Nicole had a day off tomorrow, and she and Mocha had come to stay the night.
“Thanks, Nic. I really appreciate it.”
Sasha made her way upstairs, where she washed her face and brushed her teeth, her gaze fixing on her lips, the memory of that kiss flooding her—the heat, the caress of his tongue, the hungry way his fingers had slid into her hair.
It had been perfect, until she’d brought it to an end.
But she would see him tomorrow, wouldn’t she?
She carefully undressed, the bruises on her ribs a dark, angry purple. She found her favorite fleece lounger hanging in her closet and pulled it gently over her head, catching sight of herself in the mirror again.
Why didn’t she own anything feminine?
Pretty much everything she wore was some form of activewear. She didn’t have anything made of silk. It was all fleece, Spandex, and polypropylene. Leggings. Sports bras. Tank tops. Sweatpants. As for shoes… She wouldn’t even go there.
Stop it. Don’t do this to yourself.
Darius hadn’t stopped kissing her because she wasn’t wearing silk or a lacy bra. He’d stopped because she’d been in pain—and because he’d felt he’d done something wrong. After all, he’d kissedherand not that movie star who’d given him a peep show through the folds of her silk bathrobe.
But was their first kiss also going to be their last?
God, she hoped not.
She turned away from the mirror and walked back downstairs, where Nicole and Mocha were waiting for her.
Darius drovedown the canyon to Denver early Monday morning. Rush hour traffic had I-25 backed up in both directions as he neared downtown. Why was this highway constantly under construction?
Such a pain in the ass.
What had happened with Sasha yesterday had been out of line—and entirely out of character for Darius. He’d called early this morning and left a message telling Chief Irving, asking for a brief meeting. He had no idea how Irving would react. But that’s not what mattered. In Darius’ book, doing the right thing meant facing the consequences of one’s actions. He just hoped it didn’t cost him his badge.
Knowing that Irving would have no choice now but to assign someone else to the case, he’d checked out of the Inn after breakfast, surprised to find himself reluctant to leave Scarlet Springs. He hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place, so why should it bother him to go?
You didn’t tell her goodbye.
No, he hadn’t. What the hell would he have said to her?
It was wrong for me to kiss you. I’m not sure I can do my job because you turn me on, so I’m going back to Denver. Someone else will take over.
Lame.
Arriving thirty minutes later than he’d intended, he parked in the secured underground garage. He made his way upstairs, straightening his tie before he knocked on Irving’s office door, his shirt smelling like Sasha’s fabric softener.
“Come!”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Morning.” Irving studied him. “Your message sounded urgent. Sit and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Darius took a seat. He’d rehearsed this conversation in his head, but it was different when he was sitting face to face with his boss. He came right out with it. “You need to assign someone else to the Dillon case. I have compromised myself and the department and will accept whatever discipline you see fit.”
Irving leaned forward, a frown on his face. “What the hell did you do?”
“I’m attracted to Ms. Dillon. Yesterday, I … I did laundry at her house. We spent time talking, and I kissed her, sir. She’s the victim in this case, and I crossed a line.”
Irving leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Was it consensual?”
“Yes, sir. It was. She asked me to kiss her.”
