waiting for him to say something. He takes my hand, lifting it to his head and presses down on my fingers until I can feel the spot where he was shot. I fight the urge to recoil or shudder at the dent like feel of his scar.
He lowers our hands and keeps them connected when he rests them on my leg. “My partner and I got a domestic call from an address we had been to a handful of times before. It was a seemingly nice middle-aged couple with a husband who would get a little too loud when he drank excessively. They were always surprised to see us and would immediately quiet down without hesitation, apologizing repeatedly as we walked out the door. This time was different.” He pulls his hand out from under mine and runs his fingers through his short hair.
He flags Sam down for another beer and waits until he can take a few sips before continuing. “We knocked on the door and the wife answered hysterically with blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. When she stepped back to let us inside I noticed movement out of my periphery and turned to see what it was. By the time it registered that her husband had a gun aimed at her, there wasn’t time to draw my own weapon. I pushed her to the side and the bullet hit me instead. I don’t remember anything after until I woke up in the hospital two weeks later.”
“What happened to the man who shot you?” I ask before I take another sip of my mojito.
“My partner fatally shot him.”
I’ve never wanted to be Elle more than in this moment. She would know how to act—she would know what to say—she would know what to do to help dispel the dark mood that’s settled over Kyle. The pall of our conversation still lingered while we finished our drinks and it’s still here, on the walk back to my apartment. I wish I hadn’t brought it up. While we walk along the mostly empty sidewalks, the street lamps illuminate his brooding profile and I know this is my moment. This is the time when I need to say something, anything, anything at all. But nothing comes. No words—no actions—nothing. He reaches out, and as our hands come together, I know we’ll find our way through this emptiness. It just won’t be through something I say or do because the more I try to come up with conversational ideas, the more my mind draws a total blank.
He stays with me all the way to my door and as I unlock the deadbolt I can feel the heat of him against my back.
I push the door open and step inside. “Would you like a drink?” I ask, turning to face him when he closes the door.
He shakes his head and steps toward me with a feral gleam in his eyes. I stand frozen in place until he grips my hips with both hands, pulling me forward until our bodies are as close as they can be. He takes my lips in a punishing kiss, sucking and biting on them with more force than I’m used to.
My hands move up his shoulders and into his hair as I clench fistfuls between my fingers. My knees go weak when his tongue moves in to play with mine. I moan into his mouth when he presses his hard cock against me.
His palms slide down to cup my ass and control the movement of my hips against his while we continue to kiss. I gasp at the feel of his fingers against my skin when he unbuttons my pants. By the time he slides down my zipper, the air is so thick with anticipation I’m short of breath. He rips my jeans and panties down to my ankles in one hard tug and I kick them off along with my shoes. I unzip my jacket, but when I go to remove it he stops me.
“Don’t.” His voice is deep and commanding sending tingles to all the right places on my body. He scoops me up and sits me down on the long, narrow console table in my entryway.
My hands drop to the wooden surface behind me for balance as he lowers to his knees on the floor in front of me. My lips part, a groan escaping when I realize what he’s about to do.
He pushes my knees up toward my chest and my head