Don't Call Me Hero (24 page)

“Sorry, I should have called first.”

“It’s fine.” I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel. “Julia’s helping me with a grant proposal.”

David looked between Julia, me, and at all the groceries spread out on the counter top. Julia arched an eyebrow as if daring him to challenge my explanation.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Are we still good for tonight?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I just wanted to drop off the extra set of keys for the cop car in case I forget and bring them home tonight.”

“Cool man. Thanks.”

“And if this rain keeps up, I could drop the car off at your apartment in the morning instead of City Hall.”

“It’s fine. I can walk.”

“Are  you sure? I know how you feel about getting wet,” he grinned. “Delicate flower that you are.”

“Very funny,” I snorted.

“Okay, well I’ll let you two get back to your dinner then. Sorry again for barging in. It was nice seeing you, Julia.”

“Always a pleasure, David.” Julia smiled tightly.

With a tip of his patrolman’s hat, David left.

Julia took a sip of her wine and set her glass on the kitchen counter. “What did he mean he knows how you are about getting wet?”

I picked up the butcher knife and resumed dicing the onion. “It’s an inside joke.”

She hummed and looked unconvinced. “Maybe I should have a chat with Chief Hart about David’s professionalism. He wouldn’t want another lawsuit.”

I rolled my eyes. “It was just a joke, Julia. Cops do that; we joke around.”

“And why is he working your shift tonight?” she pressed. “You didn’t do this because of our dinner, did you?”

“Nope. David offered to switch shifts once a week with me so I can actually have a social life.”

“He
volunteered
to work third shift? Out of the kindness of his heart?” She arched an eyebrow.

“He’s a good guy.”

She made another humming noise and took another sip of her wine.

“What?” I set the knife down a little harder than I had intended, and it made an ugly clanging sound. All of her noises and the looks she was giving me were starting to become aggravating. “You think he has an ulterior motive?”

“Not to be cynical, dear, but people usually only go out of their way to accommodate others when there’s something in it for them.”

“Like you and the dream catcher?” I pointed out. “And this grant application?”

Her lips thinned, but at least the humming noises had stopped.

“Seriously, there’s nothing going on with me and David. He’s just a good guy.” I licked my lips. “Besides, it shouldn’t matter to you if there was. There’s no anti-fraternizing clause in my contract.” It was admittedly a little pathetic, but I was purposely baiting her.

“Don’t play games. You know how I feel about that.” Her caramel eyes narrowed, and before I could react, her fingers were weaving themselves under my ponytail and tugging hard until my scalp felt the pull. My head jerked to one side from the violence of the action. I felt her canines rake down the sensitive flesh of my neck, and her breath was warm and wet on my skin. “I
will
mark you again, Detective.”

I could hardly manage an embarrassing whimper.

She released her tight grip and my hand immediately went to my scalp to check for bleeding or other injuries. “Damn it, Julia,” I growled. “Do you have to be so rough?”

She smirked, dark and knowing. “I don’t think you’d like me half as much if I were gentle. You might lose interest if I treated you as though you were constructed from porcelain.”

“I’m not a masochist,” I grumbled, still rubbing my head.

She arched a defiant eyebrow. “You like the punishment, Cassidy. I can read it on your body as though it were written in black permanent marker. The only question I have is
why
you feel the punishment is warranted.”

“Do you want to stay the night?”

Her eyes widened. I was sure she hadn’t expected that question. “Oh, I …”

“You know, to make sure the dream catcher works.” I couldn’t help the smirk that came unbidden to my lips. Julia was usually unflappable, but my invitation had brought a visible blush to the apples of her cheeks. Despite how many times we’d had sex, we’d never had a sleepover—nothing planned, at least. I’d fallen asleep in her bed on accident.

Julia wet her lips. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Are you going to make me beg?” I huffed. She was clearly stalling.

“I … I suppose I could stay. To make sure the dream catcher does its job,” she was quick to add.

I pushed back my empty plate with a satisfied sigh.  “Damn, Julia. If I was as good of a cook as you, I’d weigh three hundred pounds.”

She finished the remaining bites on her plate and dabbed the corners of her lipsticked mouth with a paper napkin. “It’s called
nutrition
, Miss Miller. I don’t suppose they taught you about the food pyramid in school?”

“I’m sure they did, but I was too busy eating glue to pay attention,” I winked.

I sipped wine out of a pint glass. I wasn’t a big wine drinker; I preferred beer or hard liquor, but I’d bought the bottle on a whim during my last trip to the grocery store. I let the spicy, dry flavors wash over my tongue. From the way Julia had helped herself to a second glass, I sensed that I’d made a good choice.

My apartment was filled with the scent of food that hadn’t been prepared in a microwave, and Julia sat beside me: eyes mirthful, white teeth flashing under painted lips, with her raven hair styled to frame her classically beautiful features. I could get used to this. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her look so beautiful. But as I was quickly realizing, every new thing I learned about the guarded city attorney revealed a new, beautiful side.

“What?”

I blinked once. “Huh?”

“You’re looking at me like I’ve grown a third eye.” Julia’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I shook my head hard. “Sorry. My mind was wandering.”

She set down her nearly empty glass. “Perhaps you should try to get some sleep, dear.”

“Yeah, uh, I think you’re probably right.” I stood up awkwardly from the island countertop. Over the past two days, I’d barely had half a dozen hours of sleep. “I’ll clean all of this up first,” I said, motioning to our dirty plates and utensils.

Julia waved a dismissive hand. “They’ll still be here in the morning. Now go get ready for bed.”

When I emerged from the bathroom, teeth scrubbed and face washed, Julia was in the kitchen, elbow-deep in sudsy water
.
She had shed her clothes from the workday. Her black pencil-skirt and cream-colored dress shirt were now carefully folded on the cushion of the overstuffed easy chair in the nook that I referred to as the living room. A delicate demi-cup lace bra sat on top of the pile.

I swept my eyes up her slender, toned legs, now bare, up to the barely visible underwear that peeked out from the bottom hem of one of my military-issued T-shirts. The soft material contrasted with the sinfully sexy white and black underwear. The shirt wasn’t ill-fitted, but it hung more loosely on her thin frame. She was smaller than me, narrower shoulders and more feminine curves where I was long, sleek, and lean.

“That shirt has never looked so good,” I openly admired.

Julia spun on naked heels, looking startled as if she hadn’t heard me come out of the bathroom. The surprise faded when she realized my praise. She smiled softly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t really come prepared for a sleepover.”

I crossed the room, dissatisfied with the distance between us. I toyed with the bottom hem of the short-sleeved shirt. “Maybe I just mind that you’re wearing clothes at all,” I husked, feeling braver than usual.

“That’s a nice line,” she smirked. “Been thinking about it long?”

“It just came to my head. You must be particularly inspiring.”

I regarded the kitchen sink, filled with hot water and soapsuds.  Everything about the setting felt overly domestic: the homemade meal, Julia doing the dishes, and her wearing my clothes. I should have been panicking, but instead I found the situation comfortable. Natural.

“I thought you said those could wait until morning?” I said, nodding to the half-cleaned dishes.

“You question me too much, Detective.” Julia’s hands found the straps of my a-frame tank top. They were damp from the dishwater. She gave a sharp tug on the clothing, and my breath caught in my throat. “And you’re also wearing too much.”

+ + +

Outside, someone’s dog barked incessantly. Inside my apartment, Julia’s breathing came in quiet, deep inhalations that told me she was sleeping. She slept soundly, but for me, sleep never came so easily. My work schedule had altered my already unpredictable sleep patterns, and I didn’t want to dream tonight. But watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Julia’s chest was sure to lull me to sleep eventually.

Julia slept on top of the covers because of the muggy heat in my un-air conditioned apartment. I was sure this was as close to roughing it as the city prosecutor ever got. The moon cast strange shadows on her bare legs—dark stripes from the dividers of the window over my headboard.

I traced my hands softly down the curve of her hip. My touch was soft so as to not disturb her sleep. I traveled the distance from the twisted narrow waist up a gently swelling thigh, down a jutting hip that made its presence known even beneath the satin of her underwear.

Julia stirred and I pulled my hand away. She rolled over on the mattress and faced me. Her dark eyes looked confused. “You’re still awake?”

I allowed myself an unnecessary, indulgent touch and brushed a sweep of hair away from her forehead. “I’m fine,” I quietly insisted. “Go back to sleep.”

Her eyes fluttered closed once again. She looked young without her dramatic makeup. She never looked overdone, but without the smoky eye shadow or the crimson lipstick she looked human. Mortal. Vulnerable.

“I can feel you looking at me,” she said with eyes still closed. “Stop that.”

“Where should I look instead?” I posed.

“How about the backs of your eyelids?” she suggested.

I ran the tip of my index finger over her lips and lightly grazed the small white scar that dipped into the top of her lip. “Tell me this story.”

She gently grabbed my wrist and pulled me away from her scar. Our enjoined hands rested in the valley between her breasts. “Will you tell me about yours?” she countered.

I shut my eyes tight and felt a single tear escape the corner of my eye. Her fingers reached up collect it before any others could threaten to follow.

“Another time, perhaps,” I heard her say.

I rested my head on her sternum and kept my eyes closed. I felt raw and vulnerable, something that didn’t settle well with me. I fought the instinct to run, like I’d done on the Fourth of July when she had observed my nightmares. The way she held my hand was enough to make me stay.

She cleared her throat, and it reverberated through her chest. “I was six,” she started. “It’s probably my first memory, or at least the one that’s stuck with me. I was standing at the end of the pier at my family’s cottage, pretending to fish or some nonsense.”

A choked laugh bubbled up my throat and escaped before I could stop it. I could practically feel the heat of a pointed glare digging into the top of my head. “I can’t even imagine what you find so funny,” she said sternly.

I rested my chin against her collarbone. Her eyes were dark. “I’m having a hard time visualizing you, even as a child, doing something so rustic as fishing.”

Her nostrils flared and her mouth curved down. “I grew up in northern Minnesota, Miss Miller. I climbed trees and tore the knees of my jeans and went fishing with leeches just like any other child. I wasn’t always like this.”

I nearly asked her what had changed her, but I imagined that was another story for another time, and one she wouldn’t share so freely.

“Is it safe for me to continue without further interruption?” she asked.

I smiled, nodded, and pressed my lips tightly together.

She sighed and annoyance crept into even the exhale of breath. She raked her fingers through her dark locks, pushing them away from her face before continuing.

“My brother Jonathan wanted to use the fishing pole, but I told him he was too young and too small. We fought about it, and he pushed me.” She touched her fingertips against the small, white scar.

I wanted to jump in with another question. I hadn’t realized she had any siblings. But knowing her annoyance at being interrupted, I saved the building list of questions for later.

“I fell and hit my mouth against a metal pole on the pier.” I felt her shrug beneath me. “It could have been worse, I suppose.”

I drummed my fingertips against her collarbone. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You, opening up like that.”