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“Wait a minute,” Bailey said as he guided Henri inside his house, and when he turned back, he couldn’t help but think how damn attractive Henri was, even plastered. “Are you drunk?”
Henri held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I might be…a little bit. I was drinking while I was waiting for you tonight. That’s not a crime, is it?”
No, it wasn’t. In fact, this might be a good way for Bailey to relax and loosen up a little, instead of being so hopped up on nervous energy. Maybe he could track down that bottle of cognac Xander had given him for his birthday and catch up.
“So you had a few drinks?” Bailey asked, as he stepped around Henri and headed toward the kitchen.
“More like a…bottle?”
Bailey stopped and turned back to see Henri giving him a scorching once-over.
“You drank a whole bottle?” Bailey laughed and shook his head, surprised that Henri was still standing. “A whole bottle of what?”
“Hmm, whiskey,” Henri said, then licked his lips as though he could still taste it. As he started in Bailey’s direction, he swayed slightly on his feet and reached out for the wall to steady himself. “Officer? Your room is spinning.”
Bailey’s lips twitched as he walked back to Henri. “I’m sure it is. Let me help you over to the couch.”
Bailey held his hand out; Henri took it and drew him in, wound his other arm around his waist, nuzzled his nose into the crook of Bailey’s shoulder and said, “I really want to get naked with you again. It’s all I think about…this body and the way it moved under mine… Let me get you naked.”
Bailey couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do. But when Henri raised his head and blinked a couple times as though trying to focus, something niggled in the back of Bailey’s mind.
Why was Henri drunk? Was it something he did regularly, or had something happened during the last couple of hours to make him go home and polish off an entire bottle of whiskey?
“Henri?”
“Hmm,” Henri said as he started to play with the zipper of Bailey’s hoodie again.
“What were you drinking to tonight? Did something good happen?”
Henri lowered the zipper all the way down, and as the material parted and Bailey’s bare skin came into view, Henri put his palms on his chest and groaned.
Not about to be sidetracked, Bailey halted one of Henri’s hands and asked again, “What happened tonight, Henri?”
Henri stepped away from him, walked over to the couch, and fell down into it. Then he craned his head back on the cushion behind him and eyed Bailey. “I decided to celebrate.”
Celebrate? Well, that sounds like fun, Bailey thought, and then walked around the couch to stand in front of Henri. “What are you celebrating?”
Henri took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out. “My father. He died tonight. And that’s something worth celebrating.”
Chapter Nineteen
CONFESSION
I don’t want to be bad…
Not anymore.
THE NEXT TIME Henri opened his eyes was painful. Not only because there was a loud pounding going on inside his head, but because of the bright light streaming through the massive windows on one side of the living room he was sitting in.
At least, I think it’s a living room, he thought, clutching the side of his head.
“I was wondering when you’d wake up.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Henri turned, and his eyes landed on Bailey, who was sitting opposite him all bright-eyed and fresh-faced in a comfortable-looking recliner.
Oh fuck. As the night before came rushing back with blinding force, Henri winced. He remembered tracking his cop down, feeling him up outside, making plans to come back and see him, and then…the phone call, and the news about Victor.
After that, he didn’t remember a whole lot of anything. But somehow or another, he’d ended up here, at Bailey’s house.
Again, fuck.
“How’s your head feeling?” Bailey said as he got to his feet. As Henri followed the move, he swore his head might roll off his damn shoulders, but he tried for a smile, which probably looked more like a grimace.
“Painful?” Bailey suggested when Henri couldn’t seem to find the words. “I can only imagine. You passed out pretty hard last night.”
Shit. Way to make an impression, Henri. First he pulls you over for speeding, and now you pass out drunk on his fucking couch. Good job. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I—”
“You don’t have to apologize. I understand.” Bailey walked around the beautifully carved coffee table that sat between them, stopped in front of Henri, and said, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Henri would sell his soul for a cup of coffee, but, trying not to appear too desperate, he merely nodded.
“Okay.” Bailey looked to the large clock hanging over the fireplace behind him, and then turned back. “It’s still early, so if you had plans today or need to go to, umm, work? There’s a bathroom just down the hall to your left where you can freshen up or take a shower.”
