Somebody to Love (Tyler Jamison #1) - April Wilson Page 0,79
clear he knew nothing about this. “Wait a minute,” he says, shaking his head. “How does he know we—it was just one night!”
“He has someone watching you—a private investigator, I imagine. He, or she, reported back to your dad that I spent the night here last night.”
Ian shakes his head with a laugh. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe it. My parents sometimes go overboard trying to protect me and my sister. They mean well, they really do. They’re not bad people. But sometimes they go a little over the top, especially my dad. I’m really sorry. I’ll talk to him.”
“Well, if that’s not why you’re upset, then what’s bothering you?”
“I thought you came here to tell me you were done with me.”
“What?” Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “Why would you think that?”
“You didn’t say goodbye this morning. You just left.”
“And you thought that meant I was no longer interested in you?”
He shrugs. “I thought it was possible you’d changed your mind about me.”
“You were asleep, Ian. I didn’t want to wake you. I left you a text message.” Martin Alexander’s reference to Ian being vulnerable is starting to make more sense.
Ian shrugs off my explanation. “We should eat. The food will get cold.”
“If you’re hungry, Ian, go right ahead and eat. But we need to talk about this.”
His eyes tear up.
“Hey.” I close the distance between us, walk right up to him and lay my hands on his shoulders. “Talk to me, Ian. What’s wrong?”
He looks away as a single tear rolls down his cheek. “Nothing.”
“Ian.”
Without meeting my gaze, he says, “I have issues.”
“What kind of issues?”
“Abandonment issues.” He draws in a shaky breath.
A sharp pain stabs me in the chest. “When I left this morning, did you think I’d abandoned you? Left you with a word? Without an explanation?”
He shrugs. “It might have crossed my mind.”
I frown. “And here I thought I was doing you a favor by not waking you up. If I’d known how you would take it, I would have woken you.” I bring my hands up to cup his face and make him look at me. “I would have told you how amazing you are and how much I want you.” I lean in to kiss him gently. “I’m sorry, Ian. I’ll never do that again.”
Tears spill down his cheeks, and he wipes them away with a shaky hand. “I was just being stupid.”
“No, it wasn’t stupid.” I brush fresh tears off his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sorry about what my dad said to you. I’ll talk to him tonight and straighten things out.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? He was pretty clear that he wants me staying away from you.”
“It’s too late for that, if there really is a PI watching me. My dad will hear that you came by. Besides, don’t worry. My parents are good people. They mean well. I’ll tell my dad to back off. It’ll be okay.” Ian lays both of his hands on my chest, sliding them up to my shoulders. “When do you have to be back to work?”
“I have a departmental meeting at three.”
Ian leans in to kiss me. “I can think of a good way to spend the next hour.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Does it involve your mouth or mine?”
He grins. “Both.”
“What about lunch?”
He eyes my mouth hungrily as he pulls me toward the back staircase. “Lunch can wait.”
* * *
An hour later, after cleaning up and dressing, we head back downstairs.
Ian walks me to the door front. “Will I see you tonight?”
I nod. “I’ll come by this evening, after work. Around seven?”
“That’s perfect. It’ll give me a chance to stop by my parents’ house during dinner this evening and have a little chat with them.”
“I don’t want to cause problems with your family, Ian.”
He reaches out to smooth my jacket. “Don’t worry, you won’t.”
Once I’m outside, I stand on the front stoop and survey the street in both directions. I mentally catalog the cars parked within view of Ian’s townhouse: an Audi, two BMWs, a Lexus, a Mercedes, a Range Rover, two Escalades… and last but not least, a beaten-down piece of rusted junk. The townhouses in this Gold Coast neighborhood sell for a million dollars and up. I doubt the rusted-out economy car belongs to a resident.
I walk over to the vehicle and wrap on the driver’s window. There’s a young man seated at the wheel, reading a magazine. Sure.
I flash my badge. “Chicago PD. Can I ask what you’re doing here?”