Cuff Me(78)

“Then we can do a repeat?” he asked, opening the box of pasta and dropping a handful into the water he’d had boiling on a back burner.

Jill pulled down plates and water glasses. “I’m thinking repeat, with a twist.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Twist?”

She nipped his shoulder with her teeth as she passed. “Yup. Say, maybe… I’m the one with the handcuffs.”

He turned to look at her. “Jillian Henley.”

She shrugged as she set the table. “What? Now that I’ve seen what’s beneath the clothes, I wouldn’t mind having all that solid muscle pinned down for my personal pleasure.”

To Vin’s surprise, the idea was arousing. He was game for just about anything that would involve her putting her hands on him. All over him.

Vincent served them both a hefty portion of the pasta, and Jill kept her promise of red wine with dinner, pouring him a glass and topping off champagne for herself.

As they settled down to eat, Jill’s usual happy chatter mingling in with companionable silence, Vincent was struck with an unfamiliar sense of contentment.

No… that wasn’t quite right.

He’d been content before Jill had left for Florida. Back before she’d rocked the boat. What he was feeling now was much bigger.

He shoveled the last bite of pasta in his mouth and sat back to find her watching him. “What’s up?”

She pressed her lips together briefly in the way she always did right before she said something he wasn’t going to like, and he instinctively braced himself.

“Do you want to stay?” she asked.

He looked at her in surprise. “I thought we cleared that up right about the time I agreed to let you handcuff me.”

“No, I mean—well yes, I want that. But I mean, do you want to stay and… hang out? Watch a movie? Or TV? Or we could read—”

Her words came out in a rush, and he frowned. “What’s got you so nervous?”

She fiddled with her napkin. “It’s just… have you noticed that we’re usually either talking about work, or having sex?”

“Sure,” he said. “But those are two of my favorite things. And yours too, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I know. And you’re right; I love those things too. And I’m not suggesting less, of either, it’s just—”

She blew out a breath and met his eyes. “I want to try normal with you, Vin.”

He swallowed. As far as requests from a woman went, it was about as innocuous as it got. She wasn’t looking for a ring, or to take him to meet her mother, or to go shopping for drapes.

She wanted to watch a movie with him.

Hell, it’s not like they hadn’t done it before. There’d been plenty of times where they’d defaulted to watching a movie when their brains were spent after working on a case.

But this was different, and they both knew it.

It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Jill that he didn’t do normal. He didn’t do boyfriend.

But then the thought hit him…

Why?

Why didn’t he do normal?

Why didn’t he do boyfriend?

He’d never even tried.

And if he was going to try with anyone, it would be Jill.

She was worth at least that. She deserved so much more than normal.

“You’re freaking out,” she said on a sigh, pushing her plate away. “I just wish I knew why—”

He reached across the table and grabbed her hand before he could lose his nerve. He kept his touch gentle, his thumb gently rubbing against her palm until she calmed and looked at him.

“I’d like to stay,” he said quietly. “And as for normal… I can give you normal for me…”

She smiled. “That’s all I want. You don’t have to pretend with me. You know that, right? I know who you are. What you are. Warts and all. And that’s who I want to stay and watch a movie with me.”

Vincent felt his chest tighten a little. He wanted to take the words and cling to them. Wanted to ask if they’d still be true a week from now when he was in one of those rotten moods where he wanted to be left alone and snapped at her.

He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t even close.

But the way she was looking at him now… as though he were everything she’d ever wanted— He couldn’t give it up. Not yet.

Vincent turned her hand over and lifted it to his lips.

“I’ll stay on one condition,” he said, running a thumb over her knuckles and holding her eyes. “You got any popcorn?”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX


Vincent felt like a chump. An utter, foolish ass.

He took a step back and surveyed the table. It looked…

Ridiculous.

It might be better with a tablecloth, or whatever, to cover up the dented wood table he’d gotten at a garage sale a decade ago.

But the day Vincent bought a f*cking tablecloth would also be the day he died, so that was out.

Maybe she wouldn’t notice with the candles. They weren’t fancy—just white stubby things he’d picked up for the odd windstorm that knocked the power out.

But combined with the flowers. Yeah. He felt like a chump.

He thought about putting them away, but she’d texted saying she was on her way over. If he got caught in the act of un-setting the table, he’d look even more foolish.