He slammed his mouth down on hers. Whatever else she might have uttered flew right out of her head. Good. She didn’t want to think anyway, and she definitely didn’t want to talk. She speared her fingers into his hair and kissed him back, reveling in his rough, barely controlled response. Time spun away, and she let it go without a backward glance, until the sweet, hot tension between them turned urgent. Something had to give.
Unshed tears burned behind her eyelids because she knew that something couldn’t be her. She tore her mouth free. “Admit it. The letter is the only reason you’re here.”
On a strangled oath, he abruptly rolled off her and rubbed his hand over his face. She recognized the bone-deep fatigue and pent-up frustration in the gesture and tamped down on the impulse to gather him into her arms and tell him it was okay. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, even though he’d ripped her heart to shreds without even trying. Instead, she stood and concentrated on putting her costume back in order.
When the silence stretched to the point she thought her nerves would snap, she broke down like the masochist she was, and pressed for a confirmation she really couldn’t bear to hear. “Nailed it on the first guess, right? You’re here because Kylie told you about the letter. Well, you can take yourself off bodyguard duty. I’ve got my shit handled.”
Ian sat with his head tipped back against the seat of the chair, staring at the ceiling. “I’m here because I’m in love with you. I couldn’t stay away.”
She fumbled the wings. They slipped from her shaking hands and fell to the floor. This was starting to sound like a grand gesture. But for all the wrong reasons, an unsentimental inner voice insisted. Look at the timing. He did a fast, easy fade until the stalker cropped up. Now he’s worried about you, and you just fucked his brains out. His protective instincts are driving this, not his head or his heart.
“Ian—”
“And you love me.” He raised his head, his eyes full of challenge. “Don’t deny it. God forbid you ever say the words out loud, to me or anybody else, but don’t look me in the face and deny it.”
Panic started in her stomach and rolled into her chest, creating a sudden tightness. “I-I don’t—”
He simply shook his head. “You’re a good actress, Stace, but not that good. Why are you doing this to us?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but there was nothing she could do about them. “It’s not you. It’s me.” God, did she really just say that?
“Did you take off because I asked you to move in with me? Because that’s negotiable, in terms of timing, and location, and—”
“No.” So much for grand gestures. “Ian, it’s nothing you did, or said.”
“Was it—” He stopped, drew in an unsteady breath, and she knew, she just knew, whatever he said next was going to break her heart into a thousand pieces. “Was it…meeting my parents?”
Confessions, apologies, insecurities…the whole ugly mess…lodged in her throat like a cold, hard ball. She had to get out of there now, before she dropped to her knees, spilled her guts, and made a fool of herself.
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“Your parents are wonderful,” she whispered. “They’re perfect. And I’m…I’m sorry.”
With that she ran out the door.
…
Ian took a step toward the door before he remembered he didn’t have any pants on. Shit… He had to get out there, in case her letter writer had any plans for tonight. Thankfully, there were a couple hundred eyewitnesses just outside the door. Only a magician would be able to make a move without a few dozen people in the vicinity noticing a gorgeous blond angel pitching a fit and screaming her lungs out. Plus Trevor was out there. And Kylie. Stacy wouldn’t get far.
He flopped down in the chair, took a deep breath, and coughed up a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. His chest ached like he’d taken a bullet at close range. He sat there for a moment, rubbing his sternum with the heel of his hand and sucking in air. Move, for Christ’s sake. Look at him, sitting half-naked on some fugly chair where God knows what had taken place, while his heart slowly bled out of his chest.
Shoving the pain aside, he got up and pulled on his clothes. It was his parents. He’d wondered, but dismissed the notion because the day of the barbecue had gone so well. His mom and dad knew all about Stacy. They’d been listening to him ramble on about her for months, and they’d been both excited and nervous to meet her. They’d loved her, of course, just as he did. But not in an obligatory, “If you love her, we love her” kind of way. No, he thought as he secured the Velcro strap of his ankle holster and tucked his gun in. They’d genuinely appreciated her humor, her sense of fun, and, according to his mom, “The way she smiles at you with her heart in her eyes when she thinks nobody’s looking.”
She did love him. True, she’d never said so, but even tonight, she hadn’t denied it. She thought his parents were “wonderful,” and they were…so what about them had her running for the door?
He honestly didn’t know.
But he couldn’t waste any more time sitting there, trying to figure it out. They would talk things out later, he vowed, but for now, Stacy needed protection, even if she thought she had it handled—whatever that meant. Thinking about how she might have “handled it” scared him enough to hurry. He shoved his shoes on and headed to the door. Calm, he counseled himself as he grabbed the knob. Uptight cops made piss-poor decisions.
As soon as he opened the door, however, his stomach knotted. The crowd inside the club had grown since they’d taken their little time-out. People clogged the hallway outside the VIP rooms. Beyond that, more people…crammed together at the bar, packed onto the dance floor, flowing into every nook and cranny of the club. This many people created cover, and confusion, not safety. His chances of finding anyone, particularly someone hoping to avoid him, looked to be somewhere between shit and outta luck.
He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and sent Trevor a text. What’s your 20?
The incoming text came right back. Bar.
Down the hall, to the right. Simple, except for the wall of humanity in his way. He started the slow, sweaty slog and texted back, Stacy?
Not with you?