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He didn’t want to hear the rest. Today had gone from anticipation to incredible to shit and, selfishly, he didn’t know how much more he could take. He shoved to his feet, realizing belatedly his jeans were still unzipped. He turned away and fixed his clothes while the phone continued to ring. “You should get that.”
“The machine will. Jeremy, I—”
Her words were cut off by a low, angry man’s voice. “Pick up the phone. I know you’re there.”
She made a disbelieving sound and he turned to her. Her eyes were round and her face, which had still been flushed with arousal despite her concerns, was now chalk white.
It had to be her ex, but before he could ask, the man spoke again, his voice slightly slurred.
“What you did? That isn’t the way a proper Jewish wife acts, and you know it. Pick up the damn phone, Rebeccah, so we can talk about it.”
There was a long beat of silence filled with angry male breathing. Becca was twisting her hands in front of her and, if possible, she was curled up even more protectively than she’d been earlier. What the hell?
“When I get back from New York, I’ll stop by your house. We will talk, Rebeccah. Count on it.” There was an audible click, and the call ended.
Becca went dead still, then shook her head back and forth in denial.
Dread pooled in Jeremy’s stomach. He knew that tone of voice, had heard it from men angry enough to do something stupid. “Kitten?”
“He’s not supposed to know where I live, and I have an unlisted phone number.”
Fuck. He crouched next to her as he’d done earlier, reaching out to rub her arm, but this time she didn’t look at him warily. He was the lesser of two evils, he guessed, and though the thought made his stomach queasy, Becca was the important one. He tightened his fingers slightly to focus her attention. “Do you have a restraining order against him?”
She shook her head again. “I didn’t think I needed one.”
Jeremy wouldn’t bet his life, or hers, on that, but he didn’t share that with her. He’d seen people do heinous things for less significant reasons, but she didn’t need the stress of that. “Do you know what he was talking about? What he meant?”
She shrugged. “I’m guessing he got the package from my attorney. I met with her earlier in the week and I relinquished all rights to Sam’s house, his savings, anything we had together. And I returned his family’s heirloom jewelry. I wanted a clean break, and I sent that stuff back through my lawyer so he couldn’t find me.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “He found me anyway.”
He wanted to take over, to make this go away for her, both as a cop and as a Dom. But he knew that wouldn’t go over well, so he forced back his personal and professional instincts and settled for a question. “What can I do to help?” She looked conflicted, and he reached out and squeezed her hand. “Bec?”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “There’s nothing to do. I mean, our divorce is final. He just needs to accept it. No one can do that for him, right?”
There was truth in that statement, but again, he’d seen things during his ten years as a cop that proved life wasn’t always that easy. He didn’t think she expected an answer, though. She’d said the words to convince herself and, after everything else that had gone on today, he didn’t have the heart to correct her. He’d be watching, though, keeping a much closer eye on Becca than he had while she was married. Him, or one of his fellow officers. They knew her. They liked her. They’d understand.
And he wouldn’t make a mistake with her safety again. Speaking of which...
He shoved himself to his feet and held out his hand. “Show me around your house, babe. I know he said he’s in New York, but I want to check your doors and windows.” He paused, sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly. He didn’t want to say this next thing, but he needed to. It was the right thing to do, much as it sucked. “Before I head home.”
“What if I said I didn’t want you to leave?”
She looked shocked by her own words, and that’s how he knew he had to go. “You don’t really mean that.”
To his utter surprise, she shot a glare at him. “I think I know my own mind.”
“I think you want me to stay because you don’t want to be alone now, not because you want me here. Before Sam interrupted, you called a halt. You might not have said red, but you have to understand where I’m coming from. You’re sending mixed signals, kitten, and that means I need to back off until you decide what you want.” He ran his hand through his hair, scratched the back of his neck. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. “To be bluntly honest, I’m not sure I can stay here with you tonight without taking you to bed.”
She blew out a breath even as arousal painted her cheeks pink.
Jesus, sometimes his moral core was a pain in the ass. He could coax her into bed, he knew it just by looking at her, but that flew in the face of everything he believed in as a Dom, as a cop. Hell, as a man. Consent, period. Especially since what she’d had in her marriage had been anything but.
Her arousal gave him hope, though, and that he could build on. “C’mon. Let’s check your windows.”
She stood and placed her hand in his and he squeezed it briefly. “Okay.”
As they walked from room to room, he learned more about Becca, seeing her personality in each of the rooms. In her kitchen, on a shelf by itself, was a beautiful ceramic menorah. If he remembered, Hanukkah had just finished, so either she hadn’t put it away yet, or she always left it there. In a small bedroom she’d turned into an office, the wall was filled with school photos of what he guessed were her students. A bookshelf filled one entire wall, and it was overflowing. Most of the books were mysteries, and many of them were ones he’d read himself.
He stopped dead at the threshold of her bedroom. “Christ, kitten.”
