Page 8 of Sinful Promise
“You paid for them.” I head back to my side of the bed while Minka showers, then picking up the third-hand coffee, I bring it to my lips—and recoil from the sugary milk. “Fuck, that’s gross. When’s Jada supposed to be back?”
He pushes off the bed and watches me with his honeycomb stare. “You mean my adulterous, pill-popping, sex-addicted, alcohol-fueled ex-wife-slash-baby-momma-slash-daughter’s abuser who is currently in rehab?” He shakes his head and chuckles. “Next week, I think. I’ve gotta speak to the program coordinator about it.”
“Where will she live?” I chug the rest of Aubree’s coffee, because I need the caffeine more than I need my teeth not to rot out of my face. “Where does she go once she’s free?”
“She lost her apartment after she went into the program, since I couldn’t afford to pay for mine plus hers plus a nanny for Mia plus the extras for the rehab joint. It sucks, but… it is what it is, ya know? So she’s being set up in this re-integration type place once she’s out.”
“Sounds fine to me.”
Toxic is toxic, and Fletch and his daughter deserve a thousand times better than to have to take care of the woman who refuses to take care of herself. Even if, for the longest time, Jada was one of us. Loved. Adored. Protected.
Until she stepped out of her marriage and became a danger to their daughter.
“Where’s the place?” I ask.
He keeps his eyes down now, on the floor rather than on me in my sheet. “Over by the bay,” he rumbles. “Dunno. I’ll figure it all out before she’s back.”
He moves to the single window overlooking Copeland City’s first-responder district. We have a hospital, a morgue, a police department, and political offices, all on this street alone—which means there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of apartments filled with the folks who work for city salaries. “The captain expecting you back on shift today?”
“Yep.”
And because that’s true, I move into the hall and stop at the bathroom door. But before I push through, I glance back to the bedroom and raise a brow until Fletch takes a hint and turns his ass around again. When I’m clear, I step into the bathroom, only to be smacked in the face with a wall of steam.
“Jesus.” I choke on the moisture in the air and work hard to breathe and not drown in the heat. But with the humidity comes the smell of Minka’s shampoo. Her soap. Her own personal perfume that brings me to my knees and could convince me to do anything.
Like kill a sleeping man in his own home.
“Minka?” I close the door at my back and flip the lock to make sure Aubree and Fletch stay out. Then I drop my sheet and make my way into the shower stall until she turns to me. Wordless, but welcoming. Selfless. Open.
I run my palms along her hips, memorizing her body under my touch. “Fuck, you feel good.” I’ve done this a million times. Touched her curves. Run my hands along her long lines. And still, I’ll never tire of it. “Are you awake yet?”
“Mm.” Much happier now that she’s warm and wet, Minka slides the tips of her fingers along my torso. “I still need coffee. But I’m better than I was ten minutes ago.” Glancing up with sleepy, satisfied eyes, she searches mine. “Was Aubree in our bed? Or was that a weird dream?”
I snort. “She was really in our bed.” Reaching past her, I pump soap into my palm and turn her body until her hands press to the wall, and her back is exposed for me to rub liquid gel onto. “And she has terrible taste in coffee. Fletch is here too. Neither of them saw my dick, but both of them saw a little bit of,” I bite the top of her shoulder and thrill in the way she shivers, “you.” I massage her back and dig my thumbs into her muscles until she moans. “Want me to kill them to preserve your dignity?”
Relaxed, she lays her forehead on the cold tile and lets the shower rinse soap suds from her skin. “Scoop their eyes out, maybe.” Exhaling, she grins so I catch the movement of her cheeks. “It sends a better message. What’s on the schedule for today?” She’s waking and transforming into Doctor Mayet. Busy, organized, dedicated. “Anything open on your desk?”
“Nope.” I press my chest to her back, then my lips to the side of her neck. “Fletch tied up the organ-harvesting case while we were in New York, and nothing else has come in overnight.”
“So… cold case files again?”
“Fuck, I hope not.”
My fingertips roam her delicate ribs, her breasts, then down to her hips. I study her athletic build, although I’ve yet to see her in a gym. Genetics, I suppose. She got the good kind that mean she’s fueled by caffeine, snark, and too little food. But her body is my wonderland. My nirvana. My favorite place to be.
Except…
I frown at the belt of red and purple that wraps around her upper body. Experimentally—knowing, but hoping I’m wrong—I recreate the circle with my arm, only to groan when it’s a perfect match.
Remorse bubbles deep in my stomach for the mark I left behind with my harsh actions last night.
“I did that.” Pulling her closer, though gently, I slide my hand up to cup her jaw and twist her face around until our eyes meet. “I bruised you.”
“I bruise easily.” Standing on her toes, she slides her lips over mine and swallows my sigh when I can’t keep it in any longer. “You thought I was in danger, so you got me out of the way.”
Lowering again, she reaches out and pumps soap into her palm. Reversing our roles, she forces me to turn and goes to work massaging my back. “It doesn’t hurt, Archer. So stop freaking.”
Lifting my arms and resting them against the tile wall, I move close and exhale as her hands soothe every frayed edge I possess. “I’m sorry.”
