WINSLOW
“What are you doing here? And why do you have flowers in your boots?”
Griffin walked into my office with the boots, each with a geranium poking out of the top. He eyed my desk, searching for a clear space to set them down. There wasn’t one.
“This was clean,” I mumbled, shuffling folders and papers out of the way. The mess I’d wrangled had returned. Story of my life.
The moment I thought I had something under control, it snuck up on
me.
Sort of like Griffin.
I’d spent the past two days making peace with the end of our
relationship. It was fine. Good, even. The right decision. It had been time to put Griffin behind me and focus on this job.
That was the reason I was in Quincy, right? I should be spending my evenings out and around town, not locked in my bedroom with a gorgeous man who knew how to deliver an orgasm. I’d tucked my weeks with him away on a shelf in my mind where they’d collect dust for the next decade.
Except then he’d walked through my office door with flowers and suddenly all I wanted was more.
More nights. More weeks.
More.
He set the boots down on the desk, then took an empty chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. Looking up from under the brim of his hat, those blue eyes didn’t have their normal glint. He looked worn, like the world was propped against those broad shoulders.
This visit wasn’t about me, was it? This was not an apology and whatever these flowers were, they weren’t a gift to work his way back into my bed.
I waited, giving him a moment. People usually told you the most when you lent them a minute to breathe.
“My uncle. Briggs.”
“The one from Willie’s with dementia.”
He nodded. “He had these boots at his place. Said he found them on a hike around Indigo Ridge.”
My body tensed. “When?”
“He wasn’t sure. I didn’t press. He found them and turned them into flowerpots.”
A unique idea, except he’d probably erased any evidence I might find. They were women’s boots, the intricate pink and coral stitching in the leather a pattern of paisleys and swirls.
“I did my best not to touch them,” Griff said.
I grabbed my phone from the desk and took a few quick pictures from all angles, then I left Griffin in his seat as I went to the bullpen. “Allen.”
He looked up from his desk and I waved him into the office. “What’s up, Chief?” He dipped his head to Griffin. “Griff.”
“These boots were found on Indigo Ridge,” I said. “Without the flowers. Would you mind taking the flowers out and then cataloging these into evidence? We’ll want to dust for prints and see what we find. But I’m guessing these are Lily Green’s.”
“You got it. Want me to check with her mother to see if she recognizes them?”
“Please.”
Allen walked out of the office, coming back with two evidence bags. I helped him put a boot in each, then closed the door behind him as he left.
“I’ll be visiting your uncle,” I told Griffin, returning to my chair. “Figured you would.” Griffin stood and walked to the bookshelf in the
corner.
I hated how good it was to see him. His faded jeans draped over his strong thighs. They molded to the curve of his ass. The T-shirt he wore today was dusty, like he’d been out working all morning.
The scent of his soap and sweat filled the room. I’d washed my sheets yesterday, erasing him from my bed. I regretted that decision now because that smell was intoxicating.
He picked up a framed photo on the middle shelf. “Who’s this?” “Cole.”
“Cole.” His eyes narrowed. “Another ex?”
“A mentor. We worked together in Bozeman. And he was my sensei.”
In the photo, Cole and I were standing together, each wearing white gis at the dojo in town where I’d taken karate. When I’d been promoted to detective in Bozeman, Cole had suggested I learn martial arts. Not only as a way to keep in shape but as a way to protect myself.
“You have a black belt.” “I do,” I said.
“And these are your parents.” He pointed to the photo on the next shelf.
Not a question, but a statement, like maybe he’d seen their picture before.
Mom and Dad stood beside me on the day I’d graduated from the police academy. I was wearing a black uniform and a hat. The smiles on all three of our faces were blinding.
“Your dad looks like Covie,” he said. “I’ve seen him around town before. And you look like your mom.”
He couldn’t have known what a compliment that was. My mother was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in my life, inside and out.
For a while after they’d died, I’d put their photos in storage. It had been too hard to see them frozen in time, laughing and smiling and happy. I’d walk into my bedroom, see their photo on a shelf and burst into tears. But then the nightmares started, so I’d put the photos back, because even though it hurt to see them, to miss them, I’d take their smiles a million times over their deaths.
Griffin moved to the last picture on the shelf, one of me and Pops fishing when I was a teenager. “You had more freckles.”
“Summers in the sun. That was before I wore sunscreen every day.”
He hummed, then resumed his seat, leaning forward once more. His eyes stayed glued to the edge of my desk, and once again, I waited until he was ready. “Do you still think that Lily’s death might not have been a suicide?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
As the days went on, the uneasy feeling hadn’t faded, but the logical part of my mind had begun to yell. There was no evidence pointing to anything but suicide. At some point, I’d have to let this go.
Maybe the boots would help. Maybe not.
Griffin looked up and there was desperation in his eyes. Like he needed me to give him a different answer.
“It’s still not sitting right,” I said. “Every time I talk to someone who knew her, they are shocked. Friends. Family. No one had a clue that she was struggling.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m hearing too.”
“It doesn’t mean she wasn’t hiding it. Mental health is usually a well- kept secret. But I would have expected to find one person she’d confided in.” Either there wasn’t that person. Or I hadn’t found them yet.
If he or she did exist, I suspected it was probably whoever had been with Lily before her death.
Maybe those boots would provide a clue, assuming they were hers and if any fingerprints hadn’t been erased while they’d been turned into garden décor.
“Thank you for bringing in the boots.”
“I’ll get out of your hair.” He stood and took a step for the door.
“Griff,” I called, waiting for him to turn. Then I squared my shoulders and straightened my spine.
I hated the question I was about to ask. “Are you sleeping with another woman?”
“Excuse me?” His jaw ticked.
“That woman on Wednesday. Emily.” The reporter. “Are you sleeping together?”
He fisted his hands on his hips.
“We used protection but it’s not foolproof. I’m on birth control but I’d like to know so I can get tested if necessary.”
Griffin raised his eyebrows, then with two long, stomping strides, he planted his hands on the desk, leaning so far down that the fury in his gaze hit me like a heat blast. “I don’t fuck two women at the same time.”
The air rushed from my lungs. Thank. God.
Ending this relationship was for the best, but that decision hadn’t exactly translated to my emotions. Every time I pictured Griffin and blond Emily, jealousy would eat at me for hours.
“That’s not the type of man I am,” he said through gritted teeth. “Okay.”
“It’s not fucking okay. You shouldn’t have had to ask me that question.”
“Well, you seemed rather cozy at Eden Coffee.” “Did I touch her?”
“Um . . .” She’d touched him. But he hadn’t touched her, had he? “No, I didn’t fucking touch her. Did I kiss her?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
He was pissed. Really pissed. I liked that he was mad. His character was in question, and for good men, they’d stop at nothing to set the record straight. “No, because I don’t play with women. Understood?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Good.” He shoved off the desk and stormed out of the office. His footsteps down the hallway pounded as hard as my heartbeat.
It wasn’t until I heard the exit door open and shut that I breathed. Then a smile tugged at my mouth.
There was nothing going on with the reporter. I sighed, sinking into my chair. The days I’d spent being angry at Griff had been for nothing. Maybe I should have trusted him.
It was Skyler’s fault I’d jumped to this conclusion. Being betrayed by the man who’d promised to love me, to be my companion, to be my friend, had left its mark.
Griffin wasn’t Skyler. There was no comparison.
Griffin was honest and true. And he knew his way around my clitoris.
The smile was still on my lips as I shook the mouse on my computer and got back to work. Maybe tomorrow I’d see the surface of my desk again.
And maybe the next time I saw Griffin around town, I wouldn’t want to hit him with a rock.
 |
THE CORK in my wine bottle popped free at the same moment someone pounded on my door. Not a knuckle tap. A full-fisted hammer.
Only one person in this town beat on my red door.
I poured a glass, then carried it with me as I went to answer. “I have a doorbell.”
Griffin’s scowl was fixed in place. Clearly, an afternoon and evening hadn’t made him any less angry than he’d been at the station. “What about you?”
“What about me?” I took a sip of my cabernet, letting the dry, robust flavor burst on my tongue as he glowered.
“Are you fucking anyone else?” I nearly choked on my sip. “No.”
“Good.” That large body forced me out of the way as he strode inside.
I closed the door behind him and followed as he walked into the living room and glanced around.
“You unpacked.” “For the most part.”
“Where’s your furniture?”
“On backorder.” Just like my bedframe had been.
Everything I’d ordered was delayed, so all I had was the couch and an end table. The books that had been in boxes were stacked against a wall. The television was on the floor, waiting for its stand. The knickknacks and artwork I’d collected over the years had been unwrapped and set aside, ready to be placed on the bookshelf that had been shipped yesterday.
Besides my bed, the only piece of furniture that had arrived was my desk. I’d put it together last night after I’d woken up at two. Then I’d spent the early morning hours setting up my home office.
Griffin inspected it all, then he went to the couch and sat down. “Want a glass of wine?”
“Sure.”
I handed him mine, watching as he put the rim to his lips. Then I went to the kitchen and poured myself another glass.
He’d taken off his baseball hat when I returned to the living room and was dragging his fingers through the dark strands of his hair. “Emily saw my truck parked outside.”
“What does that mean?” I took a seat beside him on the couch, curling my legs beneath me. After work, I’d put on a pair of leggings and a tee, having every intention of going for a run. Instead, I’d opted for this bottle of wine.
“We hooked up about a year ago,” he said. “She wanted it to be more. I didn’t. It was my mistake, but it happened. She knew the score. It was a one-time thing. Said she was good with it. Turns out . . .”
“She wasn’t.”
“Emily’s got a big mouth. Her family doesn’t like your grandpa much.” “He told me.” Because of some small-town drama years ago. “It was
fairly obvious from her article about me.”
“If she’s talking about us, other people will.”
“Ah. And you don’t want people to know.” Awesome. As if my ego hadn’t taken enough hits since I’d moved here. First from the station. Now from Griffin.
“It’s not that, Winn.”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. Not even a little bit. I took a long, necessary gulp of wine, wishing I’d gone for that run after all and missed this entire conversation.
“Hey.” Griff reached over and pulled the glass away from my mouth. “I don’t give a fuck if people talk about me. Hell, they already do. But I don’t want them talking about you. I don’t want them saying that you’re screwing around with me and not concentrating on your job. Or that our relationship was the reason my dad pushed to hire you. I want people to see you as the chief of police. As a capable cop. Not as the woman warming my bed.”
“Oh.” My heart swelled so much it hurt. I had no idea he cared about my reputation. Me, the outsider. “I’ve never slept in your bed.”
“No, you haven’t. But that doesn’t matter. People will talk. They’ll make up their own version of the truth.”
This was the small-town life that Dad had always cussed. It was the reason he’d moved away from Quincy after high school.
People would make up their own minds based on fact or fiction. They’d believe the Emily Nelsens of the world simply because Emily Nelsen’s gossip was the most entertaining. There was nothing I could do to stop it, and living in fear of the rumor mill wasn’t in my five-year plan.
“I don’t care.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’m guessing she’s already running her mouth.”
“Pretty much.”
“Then it’s done.” I raised my glass to take another drink, but before it reached my lips, Griffin took it once more, this time out of my hand entirely.
He set my glass with his on the floor, then he wrapped a hand around my wrist and hauled me off the couch.
“What are you doing?”
His arms banded around my back, pulling me flush against his chest. “If people are going to talk about us having sex, we might as well have sex.”
I smiled, and when he dropped his lips to mine, I welcomed him into my mouth, moaning at his taste. Oh, how I’d missed him. More than I wanted to admit.
Clinging to his broad shoulders, I wrapped my legs around his hips when he lifted me off the floor.
With tongues tangled, he walked us to my bedroom, pausing when he stepped through the threshold to tear away. “This is not the same room.”
I unwound my legs, my toes easing to the floor. Gone were the suitcases shoved against the walls. They were neatly stowed in my closet along with
the clothes they’d carried, either hung on a hanger, folded on a shelf or tossed in a hamper. “I unpacked.”
“The whole house?” “Yes.”
He studied me, like he knew there was more to my answer. It took effort not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze. But tonight was not the time to discuss the reasons I hadn’t been sleeping.
I lifted a hand to his hard chest, letting it run up his smooth cotton shirt. Griff trapped it beneath his wide palm. “Miss me?”
“Did you miss me?”
“Yeah.” His free hand came to my breast, skimming the swell before moving to my neck. He had such large hands and long fingers that his touch started at my throat and wrapped around my nape.
One tug and I was crushed against him again, his mouth closing over mine, wet and hot.
I reached for his jeans, slipping my hand from beneath his so I could undo the button and zipper. Then I dove for his cock, finding it hard and thick beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs.
The moment I wrapped my hand around his velvety shaft and gave him a stroke, Griffin surged, picking me up from beneath my thighs to toss me on the bed.
He came down on top of me, giving me his weight as his mouth left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses across my jaw. Then he tugged and pulled at my leggings, stripping me bare.
“Take your top off,” he ordered as he stood, reaching behind his head to grab a handful of his shirt and yank it free.
Griffin’s body was a masterpiece of rugged lines and masculine strength. The dusting of hair on his wide chest. The sinewed forearms, tanner than his washboard abs. This was a man who worked to keep his body strong. Who didn’t believe in waxing or spray tans.
“Winn. Top off. Now.”
“Bossy.” I loved his bossy side. I pulled off my top as he undressed.
His boots dropped with two distinct thuds on the carpet, followed by the plop of his jeans as he shoved them down his bulky legs. He stared at me as I stared at him, drinking in every single inch.
“You asked me if I’ve been with anyone,” he said. “I haven’t. Got checked up a few months ago.”
My mouth watered as he fisted his cock, giving it a hard pull. “I’m on the pill.”
“I want to fuck you bare, Winslow. But only if you’re good with it.”
Winslow. The name I’d always loved. It was a masculine name, but in his deep voice, it sounded so smooth and soft. If he kept calling me Winslow, it would be hard to let him go. “I’m good.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when he came at me, dragging me deeper into the bed. His mouth latched on to a nipple and my eyes drifted closed, my fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair.
He tormented me with that tongue, sucking at my breasts, licking across my skin, until my core was throbbing.
“More,” I whimpered.
He slipped his hand between us, trailing those calloused fingers down my belly. The heel of his palm pressed against my clit as two of those long fingers stroked through my wet folds, toying with me until I trembled.
“Griff.”
He nipped at my earlobe. “Do you want to come on my fingers or my cock?”
“Cock.”
His hand between us disappeared, then he was there, thrusting inside with one fast, skilled drive of his hips.
I cried out as I stretched around him, my nails clawing at the taut skin of his shoulder blades. “Oh, God.”
“Damn, you feel good.” “Move, Griff. I need more.”
He obeyed, pulling out to slam back inside. Without the condom between us, I felt every. Single. Inch. Over and over, he brought us together until my limbs trembled and my back arched, my body giving in to the most intense orgasm of my life.
Stars burst behind my eyes. My nails tore into his shoulders. Tremors racked my body as I clenched around Griffin, unable to breathe. Unable to think. Unable to do anything but feel.
“Fuck, Winn,” he growled against my skin, his movements never slowing. He drew out my orgasm, pulse after pulse, until I finally came down. And then he let go to pour his own inside of me, coming on a roar that echoed through my house.
He collapsed on top of me, giving me his weight. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him for a moment before he spun us, keeping us connected as we shifted positions so I was draped over his chest. His arms never let me go.
Our hearts thundered together, each at different rhythms.
“It’s so good,” he said through panted breaths. “Every damn time. That should scare me.”
“Me too.”
But if it did, it wasn’t enough to make him leave. By the time darkness settled beyond the windows, he’d exhausted me thoroughly.
And for the first time in days, I slept through the night.
