Your To Take - Connaghers 03 Read online

  He loaded the dishwasher for her, although she kept rearranging things to her satisfaction. “You know how crazy my job is. I haven’t slept in a week.”

  “I know,” she said quietly, but her eyes snapped with dark fire. “I know that you have an important, demanding, extremely dangerous job on which this entire city depends. I’ve never bitched about you being a cop and you know it.”

  “But—”

  She threw up a hand holding a sudsy ladle and shook it at him like a weapon. “There’s a difference between being dedicated to your job and totally neglecting the people who care about you. You haven’t been here, spiritually or mentally, let alone physically, in months. You haven’t called me. You haven’t stopped by for a five-minute cup of coffee. You haven’t given me a hug and kiss on your way downtown. You didn’t even send me a card on my birthday.”

  He winced. Damn, I knew I forgot something.

  “I’ve been going through a major, life-changing event alone without even a warm body to hold on to at night, a trusted ear to whisper my fears and doubts, a shoulder to cry on. I quit my job, left all my friends and my career, to open up my own business. I’m putting in as many hours as you so I can launch my line next month. You can’t be bothered to even stop by for a quickie in between jailing bad guys, but a homeless guy who barely knows my name worried enough about me to track me down simply to say hello in the worst storm in years. Oh, and he had a birthday card for me, one he’d made with his own hands. And what do you do? You bust open his mouth and threaten to break his arm.”

  “He could have hurt you, Vik. I was perfectly justified in searching his things.”

  “Sure.” She nodded pleasantly and walked toward the bedroom, flipping off lights as she went except for a lamp in the living room. “But you didn’t have to hurt him to make your point. It makes me sick to think about how many people have physically hurt him over the years, and the man I care about is now one of them.”

  Elias didn’t want to piss her off, but he was determined to get the truth laid out. “He thinks he loves you. I saw the way he looked at you. Now that you’re so determined to save him, he’ll only love you more.”

  She rummaged in her closet and pulled out a stack of blankets and a pillow. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  How many fucking blankets did the kid need? Damn it, seeing her bed, remembering the last time he’d held her, made him as hard as a rock. He’d been aching ever since he’d laid eyes on her tonight. Watching her pet that kid’s hand and take such good care of him had only reminded him how long it’d been since he’d been on the receiving end of her affection.

  “Are your spidey, super-cop senses blaring again? Because he still doesn’t even know my full name. How could he possibly love me?”

  “You’re gorgeous, Vik, and too tenderhearted for your own good, even when you try to act mean and tough. How could he not love you?”

  Facing him, she curved her lips into a slow, wide smile that made him think uncomfortably of sharks. “So if I’m following your argument, you must love me too. Right? Do you love me, Elias?”

  His mouth went dry, his tongue swelled into a thick wad of cotton, and his stomach churned on that brutal chili she’d made. God, he hated it when she did that—leading him right into the trap she’d laid for him, just like he was on the stand and she needed to disprove his credibility.

  His hackles rose. “Are you sure you don’t have ice water running in your veins? No wonder those bastards at your law office loved you so much. Vicki Connagher can get anybody out of jail, no questions asked.”

  She shoved the blankets into his arms and slammed the bedroom door in his face. “I love you too, Elias.”

  You can always come home to me.

  Jesse had never dared to let the dream play out in his mind, that she might take him into her home, family and life. That she’d fight for him, stand up to her boyfriend for his sake, or drop whatever she was doing and come help him, no matter where he might be. He’d thought it impossible for him to ever belong anywhere, let alone with—and to—her.

  It wasn’t her house or possessions that made him want to fall on his knees with thanksgiving. It was Vicki. She’d always been the center of his meager existence. Now, she’d taken him off the streets and protected him. She’d held his hand and sworn to help him.

  That made her his home.

  Staring up at the ceiling, he tried not to picture her lying in her bed with her boyfriend, but it was a losing battle. Maybe her bedroom was right above. If so, he’d be able to hear them making love. He’d hear her pleasure. The thought made him unbearably hard, his cock throbbing in the borrowed cotton pants, but he did nothing about it.

  All his arousal was for her, if she wanted it. If she needed it. In his mind, he imagined her giving him the order not to touch himself. No pleasure unless she gave it.

  She didn’t wear a ring, so he didn’t think she was that serious about the cop, but they’d obviously known each other a long time. They had a way of working together, even when they spat and clawed at each other like alley cats. Reyes made it painfully obvious that he’d claimed her. He wouldn’t hesitate to throw anyone dumb enough to challenge him up against the wall again to protect what was his.

  Jesse didn’t care if the cop had primary claim on her, not really, as long as she claimed him. He’d do anything she wanted. Hell, he’d beg the cop to do him if that’s what it took to stay close and eventually find his way to her—their—bed.

  Claim me as yours, even if that means I have to be his.

  Chapter Three

  Vicki opened the door with a huge smile that was as much a wondrous luxury as the soft bed and warm blankets. “Morning, Jesse. How’d you sleep?”

  “Great, thank you so much. I can’t remember the last time I slept like that. Did I sleep too late?”

  “Of course not. I don’t plan to let you do anything but sleep and eat all day. You need the rest. Besides, the snow’s so bad that everything’s closed today. Elias called and said he barely made it downtown.”

  Relieved that the other man was long gone, Jesse stepped inside, enjoying the sweet smell of something baking and the welcoming, natural warmth of her home. He noted the folded blankets and pillow on the couch. She’d headed toward the kitchen, so she didn’t see his fierce, glad smile at the thought of the cop stuck on the couch last night.

  Good for her. Good for me.

  “How do you take your coffee?” she called, her voice drawing him like the ceaseless power of the moon over the tides. “Take a seat. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

  “Hot. Leaded. Anything else is a bonus.”

  She set a steaming mug in front of him along with a carton of cream. “There’s sugar in the bowl if you want it.”

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “Later,” she promised as if she knew that he burned to pay her back in whatever way possible. “Let’s figure out a game plan first. Like my oldest brother always says, you can’t expect to win the game if you don’t plan to win.” Smiling softly, she cocked a hip against the bar and watched him spoon in sugar and cream. “You said last night that you have your GED. I know you’re a talented artist. What else do you like to do? What can you do?”

  He took a sip of coffee, reveling in the rich, strong taste on his tongue, while he carefully considered how best to respond. He’d never lie to her, but she might not accept—or believe—the truth, at least not before getting to know him better. “I’ll do anything. Shovel manure. Load trucks. Wash dishes.”

  Let your cop slam me up against the wall again.

  She frowned, and he was afraid he’d said that last bit out loud. “Maybe the better question would be, what do you want to avoid? You’re too talented an artist to be stuck doing manual labor all your life.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ll always do the art in my free time.”

  “I’ll call my brother and see if he has any positions open at VCONN. I trust him to take good care of you.�
� The oven dinged, so she removed the pan of muffins. “Hope you like blueberries.”

  If this brother was the big, mean one she’d mentioned last night—and even half as powerful and charismatic as his sister—Jesse could only hope to survive the interview intact. “I’ll eat anything.”

  She slid a saucer in front of him bearing a piping hot muffin that made his mouth water. His stomach rumbled like he’d never eaten a crumb of food in his life. Flushing, he dropped his gaze. It was all he could do not to fall on the food like a starving wolf.

  Her hands closed over his and he jumped in his seat, jerking his gaze up to hers. She bowed her head. “Dear Father in heaven, thank you for bringing Jesse to me. Help me find him a good job, and forgive me for keeping this prayer short because I’m starving too. Amen.”

  She started to pull her hands back, but he couldn’t help but twist his hands in her grip so he could clutch her fingers a moment. Staring into her dark chocolate eyes, he tried to convey his feelings without saying a word. Maybe it worked, because her eyes sparked and her fingers convulsed.

  Gently, she pulled free. “More coffee?”

  “No thank you, ma’am.”

  “Please don’t call me that. You make me feel as old as my mother. My name is Vicki.” Grimacing, she refilled her cup. “Well, that’s not actually my real name. My oldest brother’s name is Victor. When I was little, I couldn’t say his name, but I could say V, and I liked him to call me Little V. Eventually, my family settled on calling me Vicki, much to my relief. My middle brother always told me I was lucky—at least they hadn’t given me his name, Verrill.”

  Two brothers he’d have to deal with, on top of the cop. “Sounds like your family has a weird thing for names that begin with V.”

  “Oh, yeah, you could say that. Mama’s name is Virginia, so my parents decided to name us all with V names. My real name’s Beulah Virginia, after my Grandma too, but if you ever call me that, I’ll be tempted to hogtie you.”

  His heart pounded, his palms sweated, and he swayed. Struggling to regain control, he willed the image away. Bound, helpless, for her. God, he could die a very happy man if that ever happened.

  “Jesse? Are you okay?”

  Trying to hide how much she affected him, he took a mouthful of muffin. So sweet, so good, but not as good as that little fantasy she’d unintentionally given him. “I’m fine. Just hungry, ma’am.”

  “Vicki.” She arched a brow at him in challenge. “And my last name is Connagher.”

  “Vicki.” What a rush to be given her real name, along with the permission to use it. Luckily, she put another muffin on his plate. Eating seconds bought him enough time for his hard-on to ease.

  Hours passed in companionable, comfortable silence. Jesse had a way of being present and close without being intrusive. When she headed downstairs to work on her designs, he automatically slipped into “work” mode and let her think without making her feel like she needed to entertain him.

  However, her nagging problem wouldn’t let her get any work done. She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her line and she was running out of time. “Something’s missing.”

  He looked up from his own art. “Would it help to talk through your ideas?”

  “Actually, it might. If you don’t mind.”

  He’d already set his paper aside and stood to join her. “I’ll never mind anything you ask.”

  The way he said it—his voice all low and fervent—made things tighten in her body that hadn’t been interested in anybody but Elias in a very long time.

  Maybe he’s right to be jealous.

  Shaken, she busied herself with shifting the racks to display each outfit clearly. She hadn’t come to any sort of permanent relationship or agreement with him, but she cared for him. When she wasn’t totally infuriated, she could admit that she loved him. Even though he’d been absent for three months, that didn’t give her any reason to feel attracted to Jesse. He was so grateful for her help, God only knew how far he’d go out of a sense of obligation.

  The thought made her hands tremble, that she could be capable of abusing him like that, one of countless people who’d hurt and used him.

  I’m not going to take advantage of him just because I’m lonely and pissed at my boyfriend. He—and Elias too—deserves better than that.

  “I need ten solid outfits for the show next month.” Her voice quivered, but he didn’t seem to notice. “They should all fit together seamlessly and tell a story. They don’t have to use exactly the same colors or fabrics, but there should be a cohesiveness that brings the line together. Since I worked in a law office, I want to target professional women who need to move from the courtroom or office to an evening out with the least amount of fuss, with the occasional special outfit for big events.”

  She turned the first rack containing a red gown around so he could see the low-cut back. “Understated, but sexy. I designed this one for my soon-to-be sister-in-law. She’s already worn it once to a charity event, but I’m still going to use it to open the show.”

  “I don’t know much about fashion.” Jesse fingered the silk, lifted the hem, and admired the way the skirt fluttered down. “The back is unique, low cut, but narrower than I would expect. Is that deliberate?”

  She couldn’t help the slow burn heating her cheeks. How to put it nicely without embarrassing herself? “The V-cut back is significant to her and my brother, and I had to make it narrower than usual to hide…er…the…marks. The bruises.”

  Jesse’s eyes flared and he made a tiny noise.

  “The bruises come from mutual agreement and enjoyment for them both, okay? My brother’s a Master, a sadist, actually, and she loves him exactly the way he is. For that, I love her too, and I wanted to give her a gown that made a statement, that proclaimed her as belonging to him, but also provide them privacy because not everybody will understand. She wore it to a charity event last month and was absolutely stunning. She even wore his collar publicly. It was a huge step for my brother too.”

  “Do you understand?” Now it was Jesse’s turn for his voice to quiver. Eyes soft as though he daydreamed, he stroked his fingers unconsciously on his throat. “I mean, you must, or you wouldn’t have created such a meaningful gown just for her.”

  “I do, but I guess I try not to think about it.” Vicki studied the dress, because that was easier than staring into his piercing eyes and feeling that pull again. She’d been afraid that he’d be creeped out by her family skeletons in the closet, but instead she might have accidentally turned him on. “My brother is heavily involved in the S&M community, and he invited me to come to events before. I don’t know why he’s expecting me to come, so I laugh and blow him off. God, I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”

  Instead of being offended, Jesse laughed softly. “I’m glad, Vicki. Everybody needs someone to talk to. Sometimes I missed that more than a roof over my head.”

  Lying awake at night, worrying about Elias out on the streets, getting shot at by drug runners, she’d known the horrors of loneliness. “I can,” she whispered on a soft sigh. “These past few months have been hard, much harder than I imagined. I can’t tell you how nice it is to have someone to bounce ideas off.”

  “So tell me about this one.” Jesse shifted the conversation back to safer ground, for which she was extremely grateful.

  She walked him through all the completed outfits, ranging in color from the red-silk gown to a sleek black pantsuit and a zebra-striped dress that she absolutely adored. Paired with a conservative black cashmere jacket, she would have worn it to the office without hesitation, but without the coat, it would have been perfect for dinner at any five-star restaurant.

  “I think I see the problem.” He stepped back to look at the outfits together. “Speaking as an artist, there’s no softness in your color palette. You have brilliant red, pure white, and somber black. You have a few pieces in gray to help relieve the bolder colors, but overall it’s so…so…”

  “
Conservative.” She blew out her breath. “Yeah, I think I see what you mean.”

  “You need an accent, something that’s a surprise. It doesn’t have to be much. Just a touch of softness in an unexpected color.”

  “A new color.” She mused out loud, tapping her finger against her lips. “Then I make the final signature piece in the new color, with small touches to tie it all together. I think I can make it work.”

  She led the way to the storage area. Long, tall shelves lined the wall, deep enough to hold bolts of fabric. Some she’d bought because they were a good price, others because she’d liked the pattern or color. Long before she’d ever thought to quit her job and start her own line, she’d been collecting fabric. She’d bought this building years ago because it was big enough to house her collection. A harmless hobby, she’d told herself as she bought yet another bolt of material. Yet every day she’d gone to work, something small and fragile in her heart had ached to burst into flight.

  “If it’s the signature piece, then you’ll be wearing it. Does that help you choose a color?”

  Surprised, she paused a moment. Colors swirled in her mind’s eye, all shades, all hues, dizzying and overwhelming. “I never thought about what I would wear.”

  “You’re the most important one! You should wear the signature piece. It’s a formal event, right?”

  “A gala fundraiser hosted by the City of Dallas, with a fashion show featuring a total of five designers. Each of us is donating pieces to auction off. I don’t expect my pieces to bring much for the fundraiser—I’m just hoping to get some buzz about my new line.” The more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. She’d never once thought about what she would wear, the designer, the billboard for her line. “Okay, okay, you’ve saved me from making a horrible mistake. I need an evening gown, definitely, and it needs to be the showstopper.”

  Her stomach churned and a stress headache threatened. “I don’t have much time to pull this off, because now I need two new pieces, not one. I don’t even have the design yet, or the fabric, and Miriam still has to hem…”