The Departed

into running,” Taylor interjected. “We have to live with it—it was both of us.”
    “We,” she echoed. “But he was old enough to do this. It’s not like he was ten years old, twelve years old. We have to deal with it. So does he.”
    * * *
     
    IT was night. Dark and cold—too cold, but Dez thought maybe it was just her. As Taylor pulled up in front of the cottage, she looked over at him. “Will you stay with me?”
    “Is it a good idea?”
    Her heart stuttered. He…hell. He hadn’t changed his mind already, had he?
    In the faint light coming off the dashboard, she saw the tired smile on his face. “Dez, that look hurts even worse than my arm,” he said. He put the car into park, awkwardly, shifting around to use his left hand since the right was casted to just under his elbow. Then he turned and reached out, brushing his thumb over her lip.
    “I’m not walking away. I meant what I told you—hell, was it only this morning?”
    She swallowed. “Then why don’t you want to come in?”
    “You need to sleep.”
    “All the more reason you should come in.” She covered his hand with hers, staring at him. “I sleep better with you around, Jones. At least I did last night. And…hell, I don’t know what it is, but when you’re around, I don’t have this rush of everything coming in. It’s like I’m more grounded or something. And around here, I desperately need it. It’s peaceful.”
    A blond brow crooked up. “So basically you’re just attracted to me because I’m boring?”
    “Boring?” She laughed weakly. “No. Boring and peaceful are two different things. Come on inside, Jones. I’ll even let you use the washer and dryer if you’re worried about wearing dirty clothes tomorrow. The washer and dryer look like they are brand new—you can break them in.”
    “They are new.” He leaned over and nipped at her lower lip. “I’ll come in. If you call me by my damn name.”
    “Taylor.” She touched his cheek. “Stay the night with me. Please.”
    “Okay.”
    Then she pushed him back, scowling. “How do you know if the appliances are new?”
    “I own the house.”
    She was still gaping when he opened her door a minute later. He owned the house?
    “YOU own this place?”
    Taylor glanced at her as he rooted through the cabinets, trying to find something fast and easy that he could make her eat before they went to bed. “Yeah. Do you like chicken noodle soup or tomato better?”
    “Chicken noodle. Unless we can do grilled cheese.”
    She wandered farther into the kitchen and peered over his shoulder as he glanced into the refrigerator. Yeah, the lawyer’s wife had done a decent job stocking up on basics. “We can do grilled cheese.”
    “Good…are you cooking?” She headed over to the island and settled on one of the scoop-backed stools, gazing at him.
    “Yes. Because I know you won’t. You’ll just go collapse in bed.”
    “Why do you own two houses?”
    He frowned at her. “I don’t.”
    “But…you just said you owned this one.”
    Taylor sighed. Tugging open one of the drawers, he rummaged around for a can opener. “My family owned five houses here, including the manor. Now they’re mine. So those, and my house in Virginia. That’s six houses, not two.”
    “Six.” She rubbed her eyes. Absently, she frowned at him as he studied the can opener and the can in front of him. “You need help?”
    He grimaced at his casted arm. “I’m afraid I do.”
    She opened the can and nudged it over to him and returned to her perch, content to let him finish since he seemed so intent on doing it. “I can’t believe some of this is happening, you know. Actually… all of it. But some parts seem very surreal. Like now. I’m sleeping with my boss. He owns six fucking houses.”
    “Technically, I’m not your boss.”
    She smirked at him. “Technically, you are, according to that contract. Although I guess we can tear that up.”
    “I already did.” Using his casted right arm to steady the tub of butter, he scooped some of it into a spoon and dumped it into the skillet. “Well, figuratively speaking. The job that was never really a job is done and it’s official. You’re completely free of me again.”
    “Am I really?” Her voice was low and soft, husky…and it hit him like a sucker punch, straight in the gut. In the heart. Glancing up at her, he found her staring at him with heat in her eyes, a smile dancing on her lips. “What if I don’t want to be