Page 46 of Dimitri
"I owe you dinner."
"I suppose you do." He noticed that she was avoiding his eyes.
"I have an explanation." She took a sip of coffee and inhaled. "I went to the market." A faint smile touched her lips. "I hate going to the market and would resort to ordering things online. Your grandmother supplies me with dairy produce and vegetables when I remember to place an order. But this time I decided that going to the market was essential. I was planning on making chicken Alfredo."
"I'm sure you would have done a very good job of it," he supplied in that deep slightly accented voice of his and made her smile.
"It would have been damn good. It's the only thing I can make, so it is near to perfect." Her smile faded, and he watched as she stared into her cup. "I went to pick up a few items andended up with a cartful of things." She shrugged. "It happens. I was choosing milk when I heard someone call my name." Her expression turned bleak, and he felt himself tensing. "It was Martha Glasgow." She ran her fingers up and down the side of the cup restlessly. "Michael's mother. My former—" She searched for the word and remained blank for a few seconds. "We weren't officially engaged, you see. So, I suppose you could say we were in a relationship. His mother never liked me. Michael was her only son and an ADA, smart as a whip and going places. We met when I had my first case. Fresh out of law school and determined to right all the wrongs of the justice system. We bucked heads for a bit and hit it off." She smiled faintly. "Michael was very good and had this calm nature that seemed almost always unshakable." She paused, and Dimitri had to fight the jealousy rising up inside him. What she was describing was a paragon, he had no hope of competing with. Besides, the man was dead, which made it worse.
She looked up, her eyes searching his face for understanding before continuing. "It's hard to talk about him, even now. Sometimes the memories sneak up on me when I least expect it." She hesitated, fingering the rim of her cup as if the words themselves were sharp and unwieldy. "Seeing Martha at the market just brought it all rushing back." She bit her lip and continued when he said nothing. "She accused me of being the cause of her son's death."
His reaction was immediate and gratifying. "That's ludicrous."
She smiled at that. "I would never commit. We had been going on for a year, and he wanted me to marry him or even get engaged. I would only agree to spending time at his place."
Dimitri felt his burden lifting. "Perhaps you did not love him enough."
"Perhaps, I didn't." She shrugged. "That night—" She inhaled sharply, grateful when he closed a hand over hers. "I was working late." She shook her head. "I don't even remember the case I had been working on. He called and asked what time I would be getting off, and I told him in a few minutes. He was on his way to his place, and I had this urge for a Hershey's bar. He asked if I needed anything, and I told him what I wanted. He had just reached a convenience store. I recall him saying to me that it was a wonder I'm not as fat as a pig with my terrible eating habits. I wanted to get back to my file, so I hung up." Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. "That was the last time I spoke to him. And you know the worst thing about it? I did not remember about him until twenty minutes later when I received the call. We're friends with most of the cops in the local precinct, and I was his emergency contact. I was just leaving when I got the call." Her fingers tightened on his. "He died because he stopped to pick up a frigging chocolate bar for me. His mother is right; he died because of me."
"You're above average intelligence," he murmured. "One of the things I love about you is that sharp mind of yours, and you already know that's utter nonsense. He died because someone put a bullet in him."
"She accused me—"
"And she is transferring her grief. I'm not saying she is right, and I'm not saying she's wrong. Undoubtedly, she has to blame someone, and you're the likely target." Picking up her hand, he studied the elegant fingers before bringing them to his lips. "She's going to have to find a way to get through it, and you're going to start learning to forgive yourself. You're not to blame." His eyes met hers and held as if by the power of his intense gaze he could make her understand that much.
He settled her. Not for the first time, she realized how much he calmed her down. He was not like Michael, far from it. They were as different as night and day. Michael had been an amiable man, slow to emotional upheaval and shying away from argument. He had been an excellent lawyer but had never been one to push the button. He had preferred to play it safe. For the first time, she also realized that she had been the one who controlled the relationship. He had never wanted to rock the boat and accepted anything she suggested. It would never have lasted between them. That was why she had kept putting him off. Dimitri would never allow her to walk all over him.
She wondered, not for the first time, why she had gravitated toward men so different from each other. Maybe what she sought had changed as she changed, or perhaps she was still searching for the kind of partnership that felt true. Dimitri's unwavering presence was something she hadn't known she needed until it was simply there, quietly anchoring her through the storms she carried inside. It gave her hope that, with time,she could let go of regrets and move forward, one steady breath at a time.
"You're right." She acknowledged, feeling the relief and cleansing pouring through her. She picked up her cup and then put it back down, as if undecided what to do with it. Lifting her gaze to his handsome face, she felt her heart doing a slow dive. "I was coming home to tell you that this, us, is not a good idea."
"Is that right?" He had to force his voice to remain neutral. "And now?"
Instead of responding, she pushed aside her cup and walked around the counter to stand in front of him.
"I need you." Her voice was hesitant, and he knew how much it took out of her to admit that. She was still not saying what he yearned to hear, but this was a start, and he was going to take it for the time being.
Swiveling the stool, he opened his thighs and drew her between them.
"I'm here," he promised quietly.
With a ragged sigh, she moved closer, closing her eyes as his arms banded around her waist. His scent filled her nostrils and her senses.
"How about a warm bath?" he suggested, and she nodded.
"And some breakfast." His hands moved up and down her back, and she could have stayed like this forever.
"There's no food." She reminded him.
"That's easily remedied." His lips brushed her cheek gently. "I'll call over to the farmhouse and have someone bring us food."
Lifting her head, she stared out at the bleakness of the morning. "The weather is terrible."
"Someone will come." Lifting her in his arms, he made his way out of the kitchen and carried her straight into the bathroom. Putting her on the countertop, he set about preparing the bath.
She watched in awe as he selected fragrant bath gels and tested the water temperature. Within minutes, the steam was rising, and the smell of raspberries and cinnamon filled the air.
"Should I get used to this?" she inquired as he came back to remove her nightgown.
