Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

The easiest fuckin’ promise he’d ever made.

She shifted in her sleep, and he saw her nose crinkle in a little flinch. He scowled at her shoulder. She was sleeping on it.

Gently moving her, Michael rolled her to her back, and she moaned in her sleep.

He felt that moan in his gut and cursed himself.

In spite of her wound, Dahlia insisted on feeling him up every chance she got, the goddamn vixen. Michael grinned on a groan and fell onto his back. She’d talked him into fooling around about six weeks after she’d been shot and he’d given in because she was the hardest woman on the planet to resist.

But no sex.

That had pissed her off, but it was for her own good. There was no way to do it without jarring her shoulder.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. It wasn’t easy waiting to be with her again.

Feeling the heat gather in his lower spine and cock, Michael forced his thoughts elsewhere.

He had to be up for work soon. So did Dahlia. The height of the season had kicked in now that summer was upon Hartwell, and Dahlia’s shop needed to open. Michael knew it was best for her to be at work, to get on with life as normally as possible, but he’d also asked her to hire someone to help her out at the shop for a while.

A seventeen-year-old artist whose wealthy family owned a summer house in the Glades had jumped at the chance to work with Dahlia. Dahlia was enjoying teaching the girl about metalsmithing, so it was a win-win.

As for Hartwell itself, it was trying to find its feet again. Freddie Jackson couldn’t make bail, so he was in jail awaiting his trial. As for the Devlins … it looked like those fuckers might get away clean. Freddie had confessed to sharing confidential information with the Devlins and harassing certain members of the public upon Ian Devlin’s request. Devlin had been arrested, but they had to let him go on the grounds of insufficient evidence.

The fuck.

There was nothing substantial to tie Freddie’s story to Devlin’s. He said he panicked when Michael arrived, afraid he would lose everything, and he’d gone to Stu for help. He said Stu told him it wouldn’t be a problem anymore, that the cops would find Freddie’s apartment filled with enough coke to put him away, so he wouldn’t be around to fuck everything up for the Devlin family. When Freddie tried to reason with him, Stu kept saying he didn’t know what Freddie was talking about, laughing all the time, like it was a joke.

Freddie lost his temper.

Stu came at him as if to attack him, and Freddie shot him.

The Devlins had gone quiet for now. But Michael was determined to bring Ian Devlin down. He’d find a way. It helped that the media furor that had sprung up after Freddie had shot Dahlia had died down. Ivy Green’s involvement was too exciting for the media, so Hartwell had been in the news for weeks.

A breathy little moan brought Michael’s head around, and he watched as Dahlia blinked against the light.

Eyes the color of bluebells, ringed by the darkest lashes, gazed sleepily into his. She gave him a cute little smile, her dimple playing peek-a-boo with him. “Hey, you.”

“Hey yourself.” He rolled onto his side. “How’s your shoulder?”

She pushed up to sitting and grimaced. “A little sore.”

“You slept on it. I had to nudge you onto your back.”

Dahlia shot him a saucy look. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

He groaned in frustration. “Don’t start.”

She turned toward him, and he recognized the mischievous glint in her expression. Oh God, save him from this fuckin’ temptress.

Then God did.

Dahlia blinked, her face clouding over. “I just remembered my dream. Ugh. It was not good.” She shot him a filthy look.

Michael sat up, pushing his pillow against the headboard. “I’m guessing I did not behave well in this dream.”

She narrowed her eyes as they dipped down over his naked torso and back up again. “You were on the boardwalk with your ex-wife. I kept calling your name, but this little boy appeared that looked like you and you took his hand and hers and walked away.”

That was a dose of heavy he had not been expecting. “Hey.” He reached for her hand and pulled her gently into him. She rested her head against the headboard, her eyes on their entwined hands. Michael placed his fingers beneath her chin and nudged, forcing her to make eye contact.