The Right Mr. Wrong

‘And if there is anything that Parker Robinson needs,’ she went on, eyeing him steadily, ‘it’s a good cuddle.’

Heart thumping in agitation, he was sure he made a ridiculous sight, what with being handcuffed to a table leg and his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

When he finally found his voice again, it was rough. ‘Amber—’

‘We’re going to talk, Parker.’

The swearword that echoed through his mind wasn’t fit to be uttered out loud.

Scooting over to sit by his side, Amber’s eyes settled on his. ‘Why didn’t you answer the phone when your mother called the day your father died?’

The one-two punch to his chest had his jaw falling open wider, and then he slapped his lips shut, his mouth growing grim.

‘Damn it, Amber,’ he said, struggling to prop up on one elbow, despite the restraints. ‘We’re not high school sweethearts.’ Frustrated he couldn’t even plow a hand through his hair, he went on. ‘Let me up.’ Anxiety pressed in on his chest, leaving it difficult to draw in a breath. ‘I don’t want—’

She gently cupped his cheek, her thumb landing at the corner of his mouth, and he froze, unable to do anything but blink like an idiot.

Looking up at her, he wanted to curse and rant and rail against the understanding in her eyes and the bloody confinement of the cuffs. He finally managed to pull off a sparse rattling of the chain between his wrists.

Which, unfortunately, earned him a gentle swipe of her fingertip along his lower lip. It was just a simple stroke, barely noticeable, but the tenderness curled like a knot in his belly.

‘Why?’ she asked again.

He lobbed a hard look in her direction and didn’t spare the truth. Sweet little Amber wanted to know, so sweet little Amber was going to hear.

‘You were following me that day,’ he said. ‘You heard what she said.’

Amber didn’t pretend she had no idea what he was talking about.

Her gaze warm on his, she said, ‘I heard some of what your mother said, yes.’

Unsure of which parts she’d missed, he gave her the full version. ‘Marrying my father was a mistake.’ His next words came out louder than he’d intended. ‘I was a mistake.’

Letting the words echo in the room, he forgot to breathe for a moment.

‘I was just a symbol of everything my mother had done wrong,’ he said. ‘Of everything she regretted.’

None of it mattered.

The mantra had served him well in the past. He’d learned as a kid it was best to exist on the surface and ignore or bury or compartmentalize the rest. Because it was the rest that bit you in the ass.

Be polite to your mother, but don’t try to get her to show you she cared. Hugs weren’t necessary, but an occasional expression of some sort of affection would have been nice. He’d given up looking around the age of ten.

None of it mattered.

Or at least, that’s what he’d told himself.

Until the summer he was seventeen and he’d tried again. But the years of being the rowdy boy who only got noticed when he got into trouble had taken a toll. Maybe by then his mother couldn’t have cared, even if she’d wanted to.

‘She hated my father’s job,’ he said. ‘Looked down on what he did for a living.’

And Parker had despised her for being such a snob.

‘Which was exactly why you followed in his footsteps,’ Amber said as, still cradling his cheek, she stroked his lip again.

His mouth twisted beneath her finger. Man, she always was such an observant little thing. Even as a too-sweet, freaky stalker of a kid.

‘Maybe in the beginning,’ he said, though he knew she was absolutely right. Growing weary of his awkward posture, he laid down on his side. ‘But now...’

Well, not right now. Cuz right now everything was dull and flat and he got little enjoyment out of much of anything. But there was a time when helping victims’ families find justice had been incredibly satisfying.

‘You’ve always been good at taking care of people,’ she said.

Barking out a laugh of disbelief, he tilted his head as he stared up at her, amazed she was still cradling his face. Strangely, he was starting to like the comforting feel of her palm.

‘Who did I take care of?’ he said.

‘Reese,’ she said. ‘When we were kids, anyway.’

She gazed down at him, like she had as a kid. The same light in her eyes. He just didn’t get it. What did she see in him then? What did she see in him now?

And then she went on. ‘And you took care of me....’

He couldn’t talk about how he’d felt that summer he left his mother’s home and never went back. As a seventeen-year-old he’d been too cool to admit he’d missed Reese’s and Amber’s company. As an adult it seemed too late to confess the truth.

With a huff of humor, he said, ‘You’re just saying that because I saved you from drowning.’

Finally dropping her hand from his face, she sent him a small smile. And he didn’t miss her touch. Not at all. Damn it.

‘Your father loved you,’ she said, and he swallowed back the groan.

Apparently, nothing in his history was sacred.

His dad hadn’t been the type to hug or tell you he cared with his words. But he’d shown him in other ways.

‘But then he died,’ Parker said, and he hated the way the words came out so harsh. So bitter. He tried to ease the mood with a small smile, failing by a mile. ’Cuz life is mostly just a nasty little bitch who’s looking to collect.’

Amber’s expression shifted into one of sadness and he hated that he put that look on her face. The urge to take it back, to put a smile on her mouth, was overwhelming. And then suddenly she was crawling over him and sliding onto her side to lie next to him. Shocked, he didn’t move as she wiggled her way up between his cuffed arms, settling against him as she embraced his chest.

Staggered by the comforting contact, the press of b odies from torso to toes, he took a moment to respond.

‘You know,’ he said dryly, ‘I don’t do the morning-after thing.’

‘I’m not asking you to.’

‘And hugs don’t count if they’re not freely given.’

‘I know,’ she said as she gave him a gentle squeeze. ‘That’s why I’m freely giving this one to you.’

Paralyzed, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Silence stretched between them as they lazed on the floor, wrapped in each other’s arms. His by force. Hers by choice

And it was really intimate in a way that sex usually wasn’t, and wasn’t that just the kicker?

Something in Parker shifted. Just a little, but enough to voice the thought he’d been having for weeks. ‘Plenty of people have it worse than me,’ he said quietly.

He didn’t know why he needed to say the words.

Other than the fact that they were the brutal truth. And if there was anything he was comfortable with, it was the brutal truth. Maybe it was the comfort of her arms that seduced the words from his mouth.

‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Who has it worse?’

He didn’t want to look into her eyes, so he stared up at the chandelier on the ceiling. ‘I’m working on this case,’ he said. The dark cloud encasing his heart grew thicker, denser. Something he hadn’t thought possible since the day his dad had died.

An acid rain just waiting to break.

‘Our current suspect is just a stupid seventeen-year-old,’ he said. ‘And his parents...’

He didn’t want to repeat the words they’d said about their son.

‘You know,’ he said instead, his voice hoarse. ‘Family should stick by you, no matter what.’

Man, now the woman had both hands on his cheeks.

Turning his head to face hers, her gaze clear, she said, ‘Yes, they should.’

Staring into her amber eyes, he clenched his jaw.

The case had been eating at him for a while, draining what little color remained in his already-mucked-up life. He refused to lean into the warmth of Amber’s palms, but the urge was there. He remembered the stricken look on her face when she’d overheard his mom that day, and the comforting hand Amber lay on his shoulder later.

Not that he’d wanted her sympathy. No, he’d hated the caring in her touch, the gesture of concern from a twelve-year-old when he couldn’t even get that kind of emotion from his own mother.

Something in him had died that day, something vital that he’d lost. And damned if he knew how to get it back. He was pretty sure he didn’t even want it back.

Blocking Amber’s beautiful gaze, Parker closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his breathing even. She held his face, and her sweet scent surrounded him, the silky legs entwined with his. But it was the warmth of her body that captivated him the most. Surprisingly, he wasn’t really thinking of her skin in a sexual sense, but more of the gentle give-and-take of shared heat. It was refreshingly simple. And kind of nice.

Like a handful of summer sun on a dark winter’s day.

But the unfamiliar feeling of comfort, of contentment—of...happiness?—scared the bejesus out of him.