Curran crosses the room to stand in front of me. “You didn’t gain weight. You gained curves. Men, real men, like curves, not fucking angles.”

I place my fingertips over my smiling lips. “Swearing aside, that’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Good,” he says. “Come here.”

There’s no hesitation. I go to him easily, greeting lips as eager for me as mine are for his. Curran lifts me, carrying me to the couch and placing me on his lap.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he gasps, before quickly returning to attack my mouth.

My hands link around his neck and my teeth graze his jawline, nibbling their way across and stopping below his ear. “Okay,” I whisper, biting on his lobe.

He curses. Twice. His grip to my hips tightening. “Scratch that. We can’t do more than this.”

“Mm-hmm.” So I do more of this.

“I have to be ready if something happens,” he mumbles.

He startles when my tongue slips inside his ear.

“We can’t get naked,” he insists through gritted teeth. Or at least he tries to.

He pulls me back to his mouth, this time more fiercely, his heart ramming hard against his rib cage and his hand skimming up to knead my breast.

My phone rings. Curran ignores it. I do, too.

But I shouldn’t.

The voicemail feature booms with Spencer’s voice. “Hello, Contessa. It’s Spencer, your date for the evening, but you probably already know that.” He laughs in that rehearsed way of his. “I look forward to seeing you. I’m expected by seven, so kindly be prepared by six-fifteen—oh, and Contessa, be prepared for a long night. I’m sure you have suitable lingerie you can surprise me with.”

He disconnects then. His call was brief, but the damage is done.

Curran pulled away at Spencer’s reference to a “long” night. Yet it’s Spencer’s final comment that sparks his fury and deepens his scowl. “What the hell is that about?”

His sudden anger catches me off guard and adds to the humiliation triggered by Spencer’s call. I slip away from his lap and stand, crossing my arms.

I try to offer an explanation, but I can’t find any words to justify Spencer’s disgusting remarks. Probably because none exist.

“Are you sleeping with him?” Curran demands, rising to his feet.

I raise my chin. “No.”

“But you plan to. Tonight, I take it?” He scoffs. “Come on, Tess. Don’t look at me that way. You asked for honesty. So I’m telling you the truth when I say I haven’t been with anyone since you. Don’t you think you owe me the same truth back?”

“I’m not going to sleep with him. I told you, I don’t even want to go to this function.”

“But you’re going, with some guy you claim is an asshole, knowing he’s expecting a lot more than your company.” He motions to the dress. “Did he pick that out for you?”

This time, it’s my anger that flares. “What are you accusing me of?” He squares his jaw. “I’m not some hired escort, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“No, I’m not. But let’s not pretend that any of this makes sense. You’re a grown woman. If you don’t want to attend this thing, don’t. If you don’t want to be with a man, you say no. If he shows, and you don’t want him here, I’ll throw his ass out on the street. And I could give a shit if he becomes the president of the goddamn world.”

He means well, but he doesn’t understand what could happen if I don’t attend this fundraiser. Five more months, I remind myself. Only five more months. “It’s not that simple, Curran.”

“Yes it is, Tess.” He closes the distance between us and strokes my chin until I meet his gaze. “Call him back. Tell him you’re not going. And stay with me.”

I swallow the lump building in my throat, but it does nothing to ease the sting in my eyes. “I can’t. I promised.”

His hand drops away. “Yes, you can. You just won’t.”

He marches away from me. I call to him, my voice pleading. “Curran.”

He stops directly in front of the door. “You don’t owe me an explanation or a commitment. But I don’t need to hear lies. You have a choice. If you’re choosing to be with him, it’s because you want to.”

I wait for him to shut the door before I allow the first of my tears to fall.

Chapter 14

Curran

The first thing I do when the limo pulls into the lot is run the plates. Turns out Tess’s date didn’t just rent this thing, he fucking owns it. His driver parks directly in front of the rear entrance to Tess’s building, making it easy for his boss to head inside. But instead of escorting Tess down, or sending his damn driver for her, he slips out to smoke.

He barely glances at her when she walks out—too busy finishing his cigarette and yapping on his phone.

He half-waves at her, laughing at whoever he’s talking to. She lifts her chin, her eyes briefly meeting mine. There’s no trace of her smile or her glasses. She has her hair up, she must be wearing contacts, and she has my dead Grammie’s dress on beneath her wool coat. What gets me is how pale she seems—no color to her cheeks except for that stuff girls add to make them look less pasty.

But that doesn’t make her less beautiful.

For some other guy.

Who isn’t me.

Fuck.

The driver hurries out to open her door, but she’s already wrenched it open, her scowl fixed on her idiot date. Not that he notices or probably even cares. He talks for ten more minutes before finally disconnecting and gracing Tess with his presence.

I crank the engine of my truck and wait for a count of ten before tailing them. The last thing I need is to think about what he’s saying or doing to her in the backseat as I follow them downtown. But I do, because I’m not pissed enough she’s with another guy.

She could have walked away and didn’t. But the more I think about how defeated and tired she seemed, the more this whole thing bugs the shit out of me. Something’s wrong with all of it. Yet even though I’m a cop, and despite all our time together, Tess doesn’t trust me enough to tell me why…probably because I haven’t done the same in return, but that’s different. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

It takes a while to reach the hotel. It’s one of those swanky places with columns in the front and walkways so white and clean, I could lick them and refresh my tongue.

I speed ahead and angle my truck into the lot across the street, snagging a spot at the end where I can catch all the action going down. That asshole, her date for the evening, steps out of the limo from a different door than he went in and waves to the crowd.

Either they switched seats before he climbed out or something happened on the ride down. I hope it’s the former, because the latter makes me want to cross the street and break him in two.

I drum on the steering wheel. Jealous much, dipshit?

He helps Tess out, then presses his hand against her back, only to lower it down to her ass. It riles me more than it should—not just because of what he does, but how he does it: sly, like he owns her and is showing her as much. Despite where his hand wanders, his fake political face greets a group of higher-ups heading his way.

He leans into Tess and whispers something. She shrugs hard, trying to shake his hold. He laughs. I’m not sure if it’s for show or if he’s laughing at her expense. Either way, he keeps his hand on her when it’s clear she doesn’t want him to.