“You’re scaring me.”
“Sorry.” He made a face, that hand behind his neck again. “I probably shouldn’t have come here. I just…I’ll go.”
He headed toward the front door.
She caught him at the door, shutting it on him. “I’m glad you came by. Sit down and tell me what happened.”
She took his hand and urged him toward her stairs. Sat on them. Patted the space next to her.
After a moment, he sank down to join her. Then he pressed his hands to his face and didn’t speak for a long moment.
She hadn’t known him long, but she understood the non-verbal language of a man trying to process tragedy. Or worse, the bone-shaking terror of a near-miss.
Something bad, very bad, had gone down.
Her heartbeat filled the silence.
Finally, “I thought I’d fixed it, Eve. I really thought…” Rembrandt sighed, looked at her, and she jolted at the wetness in his eyes. “I just…I don’t want to…” He swallowed again. “You have to believe that I really thought I could fix this. That I could keep your Dad safe—”
“My dad?” She stilled. “What about my dad?”
“He’s fine.” Rembrandt held up his hands. “He’s just fine. In fact...” He winced, then met her eyes again. “He saved my life.”
Oh Rem. She longed to touch him, and then couldn’t stop herself from pressing her hand to his chest. “Tell me,” she said softly.
He didn’t want to—she could tell by the way he closed his eyes, looked away, then back at her, so much torture in his gaze.
But she didn’t remove her hand, and held herself back from letting him off the hook. Added, “Please.”
His voice turned low. “We were on a stakeout. Your dad wired up an informant, and sent him in, looking for information on a gang leader—Abdilhali. Suddenly, everything went south. We heard a gunshot and I took after Abdilhali. Chased him through a warehouse, came out the other side and that’s when your dad showed up. He blew a hole through his brother, Faheem Abdilhali.”
“Faheem had the drop on you?”
“Yes. Your dad shot him center mass, a second before he would have taken me out.”
“Are you okay?”
He swallowed. Nodded. “I’m just—”
“Freaked out.”
He blinked. “I—”
She didn’t know why, but she had the sense that the unflappable Rembrandt Stone was unraveling before her eyes.
She framed his face with her hands. Met those blue eyes. So many layers, but she focused on the place inside that was the cop, the guy who put himself out there for people, for justice. The guy who didn’t think about himself until it was too late. “You’re okay, Rem. You’re safe. Just breathe.”
He stared at her.
And then, he kissed her. A full on, no hesitation kiss, as if he was starving and she was the nourishment he needed. He clasped his hands on either side of her head, drinking her in, and shoot, the man was dangerously intoxicating, the taste of him, reckless and yes, intense.
Oh, she liked intense way too much.
She fisted her hand into his shirt and pulled him closer, his heart pounding against her touch. He smelled of the night, the slightest layer of sweat, and not a little coffee and yes, he maybe even scared her a little, but she didn’t hate it.
Not at all. Something about this man ignited places inside her that she never knew existed. And this—this—was what no one knew about Rembrandt Stone. The man wore his heart on the outside of his body, intense, yes, but had the kind of passion that told her that when he was in, he was all in.
Then, just like that, he pulled away, staring into her gaze, breathing hard. “Sorry. I just…I just…”