So I figured something was up and I figured that something was named Ginger Kidd.
Suddenly there seemed something interesting happening in the living room, someone had arrived and five seconds later, there he was.
I stared at him.
Seriously, was this a cosmic joke?
In my doorway stood a man, a tall man and there was nothing “ish” about how tall he was. He was just, plain tall. He also had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and a square jaw. His hair was thick and curled a little around his neck and the collar of his leather jacket. His eyes were soulful. His jaw was strong. He was wearing a chocolate brown turtleneck under his dark brown leather jacket, jeans, a great belt, boots and a badge hung on that great belt. I had no doubt he was on the cover of the Men of the Denver Police Department calendar and I was going out first thing tomorrow to buy one.
Why was this happening? Why? What did I do? Not even a day and three hot guys, all three I couldn’t have. One was scary and was the head honcho of a possibly felonious but definitely antisocial motorcycle club, so he was out. One was scary and mysterious and a jerk, so he was out. And this one was not scary, he was gorgeous but he was also the detective assigned to my case which meant he was probably not allowed to fraternize with a victim, namely me, and therefore he was out.
I didn’t lift my cheek from my knee and he didn’t tear his eyes from me as he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a chair, twisted it around to face me, not too close, not too far away, and sat down. With his eyes still on me, he leaned forward, elbows to knees.
“Gwendolyn Kidd?” he asked in a nice, smooth, deep voice.
I nodded against my knee.
“I’m Detective Mitch Lawson.”
Detective Mitch Lawson. Yowza. Great name.
I kept my cheek to my knee when I told him quietly, “That’s the perfect name for a cop.”
His brows went up slightly. This was not what he was expecting. He was probably expecting a “Hi”, or a “Thank you for coming” or a “God, you’re hot”.
“It is?” he asked.
“Mitch,” I whispered. “Strong, the last three consonants that is, but not in a harsh way, in a soft way. And when you’re with someone you care about and you’re close and they say something you can’t hear, you don’t say, ‘What?’ you say, ‘Mm?’ real soft. Put that and the last together, soft and strong, things a cop needs to be… Mitch.”
He stared at me.
I kept babbling. “And Lawson, goes without saying, Law… son. Son of the law.” I pulled in a breath through my nose and then whispered, “Perfect.”
He stared at me some more.
Then he said, “Gwendolyn sounds like a song.”
Uh… nice.
I so totally loved my name.
“A short one,” I replied.
“But a pretty one,” he returned.
Uh… nice.
I smiled at him and Detective Mitch Lawson smiled back at me.
Yowza!
Then suddenly his neck twisted so he could look over his shoulder, his torso went straight and he stood, still looking behind him.
My eyes went there and I kept my cheek to my knee even as my heart skipped a beat.
The Great MM was standing there.
He wasn’t in a fabulous chocolate brown turtleneck, leather jacket and jeans. He was wearing what he was wearing earlier, a skintight, navy, long-sleeved t-shirt that delineated every carved muscle in his chest, shoulders and arms; army green cargo pants and boots. He was also wearing an unhappy expression and his eyes were locked on Detective Mitch Lawson.
Then his eyes moved to me and about a nanosecond later he moved to me, all masculine grace, a big cat on the prowl, fascinating.
My eyes moved with him but my cheek didn’t leave my knee as he got close then bent over me, lifting his hand. I didn’t know what to expect so I braced until I felt his fingers at my temple. They trailed lightly along my hairline, down, behind my ear and I closed my eyes as he slid the hair off my neck. Then his warm hand curled there.
Then I heard him ask softly, “You okay, baby?”
Baby?
My eyes opened and slid to see him bent close to my face.
“Fine,” I told him.
“You don’t look fine,” he noted.
“Well, I am,” I returned.
“Then why are you curled into a protective ball?” he asked.
This was a good question.
I shrugged.
“Heard she was yours,” Lawson noted, MM straightened and turned to him and I was so surprised at this comment, for a variety of reasons, that my head came up so I could put my chin to the space between my knees.
“She’s mine,” MM confirmed decisively.
“I’m not his,” I denied probably not decisively.
Lawson was looking at MM but when I spoke his eyes cut to me. He stared at me what seemed intently for a few beats then one side of his mouth twitched and he looked to the floor a second before he looked back at me.