“Just stay put.” I flexed my hands on the wheel. “I’m on my way.”
A pleased smile I heard in his voice brightened his tone. “I’ll be here.”
Fumbling for more conversation, I blurted, “Where are you staying?”
“The barracks.”
“We have plenty of room.” I dusted off my manners. “You’re welcome to stay with us while you’re here.”
Boaz hesitated a moment. “Are you sure you want me underfoot?”
My fiancé of twenty-four hours sleeping down the hall from me? Not ideal. But this way I could keep an eye on him while ensuring he couldn’t return the favor. With proper incentive, he might even talk up his cases and give me an idea of what Cass and I were dealing with if the killer wasn’t finished in my town.
“It’s no trouble,” I promised him in a rush. “No trouble at all.”
Ending the call, I began plotting my route back to the house after I parked Cass’s new ride in its spot. Thankfully, I had watched the vampire slinking around more than once, which meant I stood a chance of sneaking into the house without Boaz catching me wearing my hunting gear.
Now I just had to figure out an excuse for how I beat him inside and change clothes before he got his hopes up he was marrying a dominatrix.
Four
The front door on the old Whitaker place creaked open, and Boaz straightened from his lean. The motorcycle behind him, Wilhelmina, didn’t budge. She was built like a brick house, and it had been love at first sight across the crowded dealership floor. Too bad women didn’t come with operations manuals. Maybe then he’d have more luck understanding what made them tick, or how he always managed to tick them off.
The curvy blonde who stood in the doorway was just his type, which was a good thing, given she had agreed to marry him. But he wasn’t sure how to proceed. His usual charm worked, and it worked well, but this—they—were forever. He felt that deserved something more real. It deserved effort.
Gathering the takeout bags off Willie’s handlebars, he set his smile into familiar lines then approached.
“Sorry I kept you waiting.” Adelaide clutched the halves of her robe together at her throat. She must have decided to slip into something more comfortable. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
Happy for an easy topic of conversation, he asked, “How did I miss you?”
“I took the back way in and parked in the garage. It’s way over on the other side of the house.” She gathered her robe even higher, right up to her pointed chin. “I wanted to change before I let you in, but I didn’t want to leave you standing out here either.”
As she rocked back on her heels, he noticed her choice in footwear. He was staring, but he couldn’t help it. The leather boots she wore would hit below her knees. He knew the style. They were the lace-up kind that made a statement, usually a sexual one, but on her he couldn’t puzzle out what they meant. She wore them underneath a ratty green housecoat that fit what he knew of her personality. The sultry/slumpy combination confused the hell out of him.
Unless… Had she been here the whole time?
Boaz didn’t know her well enough to call her on a lie he wasn’t certain she had told, and it wasn’t like he was sharing his life story with her all in one sitting, so he didn’t push her for explanations.
Still, the flush in her cheeks fit with a woman who had run down the stairs to greet him, convincing him she had been up in her room. How she got there, now that made him curious. What had she been up to before he interrupted her night? The slight breathlessness didn’t come from her attraction to him. So far, she had shown none. That worked for him. For once, he wasn’t eager to jump straight to the physical.
“No problem.” His gut knotted so hard at the thought of sex, the smell of takeout made him want to run to the nearest bush and vomit. “I wasn’t waiting long.”
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Two words stuck on repeat in his head. Damn it. At this point, he couldn’t tell he if he meant them for her or for Grier or for them both.
Maybe he meant them for himself too.
Goddess, I don’t want to be here. I want to go home. I want to pretend none of this happened—not Amelie’s arrest, not her disownment, and not this desperate gambit to fix it—and for our lives to go back to normal.
This must be the karma he had been warned so many times would jump up and bite him on the ass one of these days. Well, sure enough, it had finally sunk its teeth in him and was having a good chew at his expense.
“That smells delicious.” Adelaide retreated behind the door, only her hands and head visible, but it didn’t erase the memory of those boots or the light dust coating them. As if she had worn them out tonight. “Let’s eat in the living room. The kitchen feels empty these days.”
Medical bills had drained the Whitakers’ coffers until a rundown house, a rare beauty in its day, was all they had to show for their station. They were an old family, a well-respected one, and most importantly—they were too poor to be picky.
“Works for me.” He carried the food in and waited on her to direct him. “Do you have any beer?”
“I don’t drink.” A slight hesitation then she cleared her throat. “Beer, I mean.”
So much for the hope alcohol might numb him to this required courtship, not that she was bad company. Her father was nice enough, but Boaz had yet to see the man sober. He struck Boaz as a scotch or whiskey drinker. Boaz should have asked for that instead of a beer, but it was too late to backtrack now.
“That’s fine.” He flashed a practiced smile and received the expected response in the corresponding curve of her lips. “Water?”
“We might be poor,” she said, shutting the door behind him, “but we can afford sweet tea for guests.”
Kicking himself in the ass, he faced her. “That’s not what I—”
“I’m kidding.” She tucked the robe tighter until she became an Adelaide burrito. “Three doors down on your left is the living room. I’ll grab what we need and meet you there.”
Afraid he might trip over his tongue again, he kept it simple. “Okay.”
On his way past the staircase, he couldn’t help noticing more of the dirt that dusted her boots had left prints on the carpet runner. More proof she had been upstairs. The rest of the house was spotless, though he doubted they could afford help for the cleaning. That told him she was no stranger to hard work. Anything this family had, he felt certain was owed to Adelaide. And here she was, with him, ready to sacrifice herself yet again. He respected the hell out of her for that, and he hated himself a little more for taking advantage, but not enough to halt the proceedings.
The living room was shabby but comfortable, and its threadbare furniture put him at ease.
You’re a bull in a China shop.
That was his mother’s go-to description of him, and she hadn’t been wrong when he was a teen, forever bumping into her knickknacks and knocking over her doodads. The army helped him grow up, and the Elite polished him to a shine, but he still hated elegant spaces decorated with breakables and baubles that served no purpose but to spark insecurities in visitors.