“When Annabel died, I kind of did, too,” she said. “Instead of turning toward each other, we grew apart. That’s when I switched to undercover work. I loved becoming someone else because I didn’t have to think about my own life. I can’t totally blame Jimbo, because I was out of town for weeks at a time. Four months after she passed, Jimbo told me he’d moved on to someone else.”
“I see.”
“Even though the doctors told me Annabel’s death wasn’t my fault—that there was nothing I could have done to prevent what happened—I blamed myself. I stopped touching myself because I didn’t think I deserved that much pleasure.”
“Did you talk to anyone about this?”
“My mom is a psychologist. Her specialty is helping couples overcome sexual issues, so I spoke with her.”
“That was smart.”
“We concluded that my issue was on the subconscious level. I was punishing myself for Annabel’s death and my failed marriage.”
He traced her heart tattoo with his finger. “Is this for Annabel?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you for telling me.” He ran gentle fingers through her hair, tucking some behind her ear. “I think we should stop focusing on your orgasm and start focusing on what makes you feel good. What makes you happy. I think if we did that, you might start to feel like you deserve a fulfilling life.”
Tears filled her eyes. Surprised by the onslaught of emotion, she dropped her head so he couldn’t see.
He lifted her face to his. “You deserve to be happy, Providence. I want to help you find that.”
“I would have expected that from my husband, but you don’t have to extend yourself. I appreciate that you’re an attentive lover, but—”
“If you won’t say yes, we can go back to being work partners.” He kissed her. “But that would suck, for both of us. Because we like each other too damn much.”
He was right. So right. “Can I sleep on it?”
He patted his chest. “Come on in.”
She kissed him. “Thank you for being an amazing man. I’ve never met anyone like you. It’s hard for me to wrap my brain around yourotherjob. You are so caring and such an attentive dad, then you turn into a—” She stopped, searching for the right words.
“A cold-blooded killer?”
“Luther is right. You’re a complicated man.”
* * *
The alarm clock woke Dakota from a deep sleep. He and Providence were still wrapped around each other. Five thirty had come way too fast.
She slid out of bed and pulled on her clothes before he could kiss her good morning. “I’ll see you for breakfast,” she whispered.
Dakota sat on the edge of his bed, his boner pointing to the ceiling. “I hate to waste a perfectly good erection.”
With a sleepy smile, she said, “I’m confident that won’t be your last.”
He wanted to pull her on top of him and love the hell out of her. She was just as beautiful in the morning as she was in the evening. Her hair was tussled, her voice deeper. It was as if he saw her for the first time without the protective armor she wore as a shield.
“I’ll get downstairs around seven,” he said. “We can all have breakfast together. Sammy will love that.”
“Thank you for…for everything.” She kissed him, then closed the door behind her.
Dakota wasn’t ready to get up, so he reset his alarm and rolled over. As he drifted to sleep, he thought about what Providence had told him about herself. Though she had been through a lot, he felt confident she could find happiness. And he had the perfect little accomplice to help him achieve his goal.
At six forty, he got ready, then went downstairs. As expected, Sammy was eating breakfast with Miranda.
“Good morning.” He kissed the top of Sammy’s head. “Sleep okay?”
