Page 30 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

MURPHY

“ I told you I was fine,” Leigh says around a yawn as we settle into my bed hours later.

After an eight-hour stay in the emergency room—where the doctor had in fact confirmed she was fine—I had convinced her to come to my place since it was a ten-minute drive versus a thirty-minute one to her place.

“And I’m glad the doctor told us so,” I murmur, brushing my lips against her forehead.

After a head CT had been ordered.

After they had checked for signs of a concussion.

After they had bandaged her knees and given her a prescription for extra strength ibuprofen if she needed it.

After I had drilled the doctor about signs or symptoms we should be watching for since she didn’t present with anything at the moment.

Finally, two pills and one shared shower later, she is lying in my arms, dressed in one of my T-shirts.

Shifting, she moves until her head lies against my chest, her damp hair creating gooseflesh along my skin, while her fingers absentmindedly drag against the skin of my right pec, tracing my tattoos. Lifting my head, I glance at the alarm clock across the room.

“It’s late. You already let Lindsay know you won’t be at work tomorrow?” I ask, tightening my hold around her.

She nods and her damp hair tickles my skin.

“Are you sure you’re going to stay home tomorrow too? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

The doctor had given Leigh a note for two days off from work. As we left the hospital, I’d texted Captain Overton to let her know I wouldn’t be in either.

“It’s absolutely fine. I have sick time and someone needs to keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re actually taking it easy,” I tease her.

Her breath blows out in a warm gust.

“The headache is already gone,” she grumbles.

“The doctor said?—”

Her head shoots up.

“I was there. I heard what the doctor said. And I will take it easy. Even if you’re not there to babysit me.”

“I was teasing you, sweetheart. Apparently not well, but I know I don’t have to babysit you.” I run my hands up and down her back, and a sheepish expression covers her face before she drops her forehead back to my chest.

“Sorry. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’re both tired. We should get some sleep.”

She rests her head back against my chest, her breath moving in even patterns while her fingers resume their circles after a few more heartbeats.

“I’m still sorry,” she murmurs.

“There is absolutely nothing to be sorry about. Forget about it.”

“I need something to distract me. I’m a dweller. I dwell.”

Another fact to file away.

“So I’m noticing.”

“Can you distract me?”

My dick knows of one way to distract her.

Is that the only thing you think about?

No, but when it comes to her, it’s never far off.

“Distract you how?” I ask.

She lifts her head again, her eyes blazing a different type of fire than earlier.

“You could kiss me,” she says, slicking her tongue along her lips.

Fuck.

A woman after my own heart.

I don’t think that’s your heart.

I groan, my hands fisting in the material along her back as my dick hardens in a rush.

“Doing that would definitely not be ‘taking it easy,’” I tell her, fighting the need to say fuck what the doctor says and kiss her the way she’s asked me to.

She pouts her lower lip, leaning her head on her hand.

“Do you always follow the rules?” she asks.

“This one, I fully intend to,” I counter.

“But you flirt with the line.”

I nod. “I do.”

“Like with your tattoos.” Her gaze drops to trace along my tattoo, her fingers following her gaze.

It feels like a lifetime ago since I told her how they pushed the boundaries of what the department would allow.

“Yes,” I tell her.

“You’ve never told me about them. Your tattoos,” she says, her hand splaying over the one on my right shoulder.

“You really want to know? Now?” I ask.

“I asked to be distracted. It’s either that or the amount of bubble bath you have on your bathtub. Most men don’t have three different types.”

A corner of my lips twitches with a smile.

“My sisters are to blame for that.”

“Something tells me I’d really like your sisters,” she says and lays her head back down against my chest.

It fills with warmth at the thought of her interacting with Quinn and Riley. Of her meeting Mom and my nieces and nephew. It’s so vivid, so real, I have to blink to realize it’s only in my mind.

“They’d love you.” Guaranteed. They’d want to know when Leigh was going to make an honest man out of me. They’d be halfway planned to a wedding within the first day.

“They got you the bubble bath?”

“The first bottle they got me was a gag gift. It was the season of Searching for Love with Jake and Meggie. When they shared that bubble bath. They started talking about their own experiences in bubble baths—not something their older brother needed to hear, by the way—and I said I hadn’t taken a bath since I was a kid with the cartoon bubbles. ”

“Awww.” The sound is more a vibration against my chest than anything else.

“But the joke was on them. I did use it. The whole bottle. Then I bought another one. And they started buying me bottles of bubble bath for my birthday and Christmas. There are absolutely times when I enjoy relaxing in my tub—it’s why I found a condo with a tub I could fit in.”

“It’s big enough for two. Maybe we could try that sometime,” she muses and my dick jumps against her.

She squirms, wriggling her hips against me, and it takes everything I have to cage her hips with my hands and hold her still.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Stóirín,” I clench out through gritted teeth, trying to recite police regulations in my head until the urge to roll her beneath me fades..

Her teeth flash white in the darkness.

“I never promised to take it easy on you.”

Everything she says only makes me like her more. I’m in dangerous territory here. I’ve never been as turned on by a woman’s wit as I am her body.

But for Leigh?

She’s the full package, and after the day full of roller-coastering emotions, I need time to process everything.

“We need to get some sleep,” I tell her.

Although with all the thoughts running rampant in my head, I doubt sleep is going to be possible for me just yet.

“Will you tell me about your tattoos now?” she asks.

“Are you going to go to sleep if I do?” I tease, finally able to relax my hands as I trace them back up the soft cotton of my T-shirt she’s wrapped in.

“Consider it my bedtime story.” She lays her head back to my chest, a sigh gusting out of her as she settles against me. “I’m ready.”

Her touch is almost ticklish where it drags along the sole tattoo above my heart. The date emblazoned there was only the beginning.

“That’s my first,” I say, still clearly remembering the initial feel of the needle as it vibrated against my skin. The hum of it was a comforting sound. One I have grown addicted to. But despite the intricacies of the rest of my tattoos, the first remains pure. Simple.

“What is it?”

Grief clogs my throat and I swallow around the lump.

“It’s a date with a police shield. August 15.”

“Is that…?”

“Yeah, the day my dad died,” I whisper into the darkness.

Her arms wrap around me, squeezing as hard as she can, and the darkness doesn’t feel as lonely as it did a moment ago.

“I’m so sorry.”

I can’t tell her it’s okay—it probably never will be. But the pain recedes a little more every passing year. I sigh, spanning my hands along her back.

“It was a long time ago. But I remember how badly I didn’t want to forget him.

Nothing about him. The sound of his voice, the way he laughed.

The memories are still there, but they’re fuzzier than they used to be.

When I turned eighteen, I thought adding the date to my body would link him to me permanently. ”

“You already are. In here.” Her palm rests against my chest and my heart beats against it.

“I didn’t really understand that at eighteen. So I thought, why not get a tattoo?”

“How did one turn into everything else?”

“The most amount of clarity I had in my life was when the needle vibrated against my skin. It’s like the sensation focused me in a way nothing else ever has.

By the time I joined the force, I already had most of my chest and shoulder done and was working on my leg.

It wasn’t until after I made detective I started on my sleeve since I was able to cover it.

You’d be surprised how people feel about a policeman with tattoos. ”

“Whether you have them or not doesn’t change the kind of person you are,” she murmurs, resuming the gentle glide of her fingers against my chest.

“Not everyone thinks like you do, Stóirín.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” she grumbles.

I bark out a laugh, wrapping my arms around her to hold her to my chest.

“What about you?” I ask her.

“What about me? Tattoos?” she asks.

“Mm-hmm. Have you ever wanted one?”

“How do you know I don’t already have one?”

“I’ve explored every inch of your body at length, sweetheart. I’ve never seen a drop of ink against your perfect skin.”

“Perfect?” Her fingers still and she lifts her head to lock gazes with me.

“Yes,” I tell her, letting the truth shine in the way I keep my focus locked on her.

Her next breath is an audible intake of air, the moment stretching between us until she lowers her head again and resumes the drag of her fingertips as they trace patterns on my tattoos.

“I’ve thought about it. A few of my sorority sisters had them. But I didn’t want to get something I didn’t want on my skin permanently.”

“That’s a wise decision,” I tell her.

“I still might. If I ever figure out what I want. Maybe then I can get the name of who did yours.”

“Of course.”

Neither one of us mentions the looming date of me relocating to DC. It doesn’t belong between us right now.

My thumb rubs back and forth against the skin of her shoulder, the silence comfortable in the darkness while she continues to draw nonsensical patterns on my chest. Her breathing grows deeper, evening out, and her fingers pause, resting where they lie.

But the damage is done.

Every pass of her fingers against my skin is another tether between us. Another link.

“You’re not supposed to be the one,” I whisper.

She murmurs in her sleep, her legs scissoring, and I brush my lips against the top of her head.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

At least one of us should.