After emailing Cormac a copy of her finished list of all the cases Humphrey Kelly had worked on that she also had some kind of association with, Emily put her entire focus back on the Westmore case. If she wasn’t going to get Josie back, her job had just tipped to the bordering-on-impossible-to-convict scale and she was absolutely not going to let that happen.
She studied what forensic evidence she had, looking for a perspective other than the obvious. And she did another deep dive into Lana’s life. Looking for anyone or anything that she could use in court to prove that Wes Westmore had been abusing his girlfriend.
And she looked at him, too. Abusers usually didn’t just start out with killing. There had to be things in his past. Had to be other women whom he’d mistreated. If only she could convince one of them to testify against him. Even friends who would know of his penchant for roughness could prove helpful.
Her job was to prosecute, but with a windbag like Mitch Mallard dragging his feet, she couldn’t wait around for him to do the investigating, or trust that he’d be thorough.
She also had to keep her mind busy, her attention focused. She’d already lost control over her physical freedom; she would not give up say over her thoughts.
When sitting at the table in such close proximity to Cormac got to be too much, she went to her room. And when the walls there, blanketed by walls of snow on the street below, closed in, she went back out and settled on the couch he’d vacated.
She heard him go to the bathroom. Knew when he made coffee and pictured the cup at his mouth when his sips caught her attention. Remembered tasting that coffee-laced tongue.
And wondered a time or two what in the hell was wrong with her.
There’d been a popular sitcom, set right there in New York, where two of the female characters, during two different seasons, had been overly horny while pregnant and had put the condition down to stimulated hormones. But if she remembered right, both times the women had been in their fourth month. Not their second.
And who knew what kind of research those writers had done?
By late afternoon, she had done her own research. It wasn’t like she could call her mom and ask. So she went on the internet.
She found some validation for her state. Apparently libido increase was quite common, and sometimes present even before morning sickness. In the first trimester.
That didn’t explain what had happened to her around Cormac two months before but, sitting there trapped by a stalker and a snowstorm, she went with the excuse and got back to work.
But then...dinner. They couldn’t order takeout. And cooking two separate meals with both of them right there, hungry at the same time and sharing a small kitchen, seemed just plain stupid. Add that to the fact that Cormac’s grocery supply was pretty much nonexistent and she had chicken breasts, rice and the rest of the ingredients necessary to make a baked dish she loved. She had to offer to cook for him, too. It was fair.
She made him dish up his own helping, though. And didn’t set the table. He could grab a plate and fork, and land somewhere to eat on his own.
There was only one table. She brought her computer with her.
He had his.
And then he ruined things when, out of the blue, he said, “Wow, that was really good!”
Her own plate nearly empty, she looked up from her screen. Thinking his appreciative grin was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen, she flooded with warmth in her heart region, too.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to be polite. Distant. But she didn’t look away.
His expression sharpened. Grew serious.
“We need to talk.”
No, they didn’t. She didn’t. She needed to work. But when he rounded the table, took a hold of her hand and tried to lead her from the table, she got up.
She grabbed for her plate, dropping his hand to reach for his plate as well. “The dishes,” she said, and made a beeline for the kitchen.
He left her alone while she busied herself with the small bit of cleanup there was left.
Dare she hope he’d retired early for the night?
Did she really want him to have done so? Not sure she’d like the answer to the last question, she didn’t dwell on it.
The question or the answer.
Because a greater one had surfaced. Again.
How could she possibly allow a man more than a decade younger than her to tie up his life with a woman who was going to be getting old a lot sooner than he was? A woman who was past her prime when he was right smack-dab in the middle of his?
How could she let herself get involved, romantically, at all? She knew where that led. Life would normalize. She’d get involved in a big case. She would forget important dates or moments, would come home with a briefcase full of work and would have nothing left to give when she crawled into bed at night.
The first time, she hadn’t known herself well enough. Hadn’t known how she’d be, or how important her work was to her sense of self-worth. She hadn’t known how good she’d be at it, or how it fulfilled her.
After more than twenty years in the business, she knew it all too well. And would never be able to forgive herself for breaking another heart.
Which meant she had to shut her own down.
Except for the baby, of course. The way her heart leaped every time she allowed herself to think about actually carrying the child full term and giving birth, she knew that her baby would always be on her mind. Work or no.
Some kind of divine sense that God gave to mothers, she supposed.
And Cormac had, in a way, given the baby to her.
When she could stall no longer, kitchen counters all wiped clean and everything put away, she eyed her computer on the dining room table and made a beeline for it. Not even sure if he was still out in the living area of the apartment, she couldn’t risk looking.
No eye contact. That was her new modus operandi.
Gaze on the computer. Only on the computer.
And then on the hand that was closing her computer. A strong, sexy male hand.
One that had been all over her body, had touched her most private places, fingers that had—
“We need to talk.” Cormac’s voice should have been like a blast of cold water to her want. She didn’t even get that much of a break.
With her computer in hand, he walked over to the couch. Sat down.
Dare she hope they were going to talk about work?
She could refuse to join him. The laptop belonged to her. She could claim it, turn her back, walk down the hall, enter her room and lock the door.
Or just shut it. No way he’d force his way beyond a closed door. Not when there wasn’t a bad guy beyond it, in any case.
But he was right. Definitely the more mature of the two of them at the moment. They had to reach some understandings where their child was concerned.
Sitting in the leather armchair that matched his couch, she glanced over at him, trying to figure out how to get him to drop the marriage idea once and for all. To come up with reasoning that would convince him how wrong such a union would be. To help him understand what she already knew.
She was trying valiantly not to notice the strong thighs accented by his tight jeans, and most definitely not to let her gaze travel up any higher.
Leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his hands together. And she waited, still hoping he might be trying to figure out a way to break some bad news about Maxwell. Or the older guy, Kinney.
What did it say about her that she’d rather hear bad news about a stalker determined to take her, than talk about their future shared parenting of a child?
And about that...
“Have you told your siblings, or Sean at least, about being the baby’s father yet?” Every time he’d been in touch with his brother in the past twenty-four hours, she’d wondered.
And worried.
She highly respected the decorated detective. She didn’t want him thinking less of her because she’d fooled around with his younger brother.
“No.” Cormac shook his head. Frowning. “I can’t really do that until we’ve reached some decisions about how we’re going to handle things between us. They’re going to have questions.”
Right. There was that. “Sorry,” she said, glancing down at her own hands. “I...uh...don’t have brothers and sisters. I’m not used to answering to anyone.” Which was exactly as she wanted it. Needed it to be. Not at all sure how, with a baby in the picture, she was going to make that happen.
“The obvious solution here is for us to get married, Emily.”
Her mouth flew open, the refusal rushing up to jump out, and Cormac took a hold of her hand.
The touch shouldn’t have stopped her. Shouldn’t have her heart pounding.
Was the man seriously going to propose a second time?
She had to snatch her hand back. Tell him no.
Get out.
Even if that meant being buried in the snow.
Except...she had a baby to think about. Couldn’t risk freezing it to death.
She couldn’t make all her choices based only on what she knew to be right for her.
Because it wasn’t just her anymore.
“I can’t marry a man I don’t love.” Cormac felt Emily’s hand tremble in his as she said the words he’d expected to hear.
The words she’d said the first time he’d proposed marriage to her. He hadn’t been ready for them then.
“You’ve said you’re never going to fall in love again,” he said. She’d spent days putting him off. He’d spent them vacillating between avoiding the situation and looking for the solution that had to be there, waiting for them to find it.
“That’s right.”
“Which means, you’re never going to have that kind of traditional marriage.”
“Yeah.” Her frown didn’t give any encouragement.
Lucky for them, he didn’t need any. “So consider a different kind of marriage. One where you aren’t in love with your husband. He knows it. Wants it that way. So you don’t have to worry, ever again, about hurting someone like you hurt Paul.”
She shook her head. But he shook his, too. “Hear me out, Em, please?”
Waiting for her agreement, knowing a lot rested on her ability to be open-minded to all sides of a story, he let out a long breath when she finally nodded.
He inhaled deeply. “We’re both workaholics. We get consumed by the job, work impossibly long hours, and that’s what makes us happy.”
Her nod wasn’t all that encouraging. He was on the easy part.
“And now we’re going to have another human being who’s fully dependent on the two of us. Night. Day. Weekends. And not just for food and clothes or doctor visits, but for companionship and guidance. Our job is going to include teaching right from wrong, self-discipline, compassion, how to brush teeth...even how to pee.”
His gut clenched as he talked. And they’d have to teach the kid how to talk, too.
Ride a bike.
Bathe.
Overwhelmed for a second, he almost lost track of his mission. Emily’s fingers within his moved, and he knew he couldn’t fail.
Releasing her hand, he sat back. “I’m not going to settle for less than shared parenting,” he blurted. Not at all what he’d meant to say next. He had it all thought out.
Had come up with the solution.
“I’m not asking you to.”
Okay, well, good.
Really good.
He nodded. Lobbed his ankle over his opposite knee. Trying to convince himself he knew what he was doing.
He was going to be a father with full responsibilities.
They’d established something.
Wow. He’d need...things. And he’d need to learn how to give a tiny kid a bath. How to change a diaper.
Hell, he’d never even held a baby.
Not since Eva. He’d been only six. And his parents had helped him.
Emily sat forward, bringing his attention to the breasts kind of pushed together between her arms. His baby was going to be...
“So, that’s it?” she asked. “We’re done here?”
What the hell! “No.” he said, reining himself in to the case at hand. “We’re just beginning.” Especially since he was just figuring out how much help he was going to need. He’d been busy thinking about what having the baby would take out of her. Busy figuring out how to show her that she was going to need him.
Just getting himself in the picture.
He’d never actually jumped ahead to the finished product. Him fully in the picture.
“Like I was saying,” he started in again, trying to get back to where he’d been when he’d started the conversation. “With both of us so committed to our jobs, we would better serve the kid by joining forces. Kind of pinch-hitting for each other for life,” he continued, pulling on the hours he’d put into laying everything out for her.
“We get married, we just have one household to keep up. The kid has one room, one set of house rules, the same bed every night. The kid has the security of a solid home with one set of possessions. The kid has security. Just the caregiver changes out as you and I work around and with each other, trading off parenting details as work requires. I work from home some, when I’m researching like I’ve been doing the past couple of days. You do the same, as you can.”
It was all becoming clear again.
“I was planning on getting a nanny,” she said.
A nanny. Even better. “Okay, good, so we do that, too, for the times when we both have to be out.”
And those times when they were both in? Sharing a home?
Leaning forward again, he took her hand for a second time, rubbing his fingers along her palm as he knew turned her on. “On the easy side of it, we’d be able to quit fighting our base instincts and have sex together whenever we wanted,” he added. He’d meant to smile. But met her serious gaze with a completely serious one of his own.
“You’re assuming I still want it,” she said, licking her lips as her gaze slid from his. Her voice filled with bravado.
“Your nipples are hard.” If she hadn’t wanted him to notice, she should have worn a padded bra under that sweater.
“It’s frigid outside!”
He couldn’t play games with her. Too much was at stake. “You’re actually going to lie to me now?”
Those brown eyes moved until her gaze was locked with his again. “No,” she said. “I’m dying over here with you in those jeans and me knowing in such detail what’s beneath that fly.”
It grew. To instant hardness.
But it wasn’t time for sex. Even his penis seemed to get that one as it shrank again almost immediately.
“So it all makes sense, Em,” he said. “People assume a couple marries, they’re in love, but what we have—honesty, respect, the freedom to be married to our jobs, and adding in a home and family—it’s the answer for us.”
She shook her head again. So he moved forward. “Think outside the box,” he urged, giving her the argument that had occurred to him in the middle of the night. “Isn’t that what’s made you such a great prosecutor? The fact that you look for what others aren’t seeing. Same with me and my job. I look at everything, no matter how far-fetched, to find the truth, and let things fall where they fit. Well, this is what fits for us.”
When Emily scooted closer, placing her hand on top of his, making a sandwich out of him, his heart started to pound. She was going to accept.
“We’re both strong, determined people. Look at all we’ve accomplished, all we get done. If we set our minds to this, we’ll get it done.” He gave his closing argument.
Oh, God, she was going to agree.
Life as he’d known it would be no more. He’d be a married man, and—
“Answer me something,” she said, instead of accepting his proposal. And his heart sank a bit again.
“Sure.” He was up for whatever she had to hand out.
“What happens when you meet some other woman you want to have sex with?”
Or she met some other man she wanted, he translated. Emily wanted him, but not just him. She had her sights on someone else?
Or wanted the right to do so?
He sat there, speechless.
He hadn’t thought things out closely enough.
He’d been blindsided.
And he wasn’t even in love.