skillet and I finished putting together the salad. The whole scene was a bit too domestic, though, and my panicky flight mechanism kicked in. Then Dalton gazed at me with those ridiculously gorgeous turquoise eyes and I knew I was a goner.
Damn pheromones.

When the food was ready, we sat down to eat at his kitchen table, since he didn’t have any dining room furniture. Dalton waited expectantly while I took my first bite of chicken. The wine and mushroom sauce was just right. “It’s delicious.”

He grinned. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Sorry. You are a man of many talents.”

“You have no idea.”

His eyes danced, but his tone made me take a large gulp of wine. It did little to calm my nerves.

The conversation turned to more mundane things once we started eating, and I had no trouble cleaning my plate. I sopped up the last of the Marsala sauce with a piece of bread and sighed, replete.

“Do you want some more?”

“No, I’m good. It was excellent.”

He stood and reached for the plates. “How about some ice cream for dessert?”

I never pass up ice cream. “What kind do you have?”

“Vanilla.”

I shook my head in disgust. “Figures.”

He chuckled and carried the dishes to the sink, rinsing them off and placing them in the dishwasher. “What’s wrong with vanilla?”

“Nothing, other than it’s boring.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a small pan. “Do you like strawberries?”

“Love ’em.” Curious, I walked over to the counter.

He opened the refrigerator and found a container of strawberries. Making quick work of removing the stems and slicing them, he then put a small amount of water into the pan. As the water heated, he slowly added some sugar. After a couple of minutes, he dropped most of the strawberries into the pan and let the mixture simmer. The scent of berries permeated the air.

“Can you get the half-gallon out of the freezer?”

I got the ice cream while he gathered the bowls and spoons.

“This should be good to go.” He scooped generous portions of ice cream in the bowls—a man after my own heart—and then poured strawberry sauce over the top and garnished it with the slices he had reserved. “Enjoy.”

I took my first bite and had to close my eyes when the tart sweetness burst in my mouth. It was better than I could have imagined. After I swallowed, I opened my eyes and found him watching me intently.

“I love the way you savor food, Kyle.”

“Food is a big part of life.”

Living up to my mantra, I practically inhaled my dessert. Dalton offered me the rest of his when I finished the last bite. But I declined.

I rinsed my bowl and put it in the dishwasher, but when I started to clean up, Dalton shook his head. “I’ll get it later. You’re a guest.”

I didn’t have any energy to argue, so I watched him finish his dessert.

“Why did you become a cop? Because of your dad?”

“No,” he answered much too quickly. There were definitely some unresolved daddy issues for Dalton, but the frown on his face said now was not the time to delve into them.

He took a deep breath and continued. “My grandmother worried about me not having what she called a ‘positive male influence’ in my life. She signed me up for a police department program where a kid was paired up with a cop and they spent time together. Kind of like a Big Brother program.”

I nodded for him to continue.

“I was assigned to Sergeant Manny Wilcox, a burly, middle-aged guy who epitomized every cop stereotype. Loved to eat and throw back a couple of drinks at the end of each shift. But there was something honorable and amazing about Manny. He didn’t believe much in God, he had seen people do too many bad things over the years. I would say his religion was taking care of the people on his beat.”

“So he was like a father figure to you?” I stifled a yawn that snuck up on me.

“More like a crazy uncle. But after spending time with him, I knew being a cop was what I wanted to do.”

I yawned again.

He smirked. “Am I boring you?”

“Sorry, no. The day is just catching up with me.” I smiled apologetically.

He reached over the counter and ran his thumb along my lower lip. “Your lips are red from the strawberries.”

My eyes bugged and I struggled between leaning toward him and backing away. He must have sensed my hesitation.

“Don’t worry, Kyle. I’m not going to rush you. But, trust me, this is going to happen at some point. I’ve known since the day we met, when we argued, that we would end up together.”

I stood there speechless for maybe the first time in my life. All right—Jean Luc and Misha would definitely say it was the first time.

“Go sit on the couch, I’ll just be a couple of minutes cleaning up. Turn on the TV if you want.”

I walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, TV the furthest thing from my mind.

I should jump him. Hell, normally I was the pursuer. But there was something different this time. My warning bells kept clanging in the back of my head for some reason. I yawned yet again. I was slowly slipping into a food coma. I closed my eyes. I would rest them for a little while until he came in. Then we would talk or something.

* * *

I screamed. Hands gripped my shoulders and I screamed louder.

“Kyle! Wake up! You’re safe.”

My eyes shot open. Dalton was holding me. I took a deep breath. I was in Dalton’s living room, not the dark room I couldn’t escape. It was that dream again. Dalton reached over and pulled a blanket from the back of the couch to cover me. I was going to protest until I realized I was shaking uncontrollably.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.

My gut reaction was no, but I didn’t want to handle this alone, and confiding in him felt scary but right somehow. “I’ve been having a recurring dream where I’m held captive in a dark place. I can’t see much of anything, except a light streaming through a slit in the wall. In the background I hear noises, and I know he’s coming for me.” My shaking increased and Dalton tucked the blanket up around my shoulders.

“Do you know who he is?”

“No. I just know he’s going to hurt me. The whole thing is extremely detailed. It feels like a real event instead of a dream.”

He sat quietly for a minute reviewing what I said. “Are you afraid you’re seeing the future?”

“Yes,” I whispered, as if saying it too loudly would make it come true.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He hugged me to his chest and my heart started pumping hard for other reasons.

He took a deep breath. “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“What did I do?”

He stared down at me, but didn’t say a word.

“Well?”

“Shut up, Kyle.”

“Wha—”

Before I was able to issue a brilliant comeback, his mouth covered mine. His lips were as yummy as I remembered and his tongue was begging for entrance.

I was in deep trouble.

Chapter 25

I opened my lips eagerly as his tongue slipped in and played with the roof of my mouth. I sank further into him. He moved the blanket and ran his hands down my arms, which for some ridiculous reason had suddenly turned into erogenous zones. I would probably self-combust when he touched my girly parts.

I moaned and threw my tongue into the mix, jousting with his. After a few more inspired tongue-tangling moments, he pulled back.

“What are you doing?” I whined.

“We need to stop now if you don’t want this to go further.”

“Don’t stop.”

He cupped my face with his hands and his gaze bore into mine. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Galahad, you’re not deflowering me. Let’s get it on.”

He laughed and hugged me tight. For a second my chest expanded and ached. But I wouldn’t think about that right now. I wanted sex and I was going to get sex.

He stood, holding out his hand, and I clasped it, no hesitation. He led me around the couch and down the hallway. At the second door, he pulled me inside and kissed me like a madman. I returned the favor, and after a couple of seconds, pushed back and laughed.

“Dalton, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He smiled wickedly. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“Really? And what did you have in mind?”

He stepped toward me and I retreated. His eyes took on a predatory glint as he stalked me around the bed. Within seconds—okay, I wasn’t trying very hard to escape—he grabbed me around the waist and tossed me on the bed.

“You’re a brute!”

“Brute?” His one eyebrow rose. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know.”

He stared at me for a second. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.” But my voice cracked as I denied it.

“Kyle…”

“Fine. I read it in a book.”