Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) (13 page)

“You weren’t going to be in it anyway,” he said absently. Her breath sucked in. The shock and surprise he expressed had changed to an internal contemplation, or at least that’s what she thought the distant inward look in his eyes meant. Hell, she didn’t know anything about this man, so she shouldn’t be making any assumptions where he was concerned. Still, he was a nice guy. Nicer now than at the beginning of the seminar. And warm, and sexy, and she so shouldn’t be noticing. Except there was something appealing about that self-confidence. That hidden vulnerability she wasn’t sure he was even aware of. But it was there. That he cared was a bonus. Hell, what was she talking about – it was a huge bonus. She liked him – a lot.

Before she went any further, she stood up and said, “I need food.”

“About time.” He bounded to his feet. “I was in the restaurant when I saw you out here.”

“Ah,” she teased. “So you’re just trying to get me to go inside so you can eat.”

“I could have eaten before,” he said with a smile. “Still, it’s much nicer to eat with someone else.” He reached out a hand for her to take. “Like you.”

She stared at it. It was likely the first time a man had done that. Why had he? Why now? And if she took his hand, was it a commitment? Because it sure felt like it.

*

Weaver reached out
and clasped her hand. She’d taken so long to decide he took the choice away from her. His ego could only stand so much. No one had ever called him an expert in women by any means, but he knew enough to know she was interested, or would be if this whole mess hadn’t blown up in their faces. They’d had a rough beginning and then a rough middle. But when they touched, he could feel their warmth mingling into something new, something exciting. He figured if he could get her to stay for the rest of the week, they might have something worth trying to connect with after that.

But in order for that to happen, she had to take a few steps towards him. And he wasn’t sure she could do that on her own.

Holding his hand could be construed as one of those and proved his point.

Together, they walked back to the restaurant. Every once in a while, he caught her looking at their joined hands. Smiling, he used his other hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear. “Never held hands with a man before?”

When she didn’t answer, he glanced over at her to see a rising tide of color on her neck and face.

“Actually, no,” she replied, the honest pain evident in her quiet words. And still she held on.

P
aris felt the
fool. Her own innate sense of honesty said she had to answer the question, but it felt odd. Just as odd as holding his hand. The heat from his much larger one surprised her. The firm, muscled pad. Large, lean fingers that dwarfed her own much smaller ones. Even his body radiated a warmth she hadn’t expected. She was always cold. Inside and out. She thought it was that she was so skinny. And maybe it was, but he obviously had no problems there. Then, he too was lean, muscled.

She sighed.

“And more heavy sighs.” He laughed, and damn if the sound wasn’t carefree and young.

“Glad you’re in a good mood.” She looked at his laughing mouth and slid a little closer to him, wishing that sense of freedom would rub off.

“Hey, I’m walking with a pretty girl and heading for breakfast, my favorite meal of the day,” he said with a lazy smile. “What’s not to be happy about?”

“Men are so simple,” she said, but she felt better. Lighter. Just a few words of acceptance. Of being wanted. Nice.

At the restaurant, he led her back to the same table where they’d sat before. “Order what you want,” he said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As he headed to the men’s room, she watched his long easy strides. She’d have bet money that he was smiling. The waitress arrived with menus, so she ordered coffee for both of them.

“He’s a cutie,” the waitress said with a big grin. “As soon as he saw you outside this morning, he hopped up and grabbed the coffees and went right over.”

The waitress left, but the envy in her voice had Paris smiling. Nice to think someone was jealous of her. Her own feelings toward Weaver were mixed. And confused. But definitely interested.

Maybe she didn’t understand what she was feeling. This was new and it was something she hadn’t ever felt it before…

Weaver represented something she didn’t comprehend as she’d never been down this pathway before. He was also something she wanted. It was nice he was interested, but would he still be if he knew everything? Probably not. How could he? He’d said he was friends with a lot of cops. That meant he was okay with law enforcement and all they symbolize.

But he was also waiting for Justice.

Another sigh escaped her lips. She was too in many ways.

And she had nothing against cops in general. It was just this one.

The waitress walked back and deposited two cups of coffee on the table before walking away again. Paris barely noticed, lost as she was in her thoughts.

Weaver was right. This cop was the huge problem in her world. She stirred her coffee, staring in the depths, realizing something else she’d forgotten. Sean had been good at reminding her of small truths. Something he’d said a week ago stuck with her. He said,
Giving away your power made you powerless in the face of adversity. Call back your power so at least you are on equal footing.

She
had
given away her power to this man.

He was just a man. He’d only ever been just a man.

She was the one who’d given him the elevated status of being the
bogey
man.

Having the force of the law behind him added to the effect. What she’d been through lent more power to it. She’d already been victimized. Thinking back, she realized she let herself be victimized ever since.

Not fair.

Weaver sat down in front of her. He reached over and clasped his hand over hers. That was when she realized she’d been stirring her black coffee – something that didn’t need stirring – with enough force to make it slop up the sides of the cup. In fact, the saucer was full, too.

She sat back and stared at him. “I gave away my power.”

His gaze widened, but he stayed quiet as if giving her comment due thought. Then he gave a clipped nod. “In a way, yes.”

She dropped her gaze to the table. “It’s a weird feeling looking back.”

“Hindsight always is.”

She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “It’s also painful.”

The waitress arrived to take their orders, but the mood had been broken. Paris didn’t want to bring up the subject again. Though maybe she should speak to Jenna about it.

“Do me a favor,” Weaver asked when the waitress left. “Before you check out, talk to Jenna first.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“She gave you a spot in the workshop, handpicked you for this, I suppose you might say. I think she’d appreciate the respect of hearing it from you firsthand.”

Paris grimaced. That wouldn’t go down well. Still, she’d subconsciously made the decision to stay but hadn’t realized it until he brought it up.

“That would be the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, it would,” she said. “I will speak with her.”

Satisfied, he sat back, looking pleased with himself. As if he believed Jenna would be able to talk her out of leaving, and true enough, she likely would. “I already decided to not leave the workshop.”

Delight lit up his face, and damn it if that didn’t warm her heart, filled some of the cold empty places inside. Maybe he really did care. She grinned, the weight on her chest easing. It was time for something good to happen in her life. Maybe he was the right one after all. Did she dare hope?

“Why?” he asked. “What made you change your mind?”

“You for one. It’s nice to know I’m not totally alone in this. That you’d miss me. Thanks for that. My intuitive flash about having given away my power. Jenna – there’s no way I’d want to have to tell her I wasn’t strong enough to stay,” she say wryly. “That woman is something else.”

Weaver laughed and laughed. “Good reasons.” He leaned forward, holding her hand firmly but gently in his. “Honestly, I wouldn’t want to tell her either.”

Just then their food arrived and they dug in, having moved on to a new step in their relationship.

*

Weaver wondered at
the lightness inside. That sense of relief at her words. Why should he care so much? She was a stranger, really. But a fascinating one. And he was intrigued and attracted. Sure, some of it was professional, but a lot of it wasn’t. It was like seeing an animal in pain and he might just be able to help her. She might hate him for it. This could end with her moving on like his wife had done. Afterwards, she might want nothing to do with him, seeing him only as a painful reminder. He’d helped his wife through a very difficult time and she’d been grateful – but then he’d become part of her negative memories and she needed to move past that.

He sighed. That was his garbage. Not hers and not Paris’s.

“And here I thought you were happy. Instead, you’re sounding depressed all of a sudden,” she said, her gaze intense.

Their eyes met. He wondered if she felt insecure inside and afraid of having read a person wrong. If so…well, it was something he could relate to. Leaning back against the bench seat in a relaxed slump, she looked more at peace. Weaver pondered how far they had come. There were bags under her eyes and her skin missed that wonderful vitality of a good night’s sleep, and yet she wasn’t self-conscious. Or wary. It all seemed to have melted away.

He smiled gently at her. “I’m very happy. And I am proud of you,” he admitted, seeing the flash of surprise in her eyes before she had a chance to cover it up.

“Wow, you’re easily impressed,” she mocked. “I was in the process of running away.”

“But you didn’t,” he reminded her. “And that’s huge.”

Her laughter was light and genuine. Then she glanced at her watch and said, “We’re going to be late if we don’t get moving.”

They stood up, paid the bill, and walked over toward the conference room. As they walked past the elevator, the doors opened to let half a dozen men exit. Law enforcement officers.

She gasped, averted her face, and picked up the pace.

They were going in the opposite direction so the men passed them without even seeing her. Weaver couldn’t see the man she was trying to avoid.

Still, she didn’t run. Reaching up, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Leaning into his touch, she tossed him a thankful grin back.

And damn if he didn’t seem to need that as much as she did.