Page 35 of Deny Me
His teammate was shaking his head. “Brother…”
A groan stuck in King’s throat. He could do without a lecture, and he felt one heading his way like a freight train about to hit.
“Look,” Saint said, “I get that there’s history between you two.”
No, he didn’t. No one on his team truly understood. They hadn’t known about Charlotte until now for one very important reason—because theirs had never been a break-up-and-happily-go-our-separate-ways end. They’d uprooted their lives, torn out their hearts. He hadn’t been whole when he walked away from her, and as satisfying as his life was now, that hole had never disappeared or been filled by anyone else. “You don’t get anything, Saint.”
“Then explain it to me, bro, because what I’m seeing, sensing? The tension when you come anywhere close to each other is more like electricity. The air’s so thick I can fucking touch it. No wonder her father was losing his shit.”
King rubbed his forehead, trying to rid himself of the ache suddenly pounding there.Deny, deny, deny.
“There’s no tension and nothing for her father to lose his shit over.”
Saint snorted his opinion of that. “Dude, stop fooling yourself. Or trying to fool me—that ain’t happenin’. I thought when you put your hands on her a minute ago, the room might go up in flames. And say what you want, but I’ve worked with you a long time and I’ve never seen anything rock you. She does.”
King dropped his hand, catching his friend’s cocky grin. “No, she doesn’t. You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?”
King cursed Saint’s black eyebrows and the way they arched at his lie. And then he cursed his friend’s perception—silently, then out loud. Saint’s chuckle earned him a glare, but obviously putting on a front was futile. Saint knew him too well to buy what he was selling.
“Okay, fine,” he huffed and shot a look at the partially open door. “Of course Charlotte’s not like any other client. I was planning to marry her. We were building a life together.”Iknow her, inside and out. He’d certainly never slept with another client, but he couldn’t forget the feel of Charlotte’s body beneath his, how she’d been so tight around him that he’d thought he’d lose his shit before he even got all the way inside her. Some memories faded after ten years apart, but for him, those never had.
The sudden tightness in his pants assured him of that. He shifted in his seat.
Saint rubbed at the scruff on his chin. “I guess the real question is, is this just residual shit or something new?”
Something new?They’d barely been involved in this case a week. Residual was the only logical choice. Wasn’t it?
Shit.
Saint was nodding as if he’d come to the same realization.I hope to hell not.
“Look”—Saint leaned closer, keeping his voice low—“I get what Dain is trying to do, putting you with Charlotte. Relieve the tension and, when we most need her trust, it’ll be right there waiting. But I’m telling you, this thing isn’t easing; it’s getting stronger. Her father is no idiot. Don’t give him a reason to have your ass canned.”
“I couldn’t give a fuck what Ben thinks.” No one but King needed to know that was a lie, but he worked hard to push it aside. The man had turned his back on King. If he let that affect him, he’d have to let himself care about all the other people who’d cut him off when he walked away from his parents. It didn’t matter that he’d been closer to Ben’s family than most. “But I won’t let you all down.”
King got it too—Dain had been pairing him with Charlotte more than strictly necessary. And King hadn’t protested because…of course he hadn’t. He’d wanted to be near Charlotte, whether he’d realized it consciously or not.
He rubbed a hand down his face, wishing he could wipe away the last few minutes of conversation—and its revelations—as easily. But Charlotte wasn’t going away.
As she proved when she came back through the door, a handful of pamphlets clutched in her grip. “Found it.”
He leaned back in his chair with a silent sigh of relief. Saint looked amused.
“The Fulton County group is run by a nurse in their maternity ward.” Charlotte opened one of the pamphlets. “Jessica Arnold.”
Saint typed the name into his phone. “Have you ever met her?”
“Not that I remember. I’ve spoken to various hospital officials and staff all over the greater Atlanta area, held meetings with them since Creating Families was formed. But I don’t remember this particular nurse. Usually Vicky would be our point person to get information to the various contacts, services, and support groups we connect with.”
Her last few words faded out as Charlotte realized what she’d said. “Not that I think Vicky has any connection to—”
“Oh, Vicky has connections to everyone!” The perky assistant breezed through the closed door without knocking, obviously catching the last part of Charlotte’s statement. “Anyone in particular I need to connect with?”
Charlotte’s mouth opened, but no words came out. King stepped into the breach.
“Just some things we’re working on for Charlotte’s security,” he said smoothly, smiling at the dark-haired woman. A faint blush colored her cheeks. “We’ll have some questions for you in a bit, I promise.”
