In glasses and wearing what I thought was an in-joke; I walked into Brock’s bedroom only to find Brock didn’t think my nightie was funny. I knew this when his eyes hit me, his whole face got dark, the air in the room became so sweltering it felt like it was pressing against my skin and the minute I got close to the bed, he moved. Lunging toward me, his arm hooked me at the waist and he yanked me into the bed, pulled off my glasses, tossed them unheeded on the nightstand and we started up again. This time, from start to finish, it was wild and energetic, no pleasant exploration, no lazy caresses; it was hot, heavy and completely abandoned.

I answered his question with, “Actually, it’s kinda comfy.”

His head came up and he looked down at me. “Good, ‘cause I like it.”

I grinned at him and whispered, “I kinda got that.”

He grinned back then his head descended so his mouth could touch mine then it slid down my cheek to work at my neck, slow, lazy and sweet.

His h*ps moved slightly as he pulled out gently and I drew in a soft breath at the feel of it and the fact I didn’t like the loss of him then my arms gave him a squeeze as my head turned.

In his ear, I whispered, “I have to go get cleaned up.”

His head came up, his sated eyes caught mine and he whispered back, “All right, baby.”

Then his face dipped to my throat, his lips touched me there and he rolled off.

I rolled the other way, got off the bed, snatched up my panties and headed to his bathroom.

The good news was, his bathroom was clean though he could use new towels since he clearly bought his in the same year he bought his pickup and his furniture. Not to mention, the bathroom had been installed before The Brady Bunch was in reruns.

Still, it wasn’t icky which was what I decided to focus on.

I did my thing, slid on my panties and bent over the basin to look at myself in the mirror.

Hair wild, face flushed, lips swollen, ni**les still hard against the silk, I stared and for the first time in my entire life, taking in my reflection, I thought I might be a little bit of all right.

Then I grinned, turned out the light and walked back into the bedroom.

Brock was leaned across the bed and turning off the light at my side. As I joined him in it, he was turned the other way and turning off the light at his.

When he was done, he reached out to me, gathered me in his arms, pulled my front close to his, tangled his long legs with mine and his arm, slanted up my back so his hand was in my hair, pulled me deeper as he pushed my face against his chest.

I turned it so I was resting my cheek there and slid an arm around his waist.

“Thanks for dinner,” I whispered against his chest.

“Best part about it was desert,” he whispered back and I smiled.

Then I sighed.

Then I told him, “I like your family.”

His fingers tensed against my scalp before he murmured, “Good.”

It was then, keeping it real, which was the only way I knew how to do it, I shared, “Um…

just FYI, and I’ll preface this by saying this is not an act of a psycho woman invading your life but a rescue effort, I’m buying you new towels and, uh… new dishtowels as a priority one mission.”

His voice held a smile when he asked, “A rescue effort?”

“Someone needs to put yours out of their misery.”

There was a short, deep chuckle I not only heard but also felt before, “Sweetness, I got an ex who cleaned me out seven years ago, a job which means I’m rarely home and this includes me bein’ under deep cover on an assignment that lasted a year and a half, a year of that where I had zero contact with family, even my kids, and I got two boys who are at an age they don’t give a shit about anything but the fact the TV works and food is in the fridge and, considering they’re boys, they’ll probably never be at an age where they give a shit about anything but TV and food. Towels are not a priority and dishtowels are definitely not a priority.”

My head tipped back to look at his shadowed jaw in the dark room. “You didn’t see your kids or family for a year?”

His head tipped down and I felt his eyes on my face. “I didn’t see it taking that long but it did so another, bigger reason for my statue of liberty play with Darla.”

“Oh,” I whispered thinking that now definitely made sense and it made sense before it was just that now it made more sense then I asked, “Does that happen often?”

“I’d had to take undercover work before, not often but it happened and it was another reason Olivia made my life a misery.”

This, I had to admit, made sense too.

“She didn’t like your job?”

“Olivia likes attention and if she doesn’t get it, she wants other shit to make up for it and that other shit costs money, lots of it, far more than I made. She also isn’t real big on bein’ a Mom so bearin’ the brunt of raising two sons was not her favorite pastime and she regards it as a pastime, no joke. So she wasn’t doin’ cartwheels that she didn’t have a man dancing attendance on her and she didn’t have what she felt was restitution for being denied that.”

Oh man. This didn’t sound good. Any of it but especially the part about Olivia not big on being a Mom.

“But what you do is important,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“And dangerous,” I added and his arm gave me a squeeze.

“Yeah,” he repeated.

I tipped my head down and pressed my cheek against his chest processing the fact that he had a job which meant he might disappear and wondering if I’d be like Olivia, not too happy about that, acting out when it happened and thinking, uncomfortably, since I knew from experience I’d miss him if was gone, I might.

“Lease is up on this place next month and I’m already lookin’,” he announced into my thoughts and my head tipped back again.

“Sorry?”

“Things are hot for me here, last job before the Heller gig exposed me to some folks I don’t wanna know where I work but now they know where I work. This cripples what I do for the DEA which means deskwork which means, since I’m a field man and deskwork would be like certain death, I put in for a job with the DPD, interviewed, got it and resigned from the DEA three weeks ago. I start at the DPD in the homicide unit in a week. This means more stability, total exposure and if some slimeball follows me home and home happens to be a decent place, they won’t ask questions. So, I’m lookin’ for a new place.”