Page 40 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

“Gotta lock up after you. Good neighborhood, but you can’t be too careful,” he replied, moving ahead of me into the living area.

I followed him, reclaiming my clothing as if they were parts of my costume in a silence that made me itchy and nervous. It was four in the morning or earlier. He didn’t want to talk and I didn’t know what to say, so it should have been easy, but it wasn’t. I felt like I was losing something.

“Thanks for last night.” I stood at the door, cradling my helmet. “It was…fun.”

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed sleepily.

“I’ll see you sometime.”

“Okay. But…if you can’t, it’s okay. Last night was good. And maybe that’s enough.”

Christ, it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.

I knew better than to make promises I couldn’t keep, though. So I nodded, kissed his cheek, and stepped into the night.

A cat mewled, trash rustled in the gutter, and traffic hummed in the distance. It was quiet and spooky.

Baxter loved the night. It offered him solitude and a peace that seemed to elude him otherwise. He was a loner, a vigilante, a protector.

But I wasn’t Baxter, and solitude wasn’t my friend. It did nothing but remind me that I was alone and probably always would be.

6

LORENZO

Iwoke a couple of hours after Pierce left, wiping sleep from my eyes as I gingerly sat up and surveyed the mess of tangled linen.So…that happened. I smoothed out the duvet and replayed the night in my head—dinner, conversation, and…sex.

Fabulous sex.Geez, I may never leave this bed.

Or change these sheets.

I fell onto my pillow with my arms spread wide and smiled up at the ceiling. For the first time in two years, I felt…like myself again. My whole self.

It didn’t last long.

My cell vibrated on my kitchen counter just as I poured my first cup of coffee. My heart did a simultaneous backflip-somersault, jumping to all the wrong conclusions. Yes, it would have been lovely to receive a “Good morning, thinking of you” from the guy I’d shared a couple of orgasms with last night, but that was highly unlikely. That was a one-time-only deal and if I were smart, I’d let go of that particular fantasy.

Reality was a tad harsher.

I glanced at the caller ID and sucked in a breath before answering. “Tony. How are you?”

“I’m good.” His familiar deep voice filled the hollow pieces inside of me like muscle memory I hadn’t learned how to erase.

Fuck, that pissed me off.

“That’s nice. What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to let you know we’ve had a few good leads on potential buyers. A young couple with a baby on the way came by for a second look over the weekend and according to the agent, another couple is interested in making an offer too.”

“Oh. That’s good,” I replied, sinking into the kitchen chair.

“Step in the right direction. I’m sorry it’s taken so long. The renovation was more extensive than I thought, but it was worth doing. We should get a nice return on our investment.”

“Right.”

“With any luck, it’ll be enough for you to open your own store,” he said…as if that was what I’d wanted when we’d pooled our finances and bought a house together.

It wasn’t. I’d thought it would be a starter home—the place that marked our beginning. Not our end.