Page 43 of Wake the Dream

“For the better part of three years. I rent because it’s hard to afford mortgages around here on my salary.”

She reached out to grab the metal railing and hissed from the cold. “Ask for a raise, Kieran. You deserve one.”

“Yeah right, and my superiors laughed me out of the office the last time I brought it up. Believe it or not, I’m not well liked at the precinct.”

“I’ve heard.”

Kieran held the door open for her, stepping aside to let her breeze past him. He caught a whiff of her scent, something dark and smoky. Moonlight and jasmine, perhaps. It stood out strong and clear despite the dirty smoke-and-mold-filled stench from the club.

Grimacing in remembrance, he closed the door behind her to lock them both inside.

Illaria stood in the living room taking in the details of his life. The plain gray couch was strewn with blankets from too many nights falling asleep with his paperwork on the coffee table. A large-screen television with a crack in the corner stood between the front windows.

“You need to tell your superiors to shove their prejudices up their asses,” she commented, turning to face him. “You’re a good cop.”

Kieran kicked off his shoes, breathing a sigh of relief and wiggling his toes. The second he could, he wanted out of the plastic wrap someone had called a pair of pants and into a good flannel bathrobe and his fuzzy slippers. “I thought you disliked me with the fiery passion of a thousand suns?”

“Did I say that?”

He half shrugged. “Maybe not in so many words.”

“Well, even my dislike can’t disguise your inherent goodness. You have a kind heart and an open, honest nature. You care about people and what happens to them.”

“If you’re trying to butter me up so I’ll feed you, please stop. Make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll find some leftovers to heat up and grab some sweats so you can get out of that dress.”

She inclined her head in thanks, sinking down onto the cushions.

He didn’t want to think about her changing clothes as he rifled through his belongings for something small enough to fit her. He settled on sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt left over from his academy days. Worn but comfortable.

He also didn’t want to think about the sweet perkiness of her breasts pressed against the inside his t-shirt. Something he knew he would wear again at a later date and he’d have no choice but to remember her.

Boy, his head went straight where hedidn’twant it to go.

Kieran fought to control his baser urges, handing over the clothes and sequestering himself in the kitchen, still clad in his leather and mesh.

The landlord had painted the cabinets a cheery buttery yellow to offset the beige of the countertop and plain linoleum flooring. Feeling like someone stuck him in the middle of a cupcake, Kieran moved to the fridge and grabbed a couple of boxes of leftover Chinese food. Both boxes were given the perfunctory sniff test before being tossed in the microwave.

Minutes later, he was still staring out his kitchen window, teeth gritted as he calmed the roaring in his veins that was steadily shredding his self-control. That damned dress she’d worn to the club— He was in such deep shit.

“Whatever you’re making smells great.”

He turned at the sound of her voice. A wry smile tugged at her lips, and she had her arms crossed over her chest. She’d ditched the shoes, he was glad to see, but lost inches of height as a result. His clothing dwarfed her, a child wearing a man’s big-and-tall special.

“Mandarin orange chicken and broccoli with rice,” he said, dragging his attention from her painted toes to the miles of hair cascading past her shoulders. His mouth went dry. “Got them from the frozen food section.”

She pursed her lips and made a small sound of approval. Watching him, she settled at the bistro table he had pushed into the corner of the kitchen to save space. The one he rarely used in favor of watching television while eating.

“You have a cute little place here, Shanahan.” And like that, she’d gone back to calling him by his last name. “Real cute.”

“Say what you really mean,” he said, staring at the microwave. “It’s small and dated.”

“I’ve been in worse places. Trust me.”

The machine dinged to get his attention. He grabbed the newly warmed boxes off the rotating glass and managed to find two clean plates still left inside his cabinets. The rest, he was sorry to admit, sat in the sink crusted and dirty, waiting for his attention. He hadn’t been home a lot, he reasoned. And ignored the mess.

“How long have you known you wanted to be on the police force?” Illaria asked him suddenly.

Kieran set a plate down in front of her. “I didn’t realize we were playing twenty questions tonight.”

---