Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

Walking into the precinct at the start of his shift was better than walking into it at the end. It never used to be like that for him. Not until night shift. At this time in the evening, the precinct was busier, more alive, and that’s what he was used to having worked day shift most of his career. He was worn down, but he couldn’t remember if he’d felt that before or after his change in schedule.

“Hey, Mike!” Wilma, the precinct’s main receptionist, called to him as he passed. “A friend of yours is here. I told her to wait at your desk.”

Confused, he gave a vague nod, wondering who had turned up. It couldn’t be Kiersten. She made it clear she didn’t want to see him again when they’d filed for divorce.

He turned the corner, striding down the open-plan office space toward his area, and he almost stumbled mid-stride when he caught sight of the person sitting perched on his desk with her head bent toward the phone in her hand.

Dahlia.

Michael’s heart felt like it had lurched up into his throat, and he hated she still could make that happen. Years ago when she was with Gary, he’d be waiting for them somewhere, a restaurant, a party, and as soon as he saw her, his heart would leap in his chest.

She could make him feel like a prepubescent teen with a crush.

When he was younger, that feeling made him pine for her. Fuckin’ pine.

Now it pissed him off.

Michael picked up his pace, and as if sensing him, Dahlia’s head jerked up, and she gave him those big wounded blue eyes. “Michael,” she said, slipping off the desk as he came to a stop.

Jesus Christ, he thought, taking in her attire. She did this to him deliberately. She wore a fitted T-shirt tucked into a tight skirt that was high at her waist, showing off how tiny it was, and tight around her thighs. He didn’t want her to turn around. He’d never get the vision of her gorgeous ass out of his head.

“What are you doing here?” he bit out. Michael couldn’t believe she’d ambushed him at work, for Christ’s sake. How selfish could this woman get? He had to concentrate here. He couldn’t allow her and all the garbage she brought back up to distract him.

She straightened her shoulders, her features hard with determination. “Can we talk? I’m sorry for coming here, but I didn’t have your address.”

He glared at her, hating the way his skin seemed to crackle with life around her. She was dangerous. He needed her gone. If that meant giving her this last chance to talk, then he’d do it to get rid of her.

“Follow me.” He exhaled heavily and turned around, hearing her light footsteps behind him. Once he found a free interview room, he pushed open the door and gestured for her to go ahead. Manners were ingrained in him but, Jesus, as she strolled past him into the room, he wished he’d forgone them for her.

The skirt cupped her ass in a way that he knew if he stripped it off her, her ass would be round, pert, and goddamn luscious in his hands. And the shoes. Shit, he hadn’t seen the shoes. They were high heels with a strap around the ankle. What the hell kind of shoes were those to be wearing in late October? At least she was carrying a coat in her hands.

Michael slammed the door shut behind him, making her jump. “Well?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Her gaze danced nervously around the room before coming back to his. “I wanted to clear the air between us.”

The anger that had seethed in his gut for nine years flooded upward out of him. Michael took a step toward her, and he knew all that ire was blazing out of his eyes. “Clear the air? Okay, let’s start with you answering a few questions.”

Dahlia gave him a wary nod. Everything about her current demeanor pissed him off. The Dahlia he knew would tell him to go fuck himself for his demanding attitude. “Okay.”

“Why did you stay away all this time without at least letting me know where you were?”

“Michael, I didn’t tell anyone,” she said, her voice soft, placating, as she stepped toward him. “Only my dad.”

“Why?” The torment she’d caused still resided in him. Like the fragment of a bullet that had never worked its way out of his body. Only his parents had ever hurt him like that, and it royally fucked him off that the one person he used to confide in about all that shit had caused an even worse affliction. “You used to tell me everything. Or was that a lie?”

“No.” She was more forceful now, her annoyance obvious. “You know that’s not true.”

He liked seeing that fire. But at the same time, he thought maybe it would be easier to get rid of the Dahlia who acted like a whipped puppy around him because that wasn’t the Dahlia he’d known and loved. “All I know is that I can’t trust a word you say. Let’s make this quick so I can get back to work.”

She clenched her jaw and hugged her coat to her body. “Michael, I don’t want to go back to Hartwell without making peace between us. I know we’ll probably never be friends, but I don’t want to leave here with you hating me.”

The urge to rush her, to grab her and kiss her until her mouth was bruised with the imprint of his was overwhelming. His lust for her seemed to cloud his brain, but he wasn’t a stupid kid anymore. The damage this woman could cause him … fuck, she was still doing it. He never gave Kiersten a chance. Not a real one. Because he didn’t want to be hurt the way he had been by Dahlia.

And now she was standing in front of him and, despite it all, he still wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman.

He pretty much despised her for it.