"Believe me," I murmured as I steered her toward the door, "neither am I."
Getting Annette out of The Galley was a challenge. She was a stumbling, bumbling disaster, all incoherent rambling and singing, and moments of weepiness that edged dangerously into full-on crying. Couldn't have that. I wouldn't be able to stand it.
It was dark, the empty streets illuminated only by the harbor lights. With my arm tight around her waist and my fingers splayed over her belly, I steered her toward Harborside Books. She lived in the apartment over the shop. "Sounds like you're having a rough night," I said. "Is that right, Miss Cortassi?"
"Owen and I have more in common than I thought," she announced. She leaned into me, her hand on my chest. I hated myself for reveling in her closeness. It was unprofessional and it was irresponsible to carry on with these thoughts while she was under the influence. I knew better and I had to do better. "We both like dick."
I let out a surprised laugh. I liked the way "dick" sounded on her tongue. It was bold and unashamed, and I was falling under this woman's spell. I couldn't help myself and I couldn't stop smiling down at her. "Do you now?"
"Oh, yeah," she drawled, pushing away from me. The second she was gone, I wanted her back by my side. She stood on the sidewalk, motioning both hands toward her mouth. I wasn't sure what she was doing but it loosely resembled her jerking off two guys. Or shaking a set of tambourines. Couldn't be sure. "I love dick. The bigger the better. All the dicks. I should call Owen and talk to him about dick. We can compare notes. And techniques! That will be fabulous. Dick, dick, dick."
I stepped toward Annette, not trusting her to stand on her own. That, and I was enjoying this more than I should. "Let's save that for another day. Okay?" She didn't respond. "How about we get you upstairs? Where are your keys, ma'am?"
"Oh, Lord," she said, groaning. "Don't ma'am me. My day's been bad enough."
I shook my head once. "I don't understand the objection," I said under my breath. "How would you prefer I address you?"
"Annette would be fine," she said. "Book Lady if you can't remember."
"How could I forget?" I asked. I gazed down at her, meeting her humor-filled smile with my serious stare. "I mean that sincerely, Annette. How could I forget?"
"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "It happens, or whatever."
She pushed away from me to study her reflection in a storefront window. Her hands lifted as she shook out her loose curls and I had to exert real energy to keep myself from walking up and smelling her hair.
"I wouldn't forget," I said. She wasn't listening. She was shoving her hands down the front of her dress and adjusting her cleavage. Scooping one breast up, plumping it in the cup of her bra, then delivering the same service to its twin.God help me. "I won't forget any of this."
"That's funny," she said, her voice flat. "I'm trying to forget."
"About that," I said, stepping to her side. "Time to go home. Lead the way and I'll follow."
She couldn't produce her wallet or keys, or any idea where she left them. The choices available to me weren't good. Either I was picking the lock to her apartment above the bookshop or I was taking her home with me. Neither situation was conduct becoming a sheriff.
On the off chance she'd left her door open—not uncommon in this town but worrisome nonetheless—I tried helping her up the back stairs without allowing my touch to turn into anything more than supportive. It would've been easier to throw her over my shoulder or cradle her in my arms, and I would've enjoyed it a lot more. But my hands hovered at her waist, barely there.
But the door wasn't open, and there were no potted plants or decorative bullfrogs hiding a key. Now we were faced with a trip down the stairs.
"I'll go first," I said, gesturing down the steep incline. "You stay right behind me. I don't want you falling."
"Yay," she grumbled. "The indignities of this day won't quit."
With my torso twisted toward her, I took several steps, my hand outstretched if she required assistance. "Are you doing all right?" I asked when she wobbled onto the next riser.
"I'm so far from all right, I'm all left," she replied.
I shifted to glance down at the stairs, and then a petite pile of girl slammed into my back. Before I could make sense of this, her arms tangled around my neck and her legs around my waist. Her breath was warm on my neck, and when I moved just a twitch, her lips brushed over my skin.
"Careful there," I said. "You're too fragile to be launching yourself at people."
"I am fragile," she whispered. "Please don't leave me in the drunk tank for the night. Don't…don't leave me."
It didn't matter that Talbott's Cove didn't have a drunk tank, or that inebriated citizens who posed no danger to themselves or others were rarely arrested for public intoxication. The lady didn't want to be alone, and I wasn't about to contradict her desires. I wrapped one hand around her ankles and another around her wrists, the least I could do to hold on to her, and continued down the stairs.
"Okay then," I announced, mostly to myself. "You can sleep it off at my place."
"That's almost as bad as the drunk tank," she muttered.
"Not that bad," I replied with a laugh. "Is there someone you'd like me to call? Somewhere else I can take you? What about your fam—"
