In truth, it only makes me feel worse.

I wait in the small hall, barely moving, until Curran finishes his sweep.

“All clear,” he says.

“Thank you,” I tell him, quietly.

He releases a heavy breath. “I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he tells me again. “I’m sorry.”

I look at him then, trying my best not to cry. “I am, too.”

Another hint of emotion marches along his features before his “cop” face returns and erases any clue to what he’s feeling. “I’ll be outside if you need me until Lu gets here. I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?”

Curran marches past me when I say nothing more, shutting the door tight behind him. But it’s not until I flip the deadbolt that I hear his heavy footsteps stomp in the direction of the elevator.

I am sorry.

Sorry that Curran didn’t spend the night.

Curran

I sit in my car for fifty-four minutes. Fifty-four goddamn minutes, waiting for Lu to show up. It doesn’t seem like a long time, except that it is—long enough to feel like a complete screwup. What the hell is wrong with me? Didn’t I tell Declan I’d keep my distance—keep it all professional? And just this afternoon—when he caught me eyeing her up—I assured him nothing would happen.

Christ.

Every bit of common sense warned me against kissing Tess. Well, where was that common sense when I needed it—when I all but dry-humped her against the wall?

Hell, though. Can you blame a guy? Her laugh, that smile, those legs, and the way her green eyes flare behind her glasses are like magnets hauling me to her. I wanted that mouth so I took it. I also wanted to grip that ass and yank up her shirt and bra so I could tug on her nipples with my—

Every swear word I know shoots through my teeth. Holy Mother above, I could kick my own ass for being this horny. The thing of it is, if I were just horny, I’d head down to the nearest bar, pick up a girl, and take care of business.

So why don’t I?

’Cause you want Tess, asshole.

I run a hand over my face. Yeah. Pretty damn bad, based on that kiss. That angel face of hers gets me every time, even when she’s shaking her head at my stupid remarks. Pissed or happy, stressed or relaxed, Tess is a knockout, and she doesn’t even goddamn know it.

Damn, it felt good to have her body glued against mine. And didn’t she know how to work it, giving me everything back as hard as I took it.

I know she means it when she says she wants to be construed as a professional. Problem is, Tess is a nymph in nerd’s clothing. The night we spent in college didn’t involve that spooning shit or the cuddle time girls are supposed to like. It was rough and fast. We couldn’t get enough of each other. Even when we finally finished, we didn’t cuddle. We more like collapsed in a mess of sweaty limbs.

Something occurs to me, and it hits me like a punch: I want her. But unlike when we were in college, it’s not because she’s a challenge. I like her. She’s smart, and she’s sweet. Yet for all she seems to have going on, something’s way off. The way she eats, how she dresses, and where she lives seem all wrong.

And for all the ways I can describe her, “happy” isn’t one of them.

She never smiles…except maybe around me. That thought shouldn’t make me grin, but it does. I like having that effect on her.

“O’Brien!” Lu bangs her fist against the window. “You gonna sit on your ass with that stupid smile on your face or are you going to give me some kind of report?” she growls.

Shit. I roll down the window. “Why don’t you wave a sign over my head announcing I’m a cop—who happens to be the brother of the DA the mob is targeting—so any perp tracking us can just put a bullet in my head and be done?”

“Because I already swept the area for any unknown cars, called and checked in with our girl, secured the first, second, and, yeah, the other three floors of the building—in other words, did my job—while you sat there on your ass, again, with that asshole grin on your face.”

“Assholes don’t grin,” I counter.

“Fuck you” is her response.

Chapter 8

Tess

“How about this one? Contessa?”

I’m looking in the same direction as Mallory when the boutique owner presents yet another atrocious gown. “It’s fine,” I mumble.

My stepmother sighs dramatically. She resents spending time with me and only dragged me here because my father ordered her to. “Will you at least try to appease your father?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Instead of typing the legal briefs Declan needs, and studying for my exam in Criminal Law, and prepping for my upcoming mock trial.

Mallory eyes me, surprised by my tone given how anything I say will get back to my father. At this point, I don’t care. She’s betrayed me constantly to stay in Father’s good graces, giving no thought to how it affected me, or how badly I needed a supportive parent in my life.

In fact, Mallory married Father six months after my estranged mother’s suicide. We’ve never been close. To her I’m simply a burden to endure in order to belong to a family of prestige.

She never realized what marrying my father would cost her.

At only forty, and twenty years his junior, she is well within my father’s grip. She sits beside me, ramrod straight as he expects, dressed in suits or dresses he selects, belonging to charities and clubs he’s forced her to join, and associating with only women he approves.

While she enjoys certain perks I lack, like a cellphone and a car, they come at the price of being married to a dictator. Yet she stays, holding tight to her lavish home and lifestyle.

“Perhaps something in more classic tones,” she suggests when I say nothing more.

I glance around the shop. Curran would call it an old biddy’s wet dream, or something to that effect. I smile to myself, thinking about all the inappropriate comments that would shoot out of his mouth if he were here.

Mmm. That mouth.

I pass my fingertips along my lips, remembering the sweep of his tongue and how the stubble on his jaw had grazed my skin.

Damn, it was an amazing moment, until it wasn’t.

Sorry, he said.

I shouldn’t have done that to you, he added.

I know he didn’t mean to insult me. Curran isn’t cruel. But his reaction was an emotional blow I didn’t need, and one that really hurt.

God, Curran.

“Are you all right, Contessa?”

“I’m fine,” I answer, keeping my eyes ahead.

Three more gowns. Three more atrocities. “Just pick something,” she hisses when I pass on something that resembles a bicycle reflector instead of a piece of clothing I’d slip over my head. “I have a Daughters of the Confederacy meeting to attend. You know how testy they can be when someone arrives late.”

I fold my hands on my lap and try to breathe. This is the future that awaits me if I don’t break free of my father. “Do you have something more trendy?” I ask the store owner. “Perhaps something in black?”

The poor woman nods, and shuffles to the back of the store. I don’t want to be here, any more than her or Mallory. What I want is to see Curran, even though he may not want to see me.