Sixty-Two

Tonight was the night. Den was coming over for dinner. I was surprised he accepted my invitation, given that I’d shot Stone. I kept hearing the tenseness in his voice as he said my name those few moments before I fired. I hadn’t listened to him. But I couldn’t. The other voices were stronger. They’d compelled me toward revenge.

So I hoped our evening would not turn into one long discussion of the incident. I wanted it to be a celebration. And whether or not Den and I moved forward with a relationship, I craved time with him.

Earlier in the day, I’d received the results from the lab in Holly-wood, which were sitting on my desk. I didn’t want to look at them without Den. It seemed appropriate.

When I opened the door to Den, the sweet rush of temptation almost overcame me. He was dressed in nicely fitted jeans and a blue shirt, which made his blue eyes pop. And what was in his eyes was a smoldering passion. Or at least that’s what I gleaned.

“Come into my new apartment,” I said, definitely in my come hither voice.

“What? You’re kidding me, right? This place is yours?” he said.

“Yes!” I squealed and flung myself into his arms. One hand was holding a wine bottle, so it was an awkward one-armed hug. But still, it quenched my hunger for comfort. For now.

“That’s amazing,” he said as he pulled away. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks for the wine,” I said when he handed it over. “I have champagne on ice. I hope that’s okay?”

He grinned that cute sideways grin of his. “Yeah, sounds good. We can drink the wine some other time.”

Some other time.

“I’ve gotten good news myself,” he said, following me into the dining room. It was the first time I’d used it. The chandelier was turned down low and several candles were lit. “Wow, what a room.”

“What’s your news?”

“I got that promotion. You’re now looking at a detective.” He grinned.

“Congratulations!”

Den sat down at the table. “I guess this is where you want me.”

It’s one of the places I want you. I nodded. “I’ll just get the salad.”

We laughed and chatted through dinner as if we’d known each other for years. We’d been through an intense time, gotten to know one another in our worst moments, um, er, my worst moment. His best, I suppose. Justine and the look-alike’s murder case had finally gotten him his promotion.

“Such a good dinner. Thank you,” he said, reaching out and caressing my face. “You are just so beautiful.”

My face heated. “I’m glad you think so.”

Why did him saying I was beautiful embarrass me? I’d heard it before, but it had never had affected me like this.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said. “I thought it was clear I like you.” He sat back, removing his hand from my face.

My heart became a ticking clock, with soft, brief beats against my rib cage. “It’s okay,” I said. “I like you too.” And I need more champagne.

I stood and started to clear the dishes. He reached for me and pulled me to his lap. “You remember that kiss?”

“What kiss?” I played stupid and coy.

He pulled my face to his with gentle determination and showed me.

I lost all sense of time in that kiss. Or should I say those kisses? I was a puddle of sweat and molten heat when we finally stopped kissing. I gazed at his face, eyes lit with passion, and I pulled away, standing up. I cleared the dishes again. Den helped me.

“I have news for you,” I said.

His head tilted in interest.

“Let’s drink the rest of the champagne in the library.”

“Sounds good,” he said, and grabbed the glasses while I carried the bottle.

When we entered the library, I picked up the envelope with the results of the genetic testing results and moved to the chaise. Den followed my lead with excitement and curiosity.

“What’s that?” He put his arm around me. So warm. I wanted to stay there. Suddenly my plans to ravage him gave way to something else. I didn’t know what. But somehow, it didn’t matter if we made love tonight, the next night, or next week. The comfort I found with Den was deep.

“The genetic results,” I said.

“The answer?”

I nodded. I leaned into him. His eyebrows lifted in interest.

“Shall I open it?”

“Right now, I’m not sure I care.” He ran his fingers along the inside of my arm, tickling me. “I mean, what does it matter? It doesn’t matter to the case.” His voice was soft and deep.

“It matters to the book.” I willed away the delicious sinking feeling overcoming me, drawing me to him like a magnet.

“Okay then, open it,” he said, pulling away.

I did. As I read the results, disappointment and sadness pinged through me. The Jean Harlow look-alike had been a perfect match to her famous ancestor and had died trying to prove it. She’d almost made it. But almost doesn’t count.

“You seem disappointed?” Den said.

I nodded, swallowed tears. “It’s silly. I know. But two lives were lost. Countless others were affected. Who knows how many? Our Jean Harlow almost achieved her dream. But she was killed.”

We sat in the quiet for several minutes. Den poured champagne. “I’d like to make a toast.”

“Really?” I said with a small grin. “How formal of you.”

“Don’t get used to it.” He raised his glass. “To the best damn researcher, and maybe best person, I’ve ever known.”

I batted my eyes. “Who’s that?”

“You,” he said, and we clinked glasses. “And oh, one more thing.”

I held my glass up.

“To us,” he said.

“To us,” I said.

We clinked glasses and drank.

“But please don’t shoot anybody else, Charlotte.”

“I can’t make any promises, Den,” I said. The champagne was going to my head. But I felt good, warm, and safe, and all of my senses were on fire. Burning.

“Well, I can,” he whispered and drew me into him.

Turns out, Den was a man of his word.