Courting the Cop (13 page)

“I’m helping Abigail out while I take a rest from acting,” he said with great firmness to his mother. He stared at her intently, waiting for her old cop instincts to kick in and avoid disaster.

“Acting…” She stared back at him for a moment before a small crease appeared between her eyes. “Oh, acting. When are you going to give that up and find a proper job?”

He breathed out a silent sigh of relief. Trust his mom not to let him down.

“I’m not that bad, am I?”

But his mom’s attention had veered off to Abigail standing next to him. “I’m so happy to meet you, dearie. I don’t know why Brody kept you such a secret.”

A pink hue swept over Abigail’s face as she studiously avoided Brody’s eyes. “Brody and I haven’t been together all that long.”

“Why are you here, Mom?” Brody broke in, keen to steer the conversation away from his “girlfriend”. “You’ve never been interested in knitting.”

“I’ve never had time to be interested, have I? But now I’m retired, and I loved that wee baby jacket Shannon’s mother-in-law made for little Angie. I want to make something like that.” She turned to Abigail. “Is it difficult? Can you help a beginner like me?”

Abigail’s face brightened. “Of course I’ll help. We have plenty of easy patterns for baby jackets, and if you run into any problems you can always ask me.”

Moira nodded at Brody. “See, I knew I’d come to the right place. There aren’t any specialty yarn stores near me. It was a good idea trekking over here, especially since I get to meet Abigail.” Her eyes glinted mischievously. “Bring her to lunch on Sunday. Everyone will be there, even Caitlin.”

Brody gritted his teeth. “Mom, I don’t think we can make it. Abigail has to mind the store.”

“On Sunday afternoon?” Moira fixed her gaze on Abigail. “According to your store hours, you close at twelve thirty, so Brody could have you at my place by one.”

“Oh, uh—” Abigail was turning pink again. “Well, I guess I could.” She darted a quick glance at Brody and dammit if her lips weren’t twitching with amusement.

“Fine, we’ll come,” he conceded. He didn’t know why he was getting so worked up. This whole charade was only for Katherine’s benefit. As soon as they were somewhere private, he’d explain the real situation to his mom, and then there’d be no need to pretend Abigail was his girlfriend, and they wouldn’t have to endure a family grilling on Sunday.

“Wonderful.” His mom beamed at him, and for a moment his heart twinged at her misplaced happiness. She smiled at Katherine confidingly. “You don’t know how hard it is getting this one to bring a girl home to meet his mom.”

“It must be your lucky day today.” A wistful look filled Katherine’s eyes, as if she was thinking of her own son and his deficiencies. “Every son should appreciate his mother.”

“Absolutely. You sound like you have a son of your own.”

The wistfulness died from Katherine’s face. She tugged her scarf around her neck. “I have to go. Goodbye.” She scurried out the store, head bent.

“Odd woman.” Moira frowned after her.

Brody drew in a breath. “Mom, I have to tell you—”

“Can it wait, honey? I’m so keen to get my knitting going, and I have to be back in an hour.” She smiled at Abigail. “You were going to show me some patterns?”

Brody watched in resignation as his mom and Abigail ambled off to the racks of patterns on the other side of the store. With other customers hovering nearby, now wasn’t the ideal time to enlighten his mother.

“Excuse me?” A tiny old lady with a flowerpot hat smiled sweetly at him. “Could you help me, please?”

“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t know much about yarn.”

“Oh, I can see that, but it’s your height I need, not your expertise.” She motioned to the shelves of yarn. “I need some teal wool. It’s near the top, and, well, you see my problem.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

He walked over to the shelves and picked up a couple of balls of teal wool. “That enough?”

“I’ll have to make sure it matches the yarn I already have.”

The flowerpot lady spent a great deal of time comparing yarn. Brody had to fetch a dozen balls of yarn before she was happy with one, and afterward he had to restack the rest she’d discarded. After all his labors, she only bought the one ball, a total of three dollars. He didn’t know why Abigail worked so hard for so little return, but as he watched her with his mom, he knew it wasn’t about the money but about the pleasure she got in dealing with her customers. She’d be happy to help them even if they didn’t buy anything. And she and his mom appeared to be getting on like a house on fire. She was showing different types of yarn, and his mom was listening intently. His mom didn’t do things by half measures. If she’d decided to take up knitting, then she was going to charge full tilt at it.

The two of them came up to the front counter where Brody was lounging and deposited knitting needles, yarn and a pattern next to the register. Before Abigail could ring up the purchases, flowerpot lady corralled her, asking for help on crochet hooks.

“You go ahead.” Moira waved Abigail off. “I’ll chat with Brody.” She turned to her son, gesturing at her knitting supplies. “Isn’t this great? Abigail can check my progress when you bring her over on Sunday.”

Brody stood up. Time to set him mom straight on a few things.

“Mom,” he said, lowering his voice so no one could overhear them. “I need to tell you something. Abby and I, we’re not actually dating.”

“Yes, I know you don’t like to ‘date’ women, but you and Abigail are…together, aren’t you?” Moira’s clear blue eyes leveled at him. “To be more blunt, you’re sleeping with her, yes?”

Christ, there was no escape from those direct, all-seeing eyes. And why the hell was his sex life even under discussion? He nodded tersely. “Yeah, but you see—”

“There are no buts, Brody. I only met Abigail ten minutes ago, but already I know she’s not the type to sleep around casually. If you’ve shared a bed with her, then you and she are dating. No ifs or buts about that.”

His mom was right. Abigail might have started off as his pretend girlfriend, but he’d crossed the line when he’d fallen into bed with her. He couldn’t brush her off as nothing. Dread prickled the back of his neck. Jesus, it felt like a noose was tightening around his throat.

“I notice the way you look at her,” Moira continued. “Plus, you just called her Abby. You can’t fool your old mother that you don’t feel
something
for her.”

He glanced at Abigail patiently assisting the flowerpot lady, and realized how much he’d missed her since Sunday. Missed spending the nights with her wrapped in his arms. Missed waking up to her hair in his face and her scent on his skin. Shit, what was happening to him? Was he actually falling for a woman for the very first time in his life?

His mom’s chuckle broke his boiling thoughts. Leaning across the counter, she patted him on the cheek. “It’s not so scary, honey. Just go with the flow and you’ll be fine.”

He shook his head as he forced the unnatural feelings away from him. Concentrate on something else, for Chrissakes. Something like work, for instance.

“Mom, I’m conducting a stakeout, and people around here don’t know I’m a cop. I’d appreciate you not blowing my cover.”

“I caught your vibe, and I’m not going to blow your cover.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “So Abigail knows, does she?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Mm-hmm. And you got together with her during this stakeout?”

He swiped the back of his hand across his brow. He could never withstand his mom’s interrogations. “Sort of,” he prevaricated.

“Ri-ight.”

His mom didn’t look too satisfied with his weak answer, but fortunately before she could apply the third degree to him, Abigail and flowerpot lady trooped up to the counter, where Abigail began ringing up Moira’s purchases first.

“Thank you so much,” his mom trilled when she had paid and tucked the bag under her arm. She stood on tiptoe to peck Brody on the cheek and squeezed Abigail’s arm. “I’ll see you both on Sunday. Looking forward to it.”

Brody had to bite his tongue until the flowerpot lady had been served and tottered out the store, clutching her shopping bag. But when he and Abigail were finally alone, the words he thought needed saying seemed stuck in his throat. Instead of blurting out that Sunday lunch at his mom’s place was never going to happen, he found himself wishing he could make Abigail smile at him. It seemed like a very long time since she had smiled at him—genuinely smiled—and he missed that.

“So, that was your mom, huh?” Abigail busied herself tidying a pile of receipts.

“Yeah. I almost had a heart attack when she appeared, especially with Katherine standing by.”

“She seemed to know what you were up to.”

“She still has that sixth sense of hers. Kept her safe while she was on the beat.”

Abigail clipped the receipts together, taking unusual care. “You can tell her I’m not feeling well when you go over on Sunday.”

He squinted at her, trying to decipher her composed expression and failing. “You don’t want to go? Mom will be disappointed.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but you don’t want me to go.”

Damn, was she never going to look him in the eye again? Placing his hands on her shoulders, he drew her around to face him. “I might have thought that initially, but I’ve changed my mind. I want you to come with me.”

The somberness in her eyes slowly gave way to wariness. “You do? But…why?”

He could ask himself the same question. He didn’t know the answer. All he knew was that he wanted Abigail smiling at him again.

“Because I don’t like you being mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” she replied too quickly.

“Well, I think you are. After Sunday night.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, suddenly awkward.

“Oh. That. No, I was to blame too. You don’t like to dance, I get that. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Her gaze was aimed square at the top button of his shirt.

He did not do couply things, and he definitely did not like to dance. Should he tell her about Gina? No, it was too soon. He wasn’t prepared enough. He didn’t even know why he was doing it. Or, maybe he did but he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself.

Sliding a finger beneath her chin, he gently tipped her face up to look into her eyes. “If you’re not mad at me, then give me a smile.”

Her lips quivered before pulling into a brief, muted smile. “There you go.” She twisted away from him.

He stared at her, aware that everything between them was shifting fast. Too fast.

“Okay then. So Sunday is on.”

She nodded, once again torturing her receipts. “It’s on.”

“My mom isn’t the best cook, so don’t expect anything fancy.”

“Oh, I don’t think you should be saying that.” She seemed shocked.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She pressed her lips together, and he wanted to kiss her, to soften her mouth with his. The urge to be with her rose, stronger than ever, and with it came a throb of alarm. He was wrong for her, but he couldn’t seem to crush his need for her.

He cleared his throat. “Now that O’Brien’s shown up in the neighborhood, I need to spend more time watching his mother’s house from your apartment. That okay?”

She nodded quickly, though she seemed nervous about having him around. “Sure, no problem. I’ll be out at a neighborhood-watch meeting tonight.”

Was she trying to avoid him? Maybe he should tell her about Gina. But that made him nervous. He felt like he was wandering through a maze of dark alleys, and his head was getting more confused by the day. Better to play things by ear and see how they worked out.

The phone rang, and Abigail turned to answer it, leaving Brody alone. He still hadn’t got a proper smile from her, he realized, and that bugged him all day.

Chapter Ten

On Wednesday morning Abigail was finishing breakfast when Brody arrived at her apartment. Her surprise at his early arrival increased when she saw he wasn’t alone. A tall, rangy man about the same age as Brody walked in with him.

“This is Detective Shane Jackson,” Brody introduced him. “Shane, this is Abigail Brightwater.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Brightwater.” Shane shook hands with her, curiosity frank in his face. He had dirty-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes that sparkled with humor. “I’m helping Brody out with his stakeout.”

“Please call me Abigail.” She aimed a querying look at Brody. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday. By the time she’d returned from her neighborhood-watch meeting last night, he’d already left. His absence had disappointed her more than she liked to admit. “So things are getting serious?”

“Yep. After I informed my lieutenant about O’Brien showing up at the library, he agreed to focus more resources on this stakeout.”

Why was he being so stiff and formal with her? Was it because of his partner’s presence?

“Do either of you want some coffee? Toast?” She waved the half-eaten piece of toast with marmalade she was holding.

Shane made as if to say yes, but Brody was already shaking his head. “Thanks, but no. We don’t have time. I gotta be somewhere else soon, and I need to show Shane the setup. Is it okay if we go through to your bedroom?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Thank goodness her bed was already made and her room reasonably tidy. She didn’t mind Brody seeing her mess, but his partner was a stranger. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Shane smiled at her before following Brody down the hall. Abigail returned to the kitchen, but her appetite was gone, and she had to force the rest of her toast down her throat. A few minutes later, Brody appeared in the kitchen, alone.

“Thanks for being so accommodating,” he said. “I know it’s awkward having strangers in your home, especially in your bedroom.”

Brody had been a stranger to her bedroom for three whole nights. But who was counting, right? She wasn’t the clingy type. She could do casual just as well as the next woman.

“Oh, I’m not worried.” Shrugging, she opened the refrigerator to put the butter away. “You’re keen to catch your fugitive.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately.”

His words shocked her so much for a moment she couldn’t move. Cautious, she turned to face him. She couldn’t read his expression. He seemed cagey, edgy. Maybe anxious? Why, she couldn’t fathom.

She tried a nonchalant shrug. “You don’t have to apologize. I know there’s nothing serious between us, so you don’t have to account for your movements.” Although she would like to know what he was doing with Gina.

Brody shifted on his feet, a frown flitting across his brow. “You still going to that fifties dance?”

“Of course. I bought my ticket weeks ago. Why?”

“Just asking.” He shrugged. “You going with your macho Italian?”

“Carlo? I doubt it. He’s not into fifties dancing either.” She cocked her head sideways. “Why? Are you jealous of him?”

“Me? Jealous?” Brody scoffed. “I got better things to do with my time.”

Like sneak around with Gina
. God, how she hated these suspicious thoughts. Gina was a friend of hers, and Brody was too straight-up to be a lying rat. There had to be a perfectly innocent explanation, and she was sure Brody would tell her if she asked. But if she asked that would show how insecure she was, how much she cared about him. That would scare Brody off faster than a wedding ring. No, she couldn’t ask him about Gina. Just because she and Brody had slept together a few times, that didn’t give her any rights over him.

She leaned back against the refrigerator and tilted her head up to aim a challenging stare at Brody. “Well,
you
mentioned Carlo, not me.”

“Fine. Let’s forget about him.”

“Already forgotten.”

Heat flickered in his hazel-green eyes as his gaze trailed over her face, zeroing in on her lips. “Now there’s something I can’t forget.”

She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. The lust flaring in his eyes filled her with a giddy sense of power. To think she still had this effect on him…it was intoxicating.

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were getting tired or bored.”

He moved closer, leaving only an inch between them. “No. I’ll tell you when I’m tired or bored.”

The inch of air between them sizzled. She swallowed. “Okay. That’s honest.”

He touched his forefinger to her bottom lip and pressed gently until her lips parted. His eyelids fell to half-mast as he rubbed his fingertip across her mouth. “You busy tonight?”

His husky voice and the feel of his finger on her lip were amazingly arousing. She knew the smart thing to do would be to tell him to take a flying leap. She knew she was in danger of falling in love with Brody. She knew she wasn’t very good at protecting her heart. But logic didn’t count for much when her body and her heart were crying out for him.

She licked his finger before slowly lowering it from her lips. “Yes, I’ll be busy tonight,” she murmured. She waited for his face to fall before she continued, “Apparently some cocky detective is coming to see me and make up for all the nights he’s missed with me.”

A lopsided grin lifted his face. “A cocky detective, huh?”

“Mm-hmm. According to him, he’s really something in bed.”

He leaned in, stealing all the air from her lungs, and stroked his fingers down her cheek. “I’ll let that detective know to bring his A game tonight, then.”

He brushed his lips across hers, and she shivered with need, her body hot against the cool refrigerator.

So what if he was hiding something from her. So what if he didn’t want to go to some dance with her. It didn’t matter as long as he came to her tonight.

A loud throat-clearing from behind broke the spell. Brody stepped back from her, revealing his partner standing in the doorway, gazing at them both.

Brody didn’t seem the least embarrassed. “See you tonight,” he said to Abigail before turning to his partner. “Okay, let’s go.”

Shane gave Abigail a quick salute. “Later, Abigail.”

Moments later, she was alone, semi-aroused and a little ashamed at how easily Brody could turn her mood around. He was still the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy she’d first pegged him for, but now, from personal experience, she had to admit the wham-bam part was pretty spectacular. She just had to make sure she was properly prepared for the thank-you-ma’am part, which would inevitably arrive.

“Omigod, you are so fucking sweet.”

Brody’s husky whispers in Abigail’s ear were more uplifting than any poetry ever spouted. Especially when he was on top of her, inside her, and his slow, rhythmic pounding was sending her pleasure centers into overdrive. She dragged her fingernails down his back, relishing the play of his muscles, the sweat dewing his skin.

“Brody…” As usual, he’d robbed her of all her vocabulary except for one word. “Brody…” His name purred in her throat. She arched her spine and gripped her legs more firmly around his hips, urging him to pound a little deeper, a little harder.

He obliged, pushing a hand between their bodies, seeking out her tight, aching bud. When he found it, he thumbed it tenderly, slowing his pace to a solid, bass cadence. Hot pleasure flowered around her center, tendrils shooting through her legs. She sucked in a breath, caught on the hook of his sexual expertise, her entire world focused on his measured thrusts, his thumb pleasuring her clit, his eyes urging her to let herself—everything—go.

“Show me, Abby, show me everything.”

His free hand closed around her breast, brushing against her nipple, and she couldn’t hold back any longer. She flew over the edge, pleasure shattering her, body arching, his name hoarse on her lips.

“Brody. Brody.” Yes, he knew what she meant.

Only then did he let himself go, and it seemed he’d missed her too. He pounded so lustily into her that she found herself slipping off the bed. He followed her, too far gone to stop. His shoulder banged into her nightstand, and a pile of books fell to the ground, but they barely noticed. Incredibly, she felt another wave of pleasure lift her up, and when Brody made his final thrust into her, his body tensing as he orgasmed, she crested on a second climax, more intense than the first, making her cling to his shoulders as wave upon wave rippled through her.

“Oh. My. God.” She flopped onto the floor, breathless and giddy, her body buzzing from the aftermath. “Oh. My. God.”

Sweat gleamed on Brody’s body as he levered himself off her and rested on his side, watching her with a smug grin on his face as he too gasped for air.

“Guess I brought my A game tonight, huh?” he said eventually.

“Are you fishing for compliments?” She couldn’t help laughing at his cheekiness.

He traced a finger down the center of her stomach. “Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I did make you come twice in two minutes.”

“You did. So I guess you did bring your A game.” She reached up to caress his jaw, relishing the feel of his stubble. Amazing to think that a man this sexy was so eager to please her in bed.

“It got a bit rough at the end. Hope you didn’t get any bumps or bruises when we fell on the floor.” His fingers moved up over her shoulders, assessing her.

“Nope.” She’d rather liked the rough bit. She wouldn’t mind him getting a little rougher. That thought made her pause. Was Brody making her a little kinky? Well, he did have a fetish for her red-and-white apron, after all.

He laughed and helped her back into bed before bending down beside the books that had tumbled to the floor. He picked up some of them and piled them back onto the nightstand. The last book was open at the flyleaf.

“To Abigail,” he read. “Wild nights! Wild nights! Were I with thee, wild nights should be our luxury.” He peered closer at the signature. “Robert?”

Abigail sat up in bed, blushing with discomfort. Damn, she hadn’t realized that book was still on her nightstand. She hadn’t done much reading for a while, or tidying up, or that book would never have stayed there.

“It’s nothing,” she said as she all but snatched the book from his hands. She slammed it shut and pressed her fists on it.

Brody’s eyebrows lifted, his expression curious. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about a book of poetry your ex-lover gave you. The English professor, am I right?”

He seemed so calm about it that she nodded. “Yes, but I haven’t hung on to the book because I’m pining for him.” Somehow it was important to stress that. “I’m over him, really I am. In fact, I don’t know why I’ve kept this book. It’s going to Goodwill, first chance I get.” She tossed the book away from her, keen to be rid of it and all its gloomy memories.

He sat on the bed, blocking her view of the book, and she was glad to concentrate on him instead.

“Was he a complete asshole?”

“He was married, and I believed him when he told me he was getting a divorce.” The words tumbled out of her. “I believed him for a whole year, until I found out he was still spending nights with his ‘estranged’ wife, and there were no plans for divorce since they had an open marriage.” She shook her head. “Yes, I was very gullible and stupid, no need to tell me.”

Brody let out a small sigh, but his eyes were sympathetic, not condemning. “You’re sweet and trusting and loyal, Abigail. Don’t let that change just because of one sleazy jerk. He’s not worth it.”

“You think so?” she sniffed.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. “Abby, I know so. Don’t waste a second of your time thinking about that scumbag.” He rocked her in his embrace, his arms so strong and protective around her she wanted to stay there forever.

“He was a scumbag,” she couldn’t help saying. “He made me sneak around because he said we couldn’t be seen together or it would hurt his prospects of gaining tenure. I was never a proper girlfriend, I was just a booty call.”

“Hey, no more talking about him.” Brody squeezed her tighter. “He’s not worth it.”

“You’re right.” Gulping down another sniffle, she bounced out of his arms and grabbed the book. “This is going out right away.”

“Hey, you’re not leaving me here, are you?”

She turned to take in the sight of Brody’s magnificent buck-naked body, and a sigh shivered through her. In the long run he might be completely the wrong kind of man for her, but right now Brody was perfect for her because he blotted out all reminders of Robert.

“Stay where you are.” She waved him back to the bed. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“Come back in your apron, not a jiffy,” he called after her as she marched out of her bedroom, the despised poetry book in her clutches.

She went into the kitchen and took great pleasure in throwing the book into the garbage bin. Robert had ruined Emily Dickinson’s poem, but that was the last thing he’d spoil for her.

I was never a proper girlfriend, I was just a booty call.

She’d said those words about Robert, but didn’t they apply equally to Brody? Wasn’t tonight little more than a booty call? Yes, it was, if she was brutally honest. Brody wasn’t interested in a relationship. He might not be as calculating as Robert, but the outcome was the same, wasn’t it? After all these years of wishing and hoping that someone would put her first in their lives, she wasn’t any closer. Brody was just the latest in a line that stretched back to her parents.

But oh how she hated feeling like a victim. She didn’t have to; she had a choice. Sure, she might not be top priority for anyone at the moment. She might have crappy parents and bad luck with men, but she wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself. She was responsible for her own happiness, and she had a lot to be grateful for—a home, a job, friends, a place where she belonged. She might never experience her happily-ever-after, but that shouldn’t stop her from living a full life.

Abigail picked up the apron that never failed to arouse Brody. He didn’t want anything serious with her, but he was caring and funny and lovely to be with. And sex with him was seriously amazing. She’d be crazy not to enjoy it while it lasted.