Page 17 of Concealed

The thought alone makes me shudder.

But at least I wasn’t there to take the brunt of it.

“I know,” he says softly.

“You… know?”

He nods. “The color. The bruises aren’t fresh. And the way you act around me… It wasn’t the first time he hit you.”

“No,” I agree, taking a huge gulp of wine, the citrus undertones starting an unfamiliar party in my mouth, “but the next time would have been the last because he was going to kill me.”

Matt hit me hard enough that I blacked out. When I woke up, full of fear that I had a concussion with no way to get medical help, it was the kick in the ass I needed to act.

Finally, staying with him was scarier than what could happen to me and my loved ones if I left.

Matt is a powerful man with a powerful last name, and I didn’t want my family to be in danger because of my stupid mistakes.

But Gabe reminded me that my family doesn’t want me dead, and that he’ll be there to protect them while I got everything sorted out.

Tears fill my eyes, and Wyatt looks away to give me privacy. He digs into his food while I focus on the ocean waves and listening to his stories about work. It sounds like his new partner, Wallace – because cops only deal in nicknames and last names – is a good guy.

“What did you call Gabe when you worked together?”

Wyatt grins. “Scooby.”

“And you were?”

“Nighthawk.”

“That’s a lot more rugged than Scooby Doo,” I note.

“You added the Doo.” Wyatt chuckles and I really like the sound and the way the tension eases from his shoulders. “But you may have noticed that I’m a lot more rugged than Gabe.”

I did notice.

And continue to notice.

Often.

Taking another swig of wine to gather my courage, I ask, “So, you know about my last boyfriend.” I gesture at the bruises on my face. “He was a real champion. Do you have a girlfriend back in LA?”

I’m fascinated by the column of Wyatt’s throat whenever he takes a sip of wine. Even that simple activity is somehow strong and sexy when he does it.

“Nope,” he says, and something inside me eases with relief. “A cop’s hours kind of suck. It’s a bit slower here, at least so far, and I don’t think I’ll be coming home covered in blood quite as often. But it’s not a lifestyle that most women want to sign-up for.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure women love the whole cop thing.”

Wyatt waves dismissively. “I’m not talking about badge bunnies. You’re just a uniform to them, and it gets old. Fast. There’s your public image, and then there’s who you actually are. None of them care about the latter.”

There aren’t many – okay, scratch that,any– men I know who would give up what I’ve heard them refer to as “easy pussy.” And nothing is easier than a holster honey.

I don’t know Wyatt well enough to accuse him of being a man whore, so I don’t. But disdain coupled with disbelief must show on my face.

“I’m twenty-eight, not twenty-two,” he reminds me. “The novelty wore off. Most men like a challenge.”

The way his gaze lands on me is decidedly heavy and intimate, making me shiver. Does he viewmeas a challenge? Surely, he wouldn’t have any interest in being with a broken woman, so maybe he just thinks it would be convenient to bed his roommate.

Instead of replying, I refill our wine glasses. Wyatt seems to understand that he isn’t going to change my mind, so he changes the subject instead.

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