Chapter Fifteen

Reed was still thinking about the photos on his desk, the files he should have been working on instead of slipping out the back of the building, listening for the all clear in the stairwell like he was the perp who had to go sneaking around.

But somehow, he couldn’t make himself go back to the office—not after he’d safely shuttled Talia away from prying eyes, and not after he’d taken her to his favorite Thai place down the block. Not when she had that flush to her cheeks, and he could still feel the warmth of her touch, hear the snap of the handcuffs closing around her wrists.

They rode the subway uptown together, her body pressed against him in the crowd. It was more than he could handle. As soon as they were back in his apartment, he couldn’t keep his hands off her again. Afterward, she fell asleep in his bed with her head on his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around her.

But he couldn’t close his eyes and drift off with her. His mind kept churning, his body on alert. Normally he’d toss and turn, or flip on the light and review more files. But he couldn’t do that with someone else there. Everything was different when he wasn’t alone.

As quietly as possible, he slipped out from under her body and pulled on his boxers and jeans. They’d been tossed somewhere on the floor, along with the handcuffs, another condom wrapper, and the bottle of lube.

He ran a hand over his head and pinched his eyebrows together. What the fuck am I doing?

But he couldn’t answer. All he could do was watch the faint light through the bedroom window play across Talia’s peaceful features as she lay sleeping, naked, tangled in his sheets.

Fucking her, falling asleep with her, the thought of waking up the next morning and feeling her curled up beside him…

Something inside him choked so hard, he had to get out of the room.

But there were reminders of her everywhere. Worn pointe shoes in the hallway, pink leotard hanging by his towel. Her things filled his apartment, even the empty spaces he’d assumed were going to stay that way.

Somehow, she’d snuck past his defenses. He hadn’t even realized his walls had crumbled until he looked up and found himself surrounded by broken stones.

He couldn’t pretend anymore that he could just patch up the wall again and keep going. He couldn’t pretend he had any control over what he was doing.

And he certainly couldn’t pretend he was still keeping her here because of the case.

There was no way she could pretend that was why she was still sleeping in his bed, either.

She obviously had friends. She texted with them all the time. She had a whole group of dancers she worked with. At least one of them had to have a couch. There was even some affordable housing for dancers with the ballet—he’d looked it up. Even though there weren’t apartments available now, there was a chance somebody, somewhere, could have pulled a string for her.

But she never mentioned it. She never packed a bag to crash with a friend for a night. And she never looked for another Tinder date to get her out.

Which was a goddamn good thing, because if she so much as thought about wearing that red dress for another man—

He cracked his knuckles, the sound ringing through the quiet living room. Not a fucking chance.

But she hadn’t done any of that. Even when she could. At the office, she could’ve demanded protection, help from the DEA, anything to get out of his place. Which meant she was choosing to stay here. With him.

God only knew why.

He was startled by a vibration and realized his phone was in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the screen, hoping no one needed him at work at this hour. But it was worse.

Mom.

He cursed under his breath.

He called his mother every Sunday like clockwork. Ever since he’d turned eighteen and moved to the city for college, then stayed. Visits home once a month for Sunday dinner, phone calls Sunday evenings the rest of the time.

A mid-week call couldn’t be good, especially not at ten at night. Shouldn’t she be sleeping? His stomach tightened as he answered, bracing himself for bad news.

But she sounded way too excited to be announcing a terminal illness, a fall from the ladder he was always after her to stop using in the backyard, the demise of Monkey, the limp, drooling mutt that was going to outlast them all.

“Sweetheart!” she cried, and he immediately pressed the volume down on his phone, afraid Talia would hear his mother’s endearment all the way in the other room as she lay sleeping.

Only one woman was allowed to use the word “sweet” with him, and she was fifty-six years old, lived in Long Island, and he only begrudgingly allowed her the endearment because if he protested, she’d loudly remind everyone within earshot how many years she’d wiped his butt.

Immediately, he asked what was wrong.

“Wrong? Why would something be wrong?” She paused dramatically. “Is something wrong with you?”

“Of course not. Everything’s great.”

In a confusing, upside-down, sweaty, exhausted, just fucked his brains out on the roof at work and came home to do it all over again sort of way. But he didn’t need to get into that with his mother. Obviously.

“You’re sure? You’re sure nothing is wrong?”

“Mom, what are you talking about?”

“It just seems like something has to be wrong with you, sweetheart, that you wouldn’t tell your own mother about your new girlfriend.”

The silence following the word was dizzying. He was in free fall, no idea how far away the ground was or when his body was going to slam down and shatter.

Girlfriend.

He tried not to laugh in his dear mother’s face.

“She’s not my—” he started, but she spoke right over him.

“Don’t be coy with me, Reed Michael Bishop. I’m your mother.”

“And I promise I couldn’t possibly forget it.”

“You think you can sneak around living with a woman and not have the family find out? Reed, promise me you’re bringing her to Nana’s party next weekend.”

“I—” He stopped. Swallowed the four-letter word that threatened to pop out. He may be grown, but he was still his mother’s son.

And in serious trouble. In the pressure of the case, he’d forgotten about his grandmother’s eightieth birthday party. Or not forgotten, entirely. But relegated it to the back of his mind.

“I’m not living with a woman,” he said, because he had to say something to set the record straight.

He heard the sound of a throat clearing theatrically. He looked up. Shit.

Talia was standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but his shirt over her bare legs. It was buttoned, but she started unbuttoning it slowly, never breaking eye contact as she mouthed in mock surprise, “You’re not?”

“Aaron said you had a girl move in, and I can’t believe you’d keep that from me. If this young woman is going to be my daughter-in-law—”

Oh God. His mom was yammering on about weddings and Talia was reaching the last button of his shirt, teasing it open to expose the swell of her breasts, the plane of her stomach, glimpses of that sweet, dark place between her thighs as his mother’s voice bored into him through the phone, reaching a fevered pitch about girlfriends, weddings, grandchildren, the works.

“Okay, okay,” he said, both into the phone and to Talia. “She’s living with me, but it’s complicated, Mom.”

He shot Talia a Don’t you dare make fun of me look, motioning frantically for her to button the fuck up before he lost his mind. This was his mother he was talking to!

Only that just made her grin and do a little striptease with his shirt, pulling it over her shoulders, swaying her hips.

He tried to get out of the line of sight. Getting a hard-on while on the phone with one’s mother counted as a mortal sin, didn’t it? He was going straight to hell.

But Talia just danced around, making sure he saw her. She twirled, raised the hem of the shirt, flashed her ass before shooting him a torturous wink.

“No, Mom.” He interrupted the rant still going on the phone as he skirted away from Talia and into the bedroom. “Yes, okay, she’s living here. But she’s not my girlfriend. Aaron got it wrong.”

He picked up the handcuffs. Went back to the living room and dangled them in front of Talia.

He covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “If you don’t stop,” he said to her.

Her lips formed a perfect O. “Oh no,” she teased.

“Reed, I want to meet her. Nana wants to meet her. We’re dying to know who she is.”

“Wait—Nana knows?” He turned away from Talia, who looked even more interested in the conversation now that she knew there wasn’t just a mother but a grandmother involved. He might as well rattle off his social security number next, if she was going to sniff out everything about him anyway.

“Nana, Aunt Delia, and your cousins Annabelle and Joyce said to make sure to tell you Talia’s invited for mani-pedis before the dinner.”

Reed sat on the couch and hung his head in his hands. Talia came over, nudged his shoulders back, and plunked right down in his lap. The shirt rode up, exposing her bare thighs splayed across him. The buttons were open and he could see her breast, a hint of her stomach. She teased her fingers around the nape of his neck.

As soon as he saw Aaron, he was going to knock his little brother out cold.

“Tell Annabelle and Joyce that’s really nice of them, but Talia’s not interested,” he said.

“Not interested in what?” Talia asked, perking up.

“And she has terrible feet,” he said into the phone.

Talia leaped off his lap. “Don’t tell your mother that!”

“It’s true,” he said.

“Tell her I’m a ballet dancer,” Talia said, folding her arms.

“She’s a ballet dancer,” he told his mom.

“Oh, how beautiful!” his mom exclaimed.

“No, it just means she has terrible feet.” He swatted Talia away.

“Oh, Reed. Don’t be a tease. I’ll tell Joyce that’s a yes, and we’ll see you both next Saturday. I don’t know where everyone will sleep, but we’ll figure it out.”

“Mom, I’m not bringing her.”

“Nonsense. See you next weekend, sweetheart.”

She hung up before he could get in another word. He put the phone down slowly, closed his eyes, and rested his head on the back of the couch.

He felt Talia come up to him, then the weight of her body straddling his lap again. He ran his hands up her thighs to her ass. She wiggled her butt against him.

“Do you want to come to Long Island next weekend to my grandmother’s eightieth birthday party?” he asked wearily, eyes still closed, not believing what he was getting himself into.

“Do I get a pedicure out of it?” she asked.

“Apparently. But it comes with my crazy cousins. I have to warn you, my family is huge.”

He raised his head, opening his eyes.

“You already know I can handle huge,” she said, tracing her fingers up his chest with a wicked grin.

“You don’t have to do it,” he said.

“And let your family think your live-in girlfriend dumped your ass rather than meet your mother? Come on, Reed. You’re letting me stay here. I owe you. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He took a deep breath. Right. Saving his ass. One favor in exchange for another. That was why he was inviting her, and that was why she’d do it.

Or at least that was what he told himself as he slid his shirt off her shoulders. “So you’ll come with me?” he asked.

“Sweetheart,” she said, giving the word the exact same intonation his mother did, so he knew she’d heard every word. “I thought you’d never ask.”