Page 27 of Mistletoe Masquerade
The silence screams louder in my head than any words ever could. I don’t understand it. I get that this is all new, but I thought we established I never meant to deceive him.
Unless … he doesn’t believe me.
He wouldn’t have sex with me again if he doubted me, would he? I hate to think so, but I am so out of my depth. I have no idea what is going on in his head.
I don’t want to push him, yet I can’t leave things like this, so once he’s dressed, I offer the only thing left to say.
“Dean?” I wait for him to meet my gaze. “I’m so sorry.” For deceiving him. For putting us both in an impossibly tricky situation. And for being incapable of resisting him. I hope he knows that I never meant to harm anyone.
“If everything you’ve said tonight is true, there’s no need to be sorry.” His unreadable gaze sweeps over me one last time before he gives a single nod and leaves.
CHAPTER 14
DEAN
I can’t concentrateto save my life. And therearelives at stake. It’s Monday, I’m back at the station, and I should be coordinating surveillance ops so we can get our hands on The Reaper, but all I can think about is that last heartbroken look Sachi gave me when I walked out her door.
Fuck.
Me.
I left because I needed space to think through everything. Any reassurances I could have given on my way out would have been empty because Ihad no fucking clue what I was going to do about Sachi. A night of obsessing over it hasn’t helped, either. I’m still just as torn.
She affects me in ways I don’t like, but that shit’s on me. It’s not her fault I turn into a raving lunatic around her.
If she’s telling the truth, she’s done nothing wrong.
Except for a poor choice of friends.
A part of me is desperate to have her, regardless of who her friends are. She isn’t her friends, after all. And maybe things with Sachi won’t even work out. I won’t know unless I give it a chance. If she is the perfect woman for me, am I willing to reject her over her friends?
No. It’s that simple.
She likes them for the same reason I’m willing to cooperate with them—despite their shady morals, Sante and Tommy are halfway decent human beings.
When I step back and take it all in, I have to ask myself, what’s the problem?
If I can confirm Sachi isn’t lying to me, and her friends aren’t a deal-breaker, why the indecision?
A single word whispers through my mind, causing me to cringe.
Pride.
Is that seriously my only hang-up?
That’s how it’s looking, but I’m not certain. It’s hard to tell if my wariness is rooted in rational reasoning or a wounded ego. Something is holding me back. One thing Ican say for sure is that life would be less complicated without linking myself to the Moretti crime family.
My thoughts are interrupted by the desk phone ringing with a call from reception.
“Malone,” I answer.
“A man is waiting for you outside, told me to tell you his name was …Santa.” The word is spoken with a wealth of exasperation. “I know it’s the holidays, but come on.”
The eclectic variety of informants we deal with often uses pseudonyms. It seems one of them is feeling especially festive today. “I’m on it, thanks.”
I hang up and take a deep, weary breath before heading to the front of the station. Half of the time, the type of individuals in the business of information spook and disappear before I show up. I’m prepared to turn around and walk right back inside when I see a familiar face scowling at me.
Reception got it wrong.
