His voice softened, as if he’d spotted something in those few moments of her weakness. “Hmm, driving with a shattered windshield is a crime.”
“Yeah, and wouldn’t that break your heart to ticket me,” she shot back. “No worries, Officer. I’ll get my car towed. I have to go.”
“Where are you going?”
“Is that your business?”
He arched a brow. “Besides helping tow your car, I can offer you a ride. You seem to be in a hurry.”
Arilyn hesitated. Her pride begged her to decline and run away with her head held high. Somehow, she had an instinct it would end up being a favor he’d want to cash in. She didn’t want to owe him a thing. But Poppy had been waiting awhile, and he was more important. Besides, she could handle Stone.
Her mind said his first name with a breathy sigh and a shiver.
God, maybe Kennedy was right and she just needed plain, good old-fashioned sex. Her hormones were beginning to do a number on her.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I need to go to Ray’s Billiards.”
“Interesting choice. My chariot awaits.”
He escorted her to his souped-up, overpowering muscle car. She might hate it, but it was hard not to smile at his obvious adoration for the vehicle. He actually stroked the steering wheel as he pulled out. Those long, tapered fingers were extra large but seemed tender. Would he treat a woman with a combination of roughness and care? Somehow, the idea of him being gentle shattered her composure.
Oh, my goodness. What was she thinking?
Arilyn cleared her throat and dove into a neutral topic. “Did you always want to become a cop?”
He eased the car out to the main road. “Seemed like a good way to stop the criminals. No one else was doing anything about it.”
“Did you grow up in a rough neighborhood?”
“The average Bronx apartment in Woodlawn.”
“What was it like?”
He shot her another glance. “Poking around in my head again?”
“Just making conversation. You don’t have to answer if it’s too painful.”
He laughed, deep and long, and Arilyn studied his profile. Carved from granite, the roughness of his features pieced together a simple brutality that warned her this man could be dangerous. “I may be a disappointment to you, little one. I hide no secrets, and made peace with my crap a long time ago.”
The distracted endearment made her tummy free fall. Maybe it was the dark, sensual melody of his voice as he said it. He’d called her that once before over the summer when they first met, and she had never forgotten it. It was so . . . intimate. Her body sprung to life, surprising her with its sudden demand for his lips over hers. Odd. She rarely had a reaction to men on such a primal, physical scale. Her poetry professor from NYU. The artist from that watercolor class she took. Her yoga teacher. And now Stone Petty.
All had ended badly. But at least she had liked the others.
If her past was any indication of luck, she’d better pass right over Stone Petty. Arilyn refocused on their conversation. “Most people have a difficult time accepting the truth of the past and who they are.”
“I learned it’s much easier to deal with facts and truth than with pretty lies and denials,” he said. “Tell you what. I’ll give you the short version of my bio and you do the same.”
A warning bell clanged in her head. “I’ll be sifting through your past during our individual sessions anyway.”
“Thought this was a conversation,” he shot back. “What’s the matter? Too above the rest of us to share?”
“I’m not above anyone,” she said calmly. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“I do. Tell you what. I’ll keep it simple. Just answer one question from me, and I’ll give you all my dirty laundry. Fair?”
The idea was tempting, but she squirmed in her seat. “This is stupid, we don’t have to make a deal. Let’s just keep our relationship strictly to the anger management classes and how they pertain to your treatment.”
“Chicken? I bet you’re so used to having everyone open up, no one ever demands the same of you. When was the last time anyone asked you questions about your past? About who you are? About what you want?”
He murmured the last question, and the heat in his seething gaze made her press hard against the door. Her heart thundered in her chest, making it difficult to take a cleansing breath. A strange surge of emotion rocked her normal calm and seeped out. “You don’t know anything about me or my needs,” she hissed out. “I have no trouble opening up.”
“Good, then it’s a deal. I’ll give you the short version. Grew up in a tough Irish neighborhood where boys ended up being cops or firemen. I got jumped at the school bus when I was seven and put in the hospital. My father told me it would teach me a lesson to be either tougher or faster. I made sure I was both, and my training intensified when he began beating the crap out of me and my mother with a baseball bat. I learned how to steal, how to hide in the parks, how to survive, but I never got to save my mother. She died from a nasty fall deemed an accident. I left and dedicated myself to catching bad guys and working out my past karma with my asshole father. Thoughts?”