Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)(31)

“I’m not.”

He turned onto his side and gently pulled her against his chest. As if she’d done it hundreds of times before, she tucked her head under his chin. Her eyelids started to feel heavy almost immediately, the fingers stroking the bare skin of her back not helping matters. Every few minutes, he would tug her closer, each time feeling like another apology. Still able to feel the tension in his body, she searched for a way to distract him.

“How did you get the live chicken?”

The fingers stroking her back paused, preempting his rumbling laugh. “Off the back of a truck in Crown Heights.” His fingers traced her earlobe, making her shiver. “He came with me so easily, I think he knew I was saving him from slaughter.”

“Chickens are intuitive like that.”

“Yeah?” His voice held a smile.

“What about you? Are you intuitive?”

Her head bumped his chin when she nodded.

“Then what am I thinking about right now?”

Since she could feel his hard, jean-encased length against her thigh, she had a pretty solid idea. But something about the moment didn’t feel right for that. He still seemed distracted by what had happened with his sister and mother.

“You’re thinking about bagels.”

“Let’s pretend you’re right.”

“Okay.”

Neither one of them moved to get up.

With every moment that passed, every stroke of his fingers, she grew more and more tired. After her difficulty sleeping last night, it was impossible to stop herself from nodding off. Just before she faded into unconsciousness, Bowen whispered into her ear.

“I’m sorry. I think I have to keep you, Sera.”





CHAPTER TEN


Sera woke to darkness, shooting straight up in bed. She’d slept so deeply, it took her a moment to remember everything from the day. A quick glance at the clock radio on the side table told her it was eight o’clock. She flopped back onto the pillow to give herself a moment to let the grogginess dissipate. In the mornings, she never had a problem waking, but she felt as though she’d just woken from a coma.

When she shivered, Sera realized she still wore no shirt. The cold must have woken her, which meant Bowen had left only recently. It had felt so good, too good, to lie there with him and forget her responsibilities. She should be ashamed of how easily it had happened. Sleeping beside someone meant letting her guard down. Trusting the other person. She knew she needed to be more careful, but the voice of stern caution that usually spoke from within seemed to silence itself in his presence.

Was she naive to believe the Bowen Driscol she’d read about in police files wasn’t the real man? There was no denying he’d done terrible things, but her instincts couldn’t be this far off. He had good inside him.

She climbed out of bed in search of Bowen and found him sitting on the couch, hands clasped between his knees.

His head came up when he sensed her, a sad smile moving across his face.

Almost like he’d read every thought she’d had in the bedroom.

He cleared his throat and gestured to the wall. “You want to paint?”

“Yes, please.” In addition to being grateful for the distraction, she couldn’t deny a spark of excitement. “But I should warn you, I only have two specialties.”

“Which are?”

“Kitty cats and houses with smoke curling out of the chimney.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, surveying the paintbrushes. “I’m not sure if those will fit in with your theme.”

He frowned. “What theme?”

Sera ducked her head, feeling suddenly

uncomfortable

under

his

scrutiny. Was he actually unaware of the pattern his murals created, or did he just want to know what she thought? She picked up a paintbrush and gestured to the painting of the Brooklyn Bridge, half intact, half engulfed in flames. “Good and evil,” she started quietly. “The battle between the two. Don’t you see it?”

His gaze tracked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. “I never saw it like that before.” When he looked back at her, his eyes were serious.

“What side do you think wins?”

Going into this investigation, she thought she knew the answer, but it didn’t seem quite so clear anymore. “I think maybe they both win once in a while.”

A beat of silence passed before Bowen broke eye contact, swiping an impatient hand through his hair. “Listen, I’ve been a shitty host. You need to eat something.”

On cue, her stomach groaned. “I could go for a bagel. Or nine.”

He stood. “Coming right up. Go ahead and get started.”

“Where?” The word froze on her lips when she saw a fresh white space on the wall. Right where the painting of his mother’s face had been.

“There.”

“Bowen—”

“I want to replace a bad memory.” He popped her bagel into the toaster and shot her a devilish grin. “Draw your cathouse.”

Sera bit her lip to stop a laugh. “I don’t think we’re on the same page.” She picked up a container of purple paint and squirted it onto an ancient-looking palette, stained with dozens of color blotches.

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