Maybe she’s right. But I don’t tell her that.

She lifts the box and heads for the door, reaching for the handle.

“I should’ve called,” I repeat. I’m trying to keep her here, but when her shattered expression meets mine, I know it’s too late.

She turns just enough to meet me square in the eye. “Don’t bother. I told you, I have enough wrong in my life.”

Chapter 13

Tess

I don’t see Curran for the remainder of the week. But what did I expect? He didn’t follow when I left Declan’s office, nor did he try to stop me from leaving. I told him not to call me, but it’s not because I didn’t want him to. It’s because I’m not sure he ever will.

And it hurts.

Curran adds color to my world. Loud, bold, obnoxious color mixed with arrogance and often disturbing references, but color nonetheless.

He’s also a really great kisser.

Among other things.

Dear Lord, that tongue.

Declan laughs. “What are you smiling about, Contessa?”

I pass him a criminal file and reach for another one, hoping to give my cheeks a moment to cool. “I’m just happy your hard work is paying off, and that we’re getting closer to justice being served.”

Okay. I might have laid that on a little thick.

To my relief, he nods as he flips through the file, one of many he’ll be reading this weekend. “Snagging the mistress and finding all that evidence was our big break,” he agrees. “Can’t believe all the crap the search and seizure turned up. I owe Curran big-time.”

I fix the loose pages dangling from the next folder, trying to keep my tone light. “How is Officer O’Brien? He hasn’t been assigned to guard me lately.”

Declan pauses in the middle of stuffing his briefcase. It’s Friday, and almost midnight. Aside from our guards who are waiting in the hall, we’re the only ones here, having just finished the pending motions and depositions. “His testimony took a lot of his time,” he says, carefully. “He needed to debrief with his superiors about the trial and then had to collaborate with the Sheriff’s Department with regard to the multiple arrests and charges that resulted from the altercation following the sentencing.”

It’s what he claims, and I believe him, but I can’t help thinking he’s also making excuses for his brother. I force a smile and pass him the last file, realizing that around Curran, my smiles always seem to come naturally.

—

It’s not until the following day that I finally see Curran. It’s late in the afternoon and I’ve spent the day catching up on my law classes. The briefs I had to write took all day. Now I’m rushing to tidy my apartment and prepare for Spencer’s fundraiser.

I open my door to find him waiting in the seating area at the end of the hall. My arms are filled with my recycling and I’m wearing my oldest pair of pajamas—a Hello Kitty set, for heaven’s sake!—while strands of my unwashed hair dangle from the messy bun perched on top of my head.

He’s dressed in dark slacks and a royal-blue shirt that brings out his striking features and spellbinding eyes.

He looks sexy.

Damn sexy.

I don’t.

Dear God, kill me.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” I teeter back and forth awkwardly because hey, I’m clearly not awkward enough. “How are your hands?”

He holds them up. “Good. No warts. That shit really works.”

I trip over my words trying to formulate a decent response—something witty, funny. Yeah, I have nothing. With a sigh, I let my door shut behind me and head to the opposite end of the hall.

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked like that.”

I slow my steps at the approach of his heavy feet. “I’ll be right back.”

“That’s not the point.”

I stop and turn around to face him. “Curran…what are you doing here?”

He surprises me by smiling. “I’m back on duty.” He frowns. “Something wrong?”

Yes. I’m not sure what’s going on. I think you like me, but you won’t talk to me about anything that matters. I can’t get you to open up, even though it seems like you really need to. I want to be your friend, yet I don’t think you want my friendship. And I want to be your lover, but not only when it suits you.

“No,” I answer.

I resume my quick pace until I reach the disposal chute and feed it my recyclables. I fiddle with my hair, for all the good it does, then march back in the direction of my apartment. “I have a fundraiser to attend this evening,” I say when he catches up to walk beside me.

“For Hello Kitty?”

My blush answers for me.

“Just asking,” he says, doing a horrible job of squelching his grin.

I glance down, but despite my embarrassment, my clothes, and my absolute shock to find him here, I can’t hide my smile. I’ve missed him and his stupid jokes. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” he tells me, his voice gruff.

My eyes widen. Slowly, I walk back to my apartment with Curran close beside me. He follows me inside and turns the deadbolt, stopping in my living room.

I stroll into my kitchen and wash my hands. It’s when I’m drying them that I realize he’s staring at the hideous dress my father bought me. I draped it over the couch when the dry cleaning service dropped it off earlier. I didn’t think to hide it. But maybe I should have.

He lifts his chin. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I almost lie because it’s just that ugly. “Yes.”

“Oh,” he says like it pains him.

“You don’t like it,” I say, not that I’m surprised.

“No, it’s a nice dress. We buried my Grammie—God rest her soul—in something just like it.”

Of course he did. Of course…

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I…” I rub the back of my neck, feeling uneasy. The stress of my classes this past week and the late hours working with Declan have taken their toll. But it was the constant calls from my father that pushed me to my breaking point. He’s phoned twice a day, sometimes more, to “help” me become better acquainted with Spencer. He told me his likes, dislikes, favorite political influences, even the way he prefers his coffee in the morning—no, that wasn’t a hint or anything.

My father doesn’t know my favorite color, nor does he care. But he made certain I knew Spencer’s. Blue. No wonder he’d selected that hideous dress.

“Tess?”

I drop my hand away, detesting the awful way my voice shakes when I speak. “I hate the dress, Curran. I don’t want to go to this function. And I think Spencer Woodworth—my date for the evening, and Philly’s probable next mayor—is a complete and utter asshole.”

I’m certain Curran will laugh, or poke fun at me or Spencer. But all signs of humor are lost from his face.

“So why are you going? And why the hell are you wearing that dress?”

I place my hands on my hips and look down. “I have to go. It’s not something I can get out of.”

“Why?”

“I promised.” I didn’t really. It’s more of a forced expectation. But the truth will trigger more questions that I’m not prepared to answer, and I’ve already said enough.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re wearing something that belongs on one of your elderly neighbors,” he bites out. “I mean damn, you have a body that won’t quit and you hide it beneath layers of goddamn tweed and polyester.”

“You like my body?” I’m not trying to redirect him, but it’s the one thing he said that I fixate on. “Even after the weight I’ve gained?”