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Prologue
Aiden
A ringing phone fills the air, cutting through the heavy fog of sleep I was enjoying. By the time I tear my eyes open the annoying buzzing has stopped and I groan at the slashing pain cutting through my temple.
“Thank god,” I grumble, covering my face with an arm and rolling over, my leg brushing against the warm smooth one of my bed mate.
I slowly turn my head and peek through my arm to get a glimpse of the beautiful woman lying next to me. I take in her long, dark hair and the curve of her lower back, silky soft golden skin stretching down to the curve of her lower back and disappearing beneath the white sheet where there’s a small tattoo of a bumblebee she got on a dare at college sitting on her right hip.
Detective Marlee Manning. My best friend’s little sister. A former colleague. Someone who’s known me since she was ten and I moved in next door to her and her brother, Marcus. And… the only person who didn't write me off after I fucked up royally two days ago.
She stirs slightly as I watch her sleep and I find myself holding my breath and praying she won’t wake up. I want a little longer with her. I want to steal more time before the outside world encroaches and the realities of my actions take hold again.
This isn’t the first time we’ve slept together over the years, but right now my memory of last night is still a little fuzzy thanks to the untold amount of liquor I ingested.
After I left the hospital and said goodbye to Alyssa, the woman I risked it all for—my career, my reputation, my life--and lost anyway, I went to Marilee’s precinct and was grilled about the events leading up to the kidnapping and shooting. After giving my statement and talking to my superiors in San Francisco, I was told what my options were.
Unfortunately, in the light of day, I’ve realized that the door I chose was the wrong one.
The phone rings again and this time, luck is not on my side. Marlee groans and moves onto her back, stretching her arms up above her head, her bare breasts distracting me as flashes of last night come flooding back to me.
Marlee texting me.
Marlee coming to the hotel bar I was drinking my weight in alcohol at.
Marlee telling the bartender to cut me off.
Marlee walking me up to my room.
Marlee saying goodbye. Me grabbing her hand to stop her.
Me kissing her because I couldn't stop myself.
“Please shut that thing up,” she pleads against the pillow. How does her voice sound even more sexy in the morning?
Marlee kissing me back.
Tumbling into the room.
More kissing.
More touching.
More everything…
It was comfort. An escape. The perfect way to lose myself with the perfect person at the perfect time.
The ringing stops and I stare up at the hotel room ceiling, the imaginary ice pick stabbing my brain making its presence known as debilitating pain slices through me. I embrace it though because it’s self-inflicted in more ways than the obvious. Drowning your sorrows in whisky while lamenting the loss of not only your career but also having the woman you thought you loved choose a man you’ve always viewed as the villain in your story? Zero out of ten, do not recommend.
Turning my head, I lock eyes with Marlee, a woman I’ve wronged in more ways than one over the years, and one she doesn’t even know about yet. “Hey,” she whispers, her gaze a mixture of wary, happy, relieved, yet nervous.
“Hey, Beautiful” I say in a rough whisper, my voice as rough as sandpaper. Despite feeling like the physical representation of death warmed up, her smile warms me up like a hot sun on a summer’s day. It’s always been like that with her. No matter how bad I’m feeling, Marlee always manages to turn my day, my night, my life around. Knowing that this might be the last time she ever wants to look at me has a suffocating weight bearing down on me.
“I fucked up,” I say, the guilt eating me alive. How can I have this moment with her when I know I’ve done her wrong.
“Oh.” She pulls the sheet up over her chest, bunching it up and moving to the edge of the bed away from me, obviously misunderstanding.
I reach out, my hand resting on her arm as I shake my head. “Shit. Mar. No, not that. Fuck, never that.”
