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“Looks like you have some good relationships,” Hannah comments. Then she looks up, as if the comment had slipped accidentally. “I mean…the sculptures are beautiful.”
That’s my Hannah. Smooth as sandpaper.
Celina laughs. “Being comfortable with one’s sexuality is a very pure thing, despite what society might lead you to believe. Sex is when we are at our truest and most vulnerable.”
I watch Hannah inspecting the sculpture. This one is two pieces of twisted material—a shiny black that’s so glossy it looks like there’s a fine layer of ice over it, and a matte, velvety black.
“You can touch it,” Celina says. “This is meant to be an interactive exhibit.”
For some reason Hannah’s eyes flick to mine as her hand comes slowly—hesitantly—down to the sculpture. At first she brushes her fingertips over the sweeping curve of the matte black material, but then—as if enjoying the feeling—she presses her palm flat over it and moves it along in one smooth but firm stroke.
This shouldn’t turn me on. It’s a sculpture that looks like nothing. An adult version of Play-Doh. But watching her hand move, growing bolder with Celina’s encouragement, has all the blood in my body rushing south. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Try it.” Hannah holds her hand out to me, tempting like the devil herself.
I step forward and allow Hannah to take my hand. The sculpture is strangely soft beneath my fingertips. As I glide my hands back and forth, it changes from smooth to rough.
“It feels so strange,” Hannah says.
“It shows the dual-edge of a toxic relationship,” Celina says. “The very thing that can feel good and comforting, can become painful when turned on us.”
I watch as her eyes drift across the room. There’s a man standing by himself, his long figure encased in a black suit. He’s fair-haired and when he turns, I recognise Matt instantly.
“Some people are no good for you, even if you want them to be.” Her hand toys with one of her earrings, the large clear stone looking almost pinkish from the red spotlight above. “But it looks as though you two don’t have that problem at all.”
“We have our ups and downs,” Hannah says, winking at me. “Right now, I’d say we’re up.”
Who is this woman? The Hannah I know is prickly and has a tongue that could slice bone. But now she’s soft and flirty. It’s part of her act, of course—Hannah Essex rather than Hannah Anderson.
“Well, you should think about getting one of the sculptures for your bedroom. Never helps to inject the room with more sensuality.” Celina smiles and her hand drops away from her earring. “If you’re interested, I can help you pick one that will be a good fit.”
“Thank you. We’ll definitely consider it,” I say.
Celina moves on to the next cluster of people. The room is moderately full, but there’s still plenty of space to move around. I notice more people interacting with the sculptures now—touching and getting close. Hannah sticks by my side as we drift on to the next piece—it’s a harder and more aggressive shape made of gold and silver. The two pieces of metal bow away from each other before coming back to twist into a small spire at the top.
This time Hannah doesn’t hesitate to reach out and touch it. “Do you think it’s true what she said?”
“About what?”
“That sex is when we are at our truest and most vulnerable?” Her eyes don’t meet mine and I wonder what game she’s playing—is this about our cover…or something more?
My memory drifts back to the night she propositioned me. We’d graduated from the academy and there was a huge house party—one last hurrah before we were all scattered across the state. Many new constables work in rural areas for a period of time, finding their feet and helping communities that don’t have much police coverage. Hannah had never been a big drinker, so the champagne had hit her hard. She’d been falling all over me, giggling with her cheeks and ears pink and hair mussed and eyes wild.
I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in all my life.
Don’t you want to kiss me? she’d asked. I’ve seen you look at me and I never knew if it meant anything but I hoped it did. I’m not supposed to like you because you’re dangerous for a girl like me…but I do.
Dangerous. The funniest thing about it was that if anyone was dangerous in that scenario, it was her. Because she was smart and beautiful and courageous and so kickass it made me want to burst. But I’d been with a girl like that before—where I’d loved as hard as my teenage heart knew how. The day I’d lost it all I’d broken into so many pieces no one knew how to put me back together.
“Owen?” Hannah cocked her head. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I guess it’s true.” I shrug. “I’m not sure I would say it’s a vulnerable thing, though.”
It never was for me…not after the first time. These days, sex is blowing off steam and scratching an itch. It’s fun and enjoyable, but it’s never about vulnerability. In fact, being vulnerable is the thing I avoid most in life. Because getting close to someone has never worked out well for me in the past—I’ve lost a mother and father and a brother and a grandfather and the girl I loved.
That’s a whole lot of loss for one heart to handle.
“Yeah, me either.” She looks as though she’s seriously considering Celina’s words. “Sometimes it’s just about fun, right?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hannah
GOD, WHAT AM I saying? This whole event has my head mixed up. I’m wearing a revealing dress, touching erotic sculptures and talking about sex with my colleague. This is not who I am.
I should have my eye on the prize. I should be hunting out Dom and Rowan and trying to figure out if they’re part of the jewellery theft ring we’re supposed to be tracking down. But it’s like I’ve inhaled some kind of drug and my brain is in a lusty pink fog.
The way he looks at me, with those intense blue eyes, makes the rest of the room evaporate. I’ve wanted a lot of things in my life—to climb the ladder at work, to have the respect of my father and brothers, to one day have a family of my own. But I’ve never wanted another man as much as I want Owen right now. The years have grown my desire for him, making it stronger and more unwieldy.
He encircles my wrist with his fingers and tugs me closer, as any husband in love with his wife might do. I tilt my face up, trying to read him. But Owen’s poker face is world class. He’s a master joker, a friend to all…and known by none.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
The heat from his body melts me and I pull my hand away from his grip and press it to his chest. His mother’s ring glimmers. “Making conversation.”
I’m not, though. I’m dancing around something I know I shouldn’t be doing. A suggestion which has occupied me with increasing strength from the very second we were left alone in our apartment at 21 Love Street.
“It’s not a smart conversation,” he says.
“Because you’re going to reject me again?” I don’t know why I’m setting myself up for this.
“I should.”
Should. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either. “Because we work together?”
Owen’s lips lift into a smile. “That should be the reason you keep your hands to yourself. I’ve got no interest in rejoining the force.”
“Then why?”
“Because you don’t want casual sex.”
His assumption that he knows me so well—regardless of how accurate the statement is—annoys me. Okay, fine, so maybe I already know sex with him wouldn’t be casual even if it was a one-time only deal. So what? I’m a grown woman and I know how to deal with the consequences of my actions.
“That’s my decision to make,” I reply. “And I haven’t voiced what I want, so I’m not sure why you think it’s your place to tell me.”
We’re close now. So close that if we swayed it would look like we were slow-dancing. The people around us might assume the intimate chatter between us is verbal foreplay—and I guess it is. I can’t seem to do the sensible thing and back away, because the moment I heard about his move to New York, I thought I’d lost him forever.
Who falls for the most unattainable guy in the world and expects to survive without any bruises on her heart? I’m a fool.
But maybe a few bruises would do me good. It’s been so long since I did anything that wasn’t work. And yes, I want to solve this case and prove my boss made the right decision to promote me…but this could be my last chance to have the man who’s always occupied my head. What happens behind the closed doors of our apartment isn’t anyone’s business.
This was precisely why I wanted us to play brother and sister…because I knew that one kiss for the sake of playing a role would be enough to unlatch the feelings I’ve locked up tight for far too long.
“Then tell me, Hannah. What do you want?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy something that gets my intuition tingling. And, as much as I desperately want to keep playing this game with Owen, the case does come first. “Matt and Celina are arguing.”
“Huh?” Owen blinks and I entwine my fingers with his, pulling him toward the next sculpture in the exhibition. “Where?”
“Your nine o’clock.” I lean over so it looks like I’m reading the little gold plaque. “They’re standing by the hallway.”
“Got it. She looks pissed.”
I let my gaze drift casually in the direction of the argument. A few people have noticed and are moving away, so Celina and Matt head down the dark corridor together, disappearing into another part of the gallery.
“Think it’s something?” I ask. I stand and lean my head against Owen’s shoulder, so we can speak without anyone hearing.
“Not sure. Did you notice her earrings before?”
I nod. “Big stones. Could be fake, though.”
“We should try to get a photo to compare to the list of stuff that went missing in the Collins Auction House robbery.” His voice is low, gravelly. He could be reciting a shopping list and still make it sound like the sexiest thing ever. “I had a funny feeling about them.”
“Me, too.”
I walk forward, unhurried. Partly because I don’t want to draw any attention, and partly because it’s the only speed I can maintain in these damn heels. Owen is beside me, his hand still in mine. I feel as though my body is burning up. We receive curious glances from other people in the room—but nothing that gets my police officer senses tingling. My dress demands attention and Owen…well, he’s always got appreciative eyes on him. The open-collar shirt and grey suit pants make him look every bit the hot Aussie millionaire he’s supposed to be.
We slip past the gold sign that tells us this hallway is “for staff use only” and follow the voices.
“Then why did you invite me here?” Matt sounds irritated and in the quiet pause, I can hear sniffling. “I thought we agreed to part ways after…”
I shuffle closer to a bend in the hallway, and I can tell they’re just around the corner. Celina is definitely crying.
“Can you walk away so easily?” she asks. “After everything we shared?”
“You were the one who said you couldn’t do this anymore. I was ready to go all in.”
“No, you weren’t. Because you would have listened to me if you’d cared at all about my feelings.”
It’s a lover’s spat. Nothing more. I’m about to motion for Owen to head back the way we came, when she mutters something under her breath.
“Here, take these bloody things. I’m not going to wear something you stole.” There’s a long pause and the sound of something dropping against the floor.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Cel. They were a gift.” Matt sighs. “Does it matter where they came from?”
My brows shoot up and Owen nods. This could be something—because I am damn sure she’s talking about the earrings.
“Yes, it matters. It should have mattered before but I was willing to look past your…unethical activities.” She huffs and the sound of shoes knocking against the floor makes my heart kick up a notch. Shit. They’re coming this way. “You promised me you’d get out of that stuff. It’s dangerous.”
Owen backs up as silently as possible. The hallway isn’t long but I’m moving slow and a little unsteadily in these heels…we’re not going to get back out before they come around the corner. And there’s nowhere else to go.
As I sense a flash of movement, Owen pushes me against the wall and his lips are hard on mine once more. It’s even better this time than it was the first—because anticipation has been fuelling my every movement. My every waking moment. I open to him like a flower, my body warm and pliable in his hands. The soft groan that comes from the back of his throat is everything.
The scent of his cologne winds through me, and like a creeping vine it wraps around my heart and lungs. I’m intoxicated by him. Enraptured by the way his hands smooth over the fabric of my dress, tracing my boyish shape and making me feel every inch a desirable woman. They tell me a perfect lie and I’m in too deep not to believe it.
I slide my tongue along his, tangling my fingers in his hair and taking my fill. By the time we’re done—pink-cheeked and breathing a little heavier—Celina and Matt are gone. I turn my head in time to see Matt walking out of the gallery on the other side of the room. Celina is mingling with the guests as though nothing happened.
“Did you see anything?” I pull back and right my dress, which has ridden up my thighs.
Owen shakes his head. “No. I was a little distracted.”
It’s a problem. These kinds of distractions lead to cases going unsolved…or worse. We’ve lost good men and women in the past when someone makes a mistake. When someone has their eye on the wrong thing.
Guilt surges through my veins. I’ve got this amazing opportunity in front of me and I’m letting my libido lead me astray. I know this thing with Owen won’t go anywhere, but I can’t let it go. Maybe sex cravings are like food cravings? If you want something sweet, the best way to dissipate that feeling is to nibble on some chocolate.
“What did you make of the whole ‘unethical activities’ thing?” I ask as we slip back into the main room.
“It’s vague, but it cements Matt as someone to keep an eye on.”
The gallery is much fuller now and it’s harder to get close to the sculptures. So we tuck ourselves away in a corner, pretending to inspect one of Celina’s few charcoal sketches. This one depicts a woman with her face screwed up with pleasure. The blurry figure of a man is behind her, with his hand at her throat. It’s intense. Sexy and a little dangerous and it socks me in the chest.
“She’s talented,” I murmur, watching Celina weave through the crowd.
There’s no sign of her tears now. Her face is radiant as she works the room—touching arms and leaning in close to create a sense of intimacy geared toward making people open their wallets.
“She’s not wearing earrings anymore.” Owen slips a hand around my waist as we spot Rowan across the room. His face lights up in recognition and he heads over. “I think we need to make sure you get a business card for Ms. Yang. A private consultation might be a good chance to get some information.”
I nod. “Maybe putting something like that in our bedroom might spice up our sex life.” I say it partially for Rowan’s benefit, loud enough that he’ll hear us acting like a regular married couple.
But heat flares in Owen’s eyes—turning the icy blue to pure flame—and his fingers flex at my hip in a way that’s instinctive. It’s not for show. I’m convinced I’m not the only one being drawn in by this carnal tide. He feels it, too. Underneath the teasing and the butting heads, there’s something simmering.
But he won’t pull the trigger. Why? For a long time I thought it was because he wasn’t attracted to me. But the way he looks at me now, darkly engrossed and with an intensity that threatens to burn me alive, I reconsider.
The fact is, I can’t keep going around and around like this. My brain is like a spinning top, and I need to focus. Tonight, I’m going to do something stupid, something that proves I’m a glutton for punishment.
I’m going to proposition Owen again.
CHAPTER NINE
Owen
I LEAVE THE gallery with Hannah close to 11:00 p.m. We stay longer than most, chatting to Rowan and Dom. Rowan told us in hushed tones that Matt and Celina had a tumultuous relationship—on again and off again. Their strange work hours and the pressures of their perfectionist tendencies had put them under a lot of strain. Before we left, Hannah got a card from Celina and promised to call for a private appointment.
Now, Hannah and I stroll along the Southbank Boulevard. I’d suggested a cab, but she wanted to walk. Processing time, she called it. I’d rather be back at 21 Love Street and straight into a cold shower, because her dress is turning my resolve to mush and her gently smudged lipstick has me thinking about what I could do to further ruin her makeup.
Sparkling lights bounce off the Yarra River as we walk, and the night air is filled with the sound of music and laughter. This part of the city is full of bars and restaurants and, despite the chill in the air, people are out in force.
“Do you think much about the academy days?” she asks me, out of nowhere.
“Sure. They’re fond memories.” I’d made a lot of friends back then—though many dissolved after I left. It’s something I’ve learned over the years—when you hang out with ghosts for too long you can easily become one.
She steps up to the railing overlooking the river. “Was it hard to walk away?”
“No.” Self-preservation is the easy route.
“Not even a little bit?”
“Are you mistaking me for someone with a heart?” I aim for a joking tone and miss by a longshot. “I left my grandmother two months after my granddad passed. I was her only other family…and I left. Like a coward.”
Shit. Why did I say that?
The sincerity shines out of Hannah’s eyes like she’s turned into a fucking Care Bear. I don’t want her to look at me like that. I’m not a person to be saved. Hell, I’m not a person to be loved. I operate best in the middle ground between friend and acquaintance.
“Why did you go? I’m not buying the whole ‘I’m chasing a whim’ thing.”
“You don’t need to buy it because I’m not selling it.”
Nobody from my police force days is aware of my past, except for the people who run the psych evaluations and the superiors who looked over my file before I entered the academy. I haven’t told a single person unless it was absolutely, one-hundred-percent necessary. Not even Max knows, and he’s the closest friend I’ve ever had.
“You were missed,” she says quietly, almost as if reflecting to herself. “By a lot of people.”
“By you? I thought you hated my guts.”
“I did…for a bit.” She leans against the railing and tilts her head up at me—all lashes and big brown eyes and a sweet expression that’s softer than anything I’ve seen from her before. “It’s hard not to hate the guy who made you a laughing stock.”
“You were hardly a laughing stock.”
“Really?” She pushes back up to a standing position and folds her arms. “Let me see if I remember this correctly. You snuck into my room, found my diary and decided to do a dramatic reading to a bunch of my peers.”
“Firstly, I didn’t sneak into your room. I was visiting Vanessa and she opened the door. Secondly, it wasn’t like I had to scavenge for the damn thing. It was right there on your nightstand…in a box. Under a picture frame.”
Okay, fine. It had been hidden and I’d hunted it out.
Hannah rolls her eyes. “And how do you explain busting open the lock, huh? Did it fall off when you picked it up because your hands are so strong no metal can withstand your grip?”
I laugh and the feeling drives all the way through me, loosening my muscles. Thawing the ice cage around my heart. She always had that effect on me. It’s hard not to like a girl who can make you laugh from down deep.
“I may have encouraged it to open,” I reply. “With a paperclip.”
“You picked the lock on my diary like a ten-year-old boy!” She’s blushing again and I know we’re thinking about the same thing.
Hannah Anderson, who’d always seemed like this straitlaced, buttoned-up good girl, had been harbouring some dark and dirty thoughts…about me. At the time, I did not expect to see my name on those pages. She’d always acted like I was a bug to be swatted. Or some gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
When I decided—in my young, stupid brain—that it would be a good idea to read her diary, I had not planned to make it a show. But my roommate had caught me, demanded to know who it belonged to and rounded up a bunch of guys to listen in. I never divulged Hannah’s name. Ever.
But someone obviously figured it out.
“Do you remember what it said?” she asks. She’s luminous under the moonlight and street lamps, her dress glimmering through the gap between her coat lapels. That peek of bare skin is everything and nothing—the best kind of tease.
I want him. Even though I don’t truly know what wanting is because I’ve never slept with anyone before. But I want to send everyone away for one night—just one—so I can lose everything I have to him. I want to know what it’s like to be fucked. Will it hurt? Will he lie with me afterward? I have no idea if I’m even on his radar. Owen could have any girl here, but I want him to have me. Hard.
The words were forever imprinted on my brain. They’d circled like vultures, preying on my sanity and concentration. The night she’d come to me after we graduated, with sooty eyes like blackened pits, my fucked-up brain hadn’t been able to shut out the darkness. The second I started to feel anything about Hannah, all I could think about was the dead girl I’d loved more than anything else.
“You do remember,” she says. “You just weren’t interested.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t like that. I only took the damn diary because I wanted to know more about you and being a dumb kid, I didn’t think I could ask.” He shook his head. “I never meant for anyone else to see the pages.”
“Water under the bridge now,” she said with a shrug. “It’s not like it stopped me doing anything I wanted to do…well, not most things anyway.”
I don’t respond to the innuendo hanging in the air. We shouldn’t be talking like this—not when we’ve got shit to do and a case to close and not when I’m leaving the second it’s all over. “Nothing will ever stop you, Anderson. You’re a force.”
“Why do you say sweet things like that when I’d rather you say something dirty?”
My head snaps toward her. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t go there. Not with you.”
Her face falls and I want to explain. I want to tell her that it’s nothing to do with her and everything to do with me. I want to tell her that it’s because I’m not capable of treating her the way she deserves to be treated. That I can take her to bed, but that will be it, and I don’t know if I can handle the look on her face when I leave after it’s all done.
“It’s…” Fuck. I’m so not good at this. I can walk away from my troubles like a boss, but staying and talking…I suck at it. “You’re hot, okay? It’s nothing to do with that.”
She tilts her head in a way that reminds me of an adorable puppy. “So it’s not because there’s a lack of physical chemistry.”
I laugh. “Hell no. That’s not it at all.”
We’re still standing at the river, and a group of drunk girls totter past giggling and singing. On the water, there’s a cruise boat stuffed full of partygoers. Music floats toward us and so does the sound of laughter and cheering. They’re all so obliviously happy.
“I’m not asking for a ring, Owen.” She nudges me with her elbow. “I already got that.”
“What are you asking for?” I go against my better judgement with that question, but the air is burning up around us and we’re standing close enough that I could capture her lips with mine.