Page 77 of Taming Her

Griff couldn’t predict whether she truly wanted to stay at the cottage and be his, or if she’d be seduced by her old life and return to her hedonistic ways the moment she had an inch of freedom—ways that would only end in her destruction.

He could see that. But could she?

Her skittishness and impulsiveness unnerved him.

He dressed in his uniform—short-sleeved dark shirt, smart trousers with a neat line ironed down the front, sturdy boots, thick belt—then grabbed his stab vest. He was clean shaven and looked the part. He only hoped he could get his mind into gear and not spend the entire shift wondering if Ava was absconding.

“Ready?” she asked when he stepped into the lounge, his head ducked slightly as he was a fraction taller in his boots.

He nodded and set his vest to one side.

“You look… different.” She rubbed her chin and stood. “I’d gotten used to you with stubble.”

He wrapped his arms around her small frame and pulled her close. “And I’ve gotten used to you being here.”

“So what are you going to do, big bad cop, lock me in?”

“No, of course not.” He pressed a kiss to her smooth brow. “I want you to want to be here.” He tipped her chin with the crook of his index finger. “I want you to want to be with me.”

She studied his eyes and swiped her tongue over her bottom lip. “I do want to be with you.”

He held back his words. He didn’t want her to hear the extent of his doubts. If she wanted to leave there was nothing stopping her. She could spread her wings and fly, even if like Icarus, it would be into fire and a doomed fate.

She stroked his neatly brushed hair, tucking it behind his ear. “You’re going to be late, you hate to be late.”

“I do. It annoys me when other people are late, so I try never to be.”

“So go to work, Officer.”

“And I’ll see you in the morning?”

She hesitated, then, “Yes.”

His jaw tightened. “My shift finishes at seven, I’ll be home not long after that.”

“Okay.” She left his embrace and returned to the laptop. The screen held an image of a garden pond, arrows pointing to the various plants growing from it.

“Goodbye,” he said, the word scraping his tongue. This wasn’t really goodbye. Was it?

“See you.” She glanced at him then turned her attention back to the screen.

Griff took a deep breath and left the room. He strode through the kitchen and into the hallway. Pausing, he glanced in the big mirror that hung over the occasional table that held his keys.

“It’s up to fate,” he whispered and tipped his chin. “There’s nothing more I can do.”

And with that, he left the cottage, pulling the door up behind himself and hoping, wishing, praying that when he next went through it, Ava would still be there.

* * *

Griff strode through Bristol town center with PC James Buxton at his side. They’d partnered before and Griff was relieved he wasn’t having to get to know someone completely new.

When he was with Rex, Griff never worried, he knew his back was covered. They assessed situations in the same way, bounced off one another when defusing conflict or calming unruly citizens.

But James was also a good sort, calm and level-headed, and a year longer on the beat than Griff.

They walked past The Blood Hound and paused as a gaggle of girls—short skirts, navel-flashing tops—staggered out with their arms linked.

“Headaches tomorrow,” James muttered.

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