Delilah Devlin - Lost Souls

“Well, it’s pretty late. Not sure what more we can accomplish. Ready to call it a night?”

She glanced at her watch, shocked to see how late it was. “Yeah, we should both rest.”

“I’ll drop you at your place.”

“No, take me to Sam’s.”

Jason shot her a glance. “You sure? He hasn’t had time to cool off.”

“I can’t take the waiting, wondering if he meant it. I have to talk to him, and he needs to know about what I just saw.”

Jason whistled softly through pursed lips. “You’ll be digging yourself a bigger hole.”

“Maybe. Or perhaps I’ll let him blow hot, spank my ass, and he might let us come back.”

Jason’s nose wrinkled. “Didn’t need that picture in my head.”

Cait smiled, her pulse kicking up a beat at her own words.

“If he lets you back, you won’t be calling the shots.”

“I don’t have to be in charge.”

“So you said.” His mouth curved into a wry grin.

Cait sat back, closing her eyes for the rest of the trip, conserving her energy for the battle to come.

The doorbell rang, and Sam had a sinking feeling about who waited on his stoop. He rolled out of bed, padded from his bedroom into the living room, and headed straight to the front door.

Without checking the peephole, he swung the door wide. “Cait, what are you doing here?”

She didn’t wait for an invitation. She ducked under his arm and squeezed through into his living room. “We have to talk,” she said, sounding breathless.

“I’ve said all I’m going to say,” he said, keeping his voice even, his face schooled into a neutral mask. But the truth was he was relieved to see her. Being here meant she wasn’t trying to sneak back into the hotel despite his orders to the contrary.

He slammed the door and then leaned against it, slowly folding his arms over his naked chest. If only he’d worn something more substantial than thin cotton boxers. He needed layers to mask his immediate and inconveniently reliable reaction to her proximity.

“We have to talk,” she repeated, beginning to shed her thin leather jacket. “I can’t leave things the way they were.”

“Things, Cait? The investigation or us?” he asked, although he didn’t really want to know which came first with her. When it came to a case, she was like a dog guarding her favorite bone.

“Both.” She strode closer.

He stiffened—both his back and his cock. He concentrated, ruthlessly willing his body not to concede the battle before they’d even begun.

Her face tilted upward, solemn green eyes searching his face. “I’m sorry. I screwed up.”

“Tell the truth for once, Cait.” He shook his head. “You’re sorry I’m angry, but you don’t regret the risk you took.”

Her lips pursed, forming a pout. “I wasn’t sorry then . I had to know if it was him. But the moment the doors closed and I was safe, I realized just how much I’d almost lost. The experience scared me, and I thought I might die. Or that I might be trapped in the past and unable to see you for decades. I imagined myself skulking around playgrounds like a perv to watch you as you grew older.” She swallowed hard. “Waiting until you knew me before approaching you to say just how deeply sorry I was.”

Sam studied her face, the paleness of her skin, the moisture glinting in her eyes, and had no doubt everything she said was true. She was deeply sorry. Afraid—after the fact. But her apology wasn’t good enough. “You risked everything, risked us, so you could have your answers. We were partners in this, but you never read me in about your suspicions.”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“Not the point,” he said, anger causing his voice to rise and vibrate. “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t get to decide what I need to know or when?”

Her eyebrows drew into a frown, and she turned away. “What do I have to do?”

“ That is the point. It’s not something you can do.” His chest tightened. “Not something you’re willing to consider.”

“I won’t know unless you tell me.”

His fingers ached where he gripped his arms. “I shouldn’t have to. You should come to me, without any double-think, to run things by me. It should be instinctive. It is for me. You don’t consider me your friend, your ally. You think of me as…” He waved a hand in frustration. “I don’t know, someone you have to manipulate to get around.”

“I don’t.”

At his hot glare, her mouth closed.

“You’re so used to keeping secrets, to holding things close until you get too deep to dig yourself out alone, that you can’t imagine being a partner. For years, I followed your ass around, watching your back, cleaning up your messes. I can’t do it anymore. I quit.”

Cait’s face fell. A tear tracked down her cheek.

The urge to comfort her was strong, but if he caved now, she’d never learn. Never try to change. He’d stayed away a whole goddamn year to make her face her problem with the booze, hoping she’d choose sobriety and him.

Cait dropped to the arm of the couch, her gaze fixed on her hands, which she held together in front of her. “I don’t know how to be any other way. I don’t know how to change the way I think, or my overriding instincts.”

“I know that. But I no longer accept that just because that’s the way you’re wired, you can’t change it.”

Her tear-stained face rose. “I do love you.”

Sam blinked his eyes and glanced away. “That’s not the issue,” he said, betraying the ragged edge of his emotions in the texture of his voice.

“I quit drinking for you.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and nailed her with a hard glance. “Gimme a break. Breaking with booze wasn’t all for me. The moment you stepped back into the magic, you knew you had to keep a clear head.”

“But the moment the crisis was over, I didn’t go searching for a bottle to celebrate either.” Her chin jutted. “I’ve kept clean because I need you in my life more than I need a drink. I can change. I have.”

Sam considered what she said, heard the strength, the pride in her voice. The underlying plea for another chance.

With a sudden move, she pushed off the sofa arm. “You have to practice something to make it habit. I just don’t think I’ve made telling you everything, as soon as it happens, a habit. But I can change this too. I promise I can.”

Not “I’ll try,” he noted. Something he wouldn’t have accepted. His gaze remained on her, resting on the only person on the planet he’d ever have given so many chances. He wondered if he was a fool. A fool in love. But the thought of not being in her world, even if she failed at this, was unimaginable, because he’d worry every minute of every day that she’d step into another elevator with an incubus.

His breath and his anger left him in a long exhale. “You look wrecked.”

“I’m tired. Sad,” she added in a whisper.

“We should both get some sleep.”

“You’ll have to call me a taxi. Jason dropped me off.”

His gaze narrowed.

Cait winced, and then squared her shoulders. “I went back to the hotel. But I stayed clear of the conflux. I promise. The ghost crew had something they needed me to see.”

Trying not to let the anger erupt again, he shot a glance to the ceiling. The fact she’d told him without prodding was something.

“You should have been with me to watch it.”

He left unspoken an emphatic agreement. He was tired too. And sad. But mostly, he was horny. He jerked his chin toward his bedroom door. “We’re not through discussing this.”