Once Kissed: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family) (5 page)

“It is rather chilly,” she agrees slowly, clearly taken by my wit.

I offer her my arm. “Here. Hang tight until we get inside. I don’t want you landing on your ass again.”

“Um. Thank you.” She motions forward. “This way.”

We cross the lot, and she slips two more times, but I easily keep her from falling.

“Got anything going on tonight?”

“Like a date? No, I’m single.”

It’s not what I mean. But that doesn’t mean I’m not glad to hear it. I mutter a curse when I realize where my thoughts are headed.
Stay on task, asshole.
“So you’re just gonna watch TV or something?”

“I don’t watch TV.”

“You serious? That’s un-American.”

She laughs again. “Law school doesn’t allow much time for anything but studying,” she says. “And now that I’m helping Declan, I’m going to have to work harder so I don’t fall behind. He mentioned that we’ll be keeping late hours in the coming weeks.”

“Yeah. Sounds like this case is going to be one massive headache and an even bigger pain in the ass.”

“It won’t be easy,” she admits. “But if Declan succeeds, it will all be worth it.”

We step into the small archway. Clear glass doors with long brass handles allow a full view into the lobby. Tess punches in the security code on a keypad to the right, causing the doors to click open. We walk inside and move straight to the elevator at the lobby’s center.

I jerk my chin to the opposite door. “Any other way in or out?”

She presses the elevator button. “There are four stairwells, on each corner of the building, that lead to emergency exits in case of a fire or another threat. But they alarm if opened.” The elevator dings and the doors part, but she pauses before stepping through. “You don’t have to follow me up.”

“Yeah, I do. I need to get a look at the layout.” I wave her in. “After you.”

I wait until the doors shut tight before whipping out my phone to take notes. “I’ll need the number to your cellphone.”

“I don’t have a cellphone. It’s not something I can afford at this time,” she says, cautiously.

“ ’Cause of school?”

“Among other things.”

I try to keep my face neutral and not judge. The thing is, she has an iPad. How does she not have a cellphone? “How about a landline? And I’ll need the security code to your building.”

She spits out the digits, watching me program them into my phone. “Does every tenant use the same code to get in?”

“No,” she answers. “Each has a different number programmed specifically for them. It’s a feature so if there’s an issue, the police will know whose code was used.”

“Decent setup.” I pocket my phone, annoyed that none of the other badges bothered to check out the building or ask for the codes. They’re rookies, but that’s no excuse for sloppy work.

“The added security makes everyone feel safer,” she says, keeping her attention ahead.

She seems like she wants to say more, but keeps quiet until the doors open into a small hallway on the fifth floor. “This is the penthouse,” she murmurs.

There are only two doors on this level, separated by about twenty feet. Dark paneling and parquet wood floors run the length of the hall, leading to a small seating area with two chairs and a table at either end. Windows on each side offer views of the surrounding buildings. The place seems nice enough, and at the higher end of the price range, but dental-office boring and bordering on sterile. Except that’s not something to share. “Sweet,” I say.

“It serves a purpose,” she mumbles as she unlocks her door.

Her comment, and the way she says it, raises another red flag. But I don’t say anything yet. Mostly I watch her, trying to get a feel for what’s up.

She waits before opening the door. “Do you want to come in?”

“Babe, you don’t get a choice. I need to make sure I know where everything is in case you ever need me.”

The air between us thickens. “The detective who brought me home last night didn’t think it was necessary,” she says in that cautious way of hers.

“Maybe he wasn’t as worried, seeing how the case is still new. But it’s getting a lot of attention, real fast. Did you see the press lining up this afternoon outside the courthouse?”

“Yes, I saw them.”

“And that’s just the start. Once the trial begins next month, it’s going to be a circus filled with bearded ladies and trapeze artists looking to smoke each other.” I motion in the direction of her place. “So let me do my job, so you can do yours without living in fear.”

“Okay,” she agrees. She opens the door leading into a small foyer and places her purse and keys on an antique table shoved against the wall. “Do you think I’ll ever need you? I mean, do you think Montenegro will target me specifically?”

“I doubt it. But it’s better to be prepared, you feel me?” I march forward. A large living room sits directly in front of me with a dining area and a kitchen to the right. The furniture is all antique, dark like the floors, and just as dull as the rest of the place. There aren’t any pictures on the walls, or vases, or any of that shit girls are supposed to like. It all seems staged and cold. “Did you just move in?” I ask.

She shakes her head, appearing confused. “No. I moved in three years ago when I started law school.”

“Oh. All right. Mind if I open a few doors? Check the closets, that sort of thing?”

“No, that’s fine.”

I scan the area while she removes her coat and walks into the kitchen. “Would you like some water? I’m afraid I don’t have much more than that to drink.”

“No. I’m good.” I motion to the left. “Bedroom that way?”

“Ah, yes.”

“I’ll be right back.” I make quick work of flipping her prissy pink comforter so I can look beneath the queen-sized bed before moving to the walk-in closet and then the bathroom. The bedroom has that same dark furniture, and her closet more of the frumpy clothes she wears, but even that’s limited to a few pairs of pants, blouses, and those damn spinster shoes. The place doesn’t seem right. It’s clean and all that, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.

She says she’s lived here for three years. But there’s nothing of Tess in here. Nothing.

“Is everything okay?”

I glance up to find her standing in the doorway, fiddling with her hands. “All clear,” I answer, my voice monotone.

“Thank you.” She starts to head back into the living room, but then changes her mind and faces me again. “How long will you be here?” she asks.

“I’ll be outside watching the place till Lu takes over at midnight. She’ll take you to the office tomorrow. The detectives there will cover you for most of the day, and either me or one of the other badges will see to you after that.”

“I’m not due in the office until tomorrow afternoon. I have classes.”

“How are you getting there?”

She motions behind her. “Oh, I have a bus pass.”

“You’re kidding.” I take in the apartment. She’s paying at least three Gs a month to live here. Is that the reason she can’t afford a car?

She edges away from the door. “It’s not a big deal,” she says.

I think it is, but don’t push. Any idiot can see she’s nervous. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” She glances down. “I just have a lot of work to do.”

“Then I guess I should get out of your way.”

She lifts her chin. “You’re not in my way. It’s nice having you—” She clears her throat. “I don’t get much company,” she admits.

I watch her for a beat, looking at the way she’s looking at me, and thinking I’m in serious trouble. “I’ll have Lu drop you off at your school,” I tell her, my voice lowering. “When you’re done there, call the DA’s office, and either me or another badge will take you where you need to go.”

Her stare averts to the floor again. “That’s not necessary.”

“Yes it is,” I say, my cop face in place.

“All right, thank you,” she says almost silently.

She backs away and walks into the living room, giving me plenty of space as she follows me out. When we reach the door, she offers me her hand. “I appreciate the ride home, and, well, everything. You’ve been very sweet.”

Her voice is shaky. Did I spook her? I examine her face. Nah, that’s not fear etching its way to her sea-glass eyes. It’s something else.

And I like it.

Too much.

Shit.

She starts to withdraw her hand when I don’t take it, but I reach for it before she can lower it. I carefully round her fingers, brushing a kiss over her knuckles, my eyes never leaving hers. “You’re welcome,” I tell her.

Her eyes widen as I step away, those perfect lips falling open and that sweet blush coloring her cheeks.

Oh, yeah. I’m in serious trouble now.

My back falls against the door. I stare into my open living room without really seeing it. Curran had what? Kissed me? Okay, not really—at least not technically, but I can’t deny it was a romantic gesture.

It was romantic, right?

I lift my hand and smile. For all his bluntness and inappropriate remarks, Curran can be
sexy.
My smile widens as I think about how soft his lips felt against my skin. He didn’t rush the moment, allowing me to feel everything: his warm breath, his loose yet claiming hold, and the roughness of his fingers.

His actions stole my breath and about ten years from my life. I rush to the window and push aside the sheer curtain, watching him march toward his patrol car, his heavy feet leaving prints in the freshly fallen snow and his arms swinging loosely against his sides. He appears relaxed, but that hand so close to his holster tells me he’s prepared to strike—

Holy shit. I’m totally ogling him.

I should be embarrassed. But I’m not, mostly because it feels good to feel good. So instead of starting on the briefs I have due the next day, I return my focus outside.

Curran pauses when he reaches the driver’s-side door and glances up. Like a complete moron, I duck. I slap my hand over my forehead, hoping he didn’t see me. God, why did I just do that?

If it weren’t for the phone ringing, I probably would have stayed there a moment longer. I stand and hurry to answer it. “Hello?”

“Did you just fall?” Curran asks me.

I freeze in place. “Ah, no.”

“Tess, I saw you.”

“Saw me fall?” I repeat, because I have nothing better.

“Fall, dive—I don’t know…
something.
” I hear him shut the door and shift in his seat. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asks. “Then why were you at the window?”

“I…was curious.”

“What were you curious about?” he muses.

“Whether you’d return to your vehicle or take patrol in the hall.”

I don’t have to see him then to know he’s smiling. “If that’s the case, why didn’t you open the door to the hall?”

“I meant the lobby.”

“No, you didn’t.” He pauses. “You were checking me out.”

My mouth pops open. “I was not.”

“Yeah, you were. Like what you see?”

“
What?
You—”

“Scoundrel?” he offers. “I don’t think you’ve used that one yet.”

“I’m hanging up the phone now.”

“Okay. But if you change your mind and want one last look before you go to bed, I could step out and—”

I hang up. My face so hot I could warm bread on it. What did I do? Better yet, what do I do now? I’m seeing him tomorrow—if not sooner. What if it’s sooner? I can’t admit that I was gawking at his bitable ass. I’m a professional—and I’m working for his brother—and I’m an almost lawyer!

The phone rings while it’s still clutched in my hand, making me jump. I punch the button to answer. “Look. I know you probably think you’re the hottest thing ever. But I’ll have you know I have no intention of—”

“
Contessa.
What in blazes are you talking about!”

My hand quivers, and my leg muscles turn to sand. Slowly, I lower myself to the couch before my knees give out. Father’s voice is so laced with rage my voice shakes as I speak. “I’m sorry, Father. A telemarketer called and she wouldn’t stop her relentless—”

“Don’t lie to me, Contessa.”

Anger rushes forward, washing away a bit of my fear. “I’m not lying,” I insist. “Who else would I speak to this way?”

He takes a moment, likely mulling over his response. He doesn’t believe me, but he also doesn’t have any evidence to the contrary. “Watch your tone,” he warns.

I give him a moment to calm, wishing I could simply disconnect both the call and him from my life.
Six more months,
I remind myself.
Graduate, pass the bar, and move on.
That light at the end of the desolate tunnel is within reach. I can’t ruin my chances now.

I soften my voice. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He doesn’t respond, probably because I haven’t groveled enough. But although I depend on him in every aspect of my life, my patience has worn thin following years of being berated. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Spencer Woodworth phoned me today,” he says, not bothering to acknowledge my apology. “He’s asked me to consider donating to his son’s campaign for mayor. You remember his son, young Spencer Woodworth the second, don’t you? He seemed quite taken with you.”

If “taken with me” involves groping and fondling me in his limousine, then I suppose he was. I rub my eyes, remembering how I had to walk seventeen blocks home when I refused to spend the night with him following an event I’d been forced to attend. Spencer-the-second was a douchebag, and I told Father as much. But either he didn’t care or didn’t believe me.

“Contessa, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Father.” Nausea claims my belly as I clutch the soft blanket my stepmother had given me. I know where this conversation is going, and it’s already making me sick.

My family is one of the last of the Pennsylvania blue bloods—posh members of society whose gene lines can be traced back to royalty. The men belonging to this so-called exquisite bloodline are few, and the women even fewer. I’m one of the youngest, and unfortunately, so is Spencer.

“Contessa, do you remember Spencer or not?”

“I remember him well,” I assure him.

He ignores the bite to my tone. “Good. I agreed to the donation in exchange for your presence at his son’s side.”

“I’m sure Spencer would prefer someone else. The last time we saw each other we had a terrible fight—”

“His campaign fundraiser is in three weeks,” he continues, unaffected. “Spencer senior seemed thrilled with the idea. Perhaps you can reignite the spark between you.”

My head falls against my hand.
Don’t. Don’t do this to me again.
“There’s no spark. I told you, he was horrible to me—”

“Then perhaps you should have been a little nicer,” he bites out. “Mallory shall escort you to a boutique one week before the event for a formal dress. Be ready at ten….”

“I
can’t.
I have exams coming up—and, and my duties at the DA’s office have become more demanding.”

“I’ve arranged a private showing,” he continues. If he bothered listening, he’d hear the tears and desperation in my voice.

“Please don’t make me do this,” I beg.

“Quit acting like a child, stop your whining, and do
not
disappoint me,” he snaps. “Your future depends on it.”

When he disconnects, it’s all I can do not to throw the stupid phone.

His comment about my future is meant as a warning so I don’t screw up
his
future.

My father is a wealthy man. His seemingly limitless funds have allowed him to hold prestigious positions and associate with the power elite. Yet it’s never enough. He
needs
to feel important—omnipotent even—someone people seek, admire, and tremble before. It’s sick how he obsessively craves it like a drug, and how little he cares who it hurts and what it costs someone else, especially when it pertains to me.

In this case, he’s dropping cash in exchange for future favors, and for the opportunity to have his daughter seen with a political juggernaut.

As I sit on the couch, the life Father has carefully devised for me plays out like a well-orchestrated movie script: I’ll graduate law school, only to marry some sleazy politician or renowned figure he selects for me. I’ll play the good wife, ignoring my husband’s indiscretions, raising our children with a plastic smile fixed on my face, only to be replaced by someone better and younger when I’m no longer of use. Precisely like my mother’s life had been.

Hmm. What’s that saying? Oh, yes.
Fuck that.

Six more months,
I remind myself.
Just six more and you’re free.

That’s what I tell myself. But as I think about how little I fought and how easily he defeated me, I can no longer be sure.
Jesus,
will I ever be free of this man?