“Exactly how much did you hear?” I asked.
“Enough to wonder if I should call a caterer to book our wedding reception.” Her crystal-clear laugh brought a wave of longingthat couldn’t easily be pushed aside. My cock wasn’t interested in listening to me.
Exhaling, I looked away. “Did you get some sleep?”
“A little. I also worked on the sketches. I thought maybe we could go over them just to see how well I did.”
“We can do that. Thank you for allowing us to utilize your gift.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a gift. My sister is the talented artist in the family.” Her faraway look tugged at several heartstrings, some for the very wrong reasons Hudson had accused me of.
“Why don’t we get some coffee. We can sit down at the kitchen table and go over the sketches. After that, I’ll scan and send them to the group.” Coffee. Not unless it was laced with something stronger. In this case, I’d accept whiskey.
She tugged hair behind her ear and I was caught by the simple moment. With her in jeans and a baggy shirt, her presence seemed far too normal.
As if we were enjoying a day off together, maybe thinking about heading out to catch a movie followed by pizza. The strange reality was that I wouldn’t mind. Not because I was ready to get married, but because I genuinely liked her company. Even when her defiance faded, she had a spark in her that couldn’t be repressed by fear or uncertainty. She didn’t know me in the least, yet refused to back down.
I genuinely liked that about her.
As well as everything else.
“I’ll agree to coffee if you stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I countered.
“As if now that you have me, you’re clueless as to what to do with me. Or as if I might fall into a fit of despair. Despite my behavior last night, I’m not fragile.”
How refreshing that her sense of humor, albeit sarcastic, had returned. However, I could sense she was placing a defensive wall around herself after what we’d shared. Not that I blamed her. “I assure you I’ll have no problem figuring out what to do.” I hadn’t intended for the moment to be awkward, but I’d never tried to portray myself as a wordsmith outside the courtroom.
We stood silently for a full minute, long enough the burn of desire turned into discomfort.
She finally lifted the sketchpad in her hand, fiddling with one of the pages. “This is what my sister looks like now.”
As soon as she held up the drawing, I was taken aback by how much the young girl reminded me of Emily. In the photograph I’d seen, Briana had been much younger, her childlike features still intact. Now, with her high cheekbones and plump lips, not only did she resemble her sister, but also mine. How uncanny and unnerving.
Enough so I looked away.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing’s wrong. You’re a very talented artist. The look in her eyes is very haunted. Just like yours had been.”
“Haunting. I know. She was always so full of life even when…”
When she didn’t finish her sentence, I finally kicked myself in the butt and looked at her. Chasing away the past wasn’t going to bring me any closer to hunting down the men responsible. “When?”
“You know. When she was a kid. The girl who refused to back down to anything or anyone.” The faraway look in her eyes portrayed a story, a pressing memory that had been the reason she’d taken it upon herself to fight a criminal regime.
That’s what I’d taken to thinking of the Privileged. They were not unlike a crime syndicate with a monster at the helm and good little foot soldiers to do his bidding. And the members simply believed they had every right to their behavior. Once again, I admired her, but I still had an itching to turn her over my knee.
“We’re going to make certain your sister has every opportunity to resume her joyful life.”
She followed me as I headed to the kitchen and I was struck by how distant sharing space had become. Not that I was a conversationalist, yet the eggshells could become a problem. Maybe I’d simply been immune to the morning after dilemma since I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent a full night with a woman. The few I’d dated even remotely seriously said I had a fear of commitment.
I always thought I was just too set in my ways, old enough to prefer my life being organized the way I wanted it. And why in God’s name was I worrying about it in the first place?
Her silence was as unnerving as being unable to figure what to say to her. We were both lost in our own worlds, fighting to accept why this case had already branded our souls.
“Cream. Sugar?” I asked to break the relentless monotony.
