Page 1
Chapter One
Where The Story Ends
Being late for a lecture at Baldwin Hall had long been a cardinal sin in UGA’s criminal justice program, and here he was, more than tardy, sliding into a seat near the rear doors of the Pinnacle Room. He’d made it, though, despite a flight delay, Atlanta’s godawful traffic, and the challenge of finding a parking spot in downtown Athens.
Propping his elbow on the chair arm, he rested his mouth against his hand. She was an excellent speaker, casual and polished, self-assured and approachable, so the audience experienced more of a conversation than a presentation.
She paused, smiling at a serious student in the second row, listening to his query, and Tick soaked her in, drinking in the details of her face, the shine of dark hair, the glint of a delicate gold chain over her collarbone. Man, the week had been long. He’d missed her, and he was so proud of her it made it his chest ache.
He was so blessed it was pitiful.
Once she concluded, several participants lingered, asking questions, extending the conversation, and he stayed where he was, too far away to hear her words, but letting her husky voice flow over him. Married eight years and that voice still raised shivery, pleasant goosebumps on his body. Finally, the last couple of students drifted away, and he unfolded from the chair while the course professor chatted with her.
Beyond the other woman’s shoulder, she caught sight of him, and a very different smile — private, personal, belonging only to him — curved her lips, clenching both his lower belly and his chest, a powerful blend of love and desire. Excusing herself from the conversation, she walked up the aisle to him, ivory silk shifting over her torso, fine black fabric skimming her thighs.
And holy hell, those shoes.
Relaxing his stance, he mentally revised the evening plans he’d worked out on the plane. Maybe they’d go back to the hotel before dinner because, hell — they had two active kids and the dog, demanding careers, and eleven days was a long damn time.
A grin quirked at his mouth. Maybe her accusations that he could be a guy and pretty damn basic rang true.
She wouldn’t fuss, though . . . he knew that glint in her dark green eyes, the way her gaze dipped over him, her knowing smile as she recognized his navy tie, the one he’d wrapped around her wrists more times than he could count.
“Hello, Calvert.” The husky greeting shimmered over him, tightening his nerve endings, tingling below his belt.
“Falconetti.” His voice hit her the same way, though, reaction darkening her eyes further. His grin widened. The hotel for sure, then he’d take her to South Kitchen. “I hear you’re sleeping with a supervisory agent.”
“Mmm.” Her smile widened, happiness lighting her face. She tilted her head, gaze tracing his face. She was eating him up with her eyes, and anticipation simmered along his nerve endings. “That rumor might be true.”
“Yeah?” He rested his hands at his waist. At the corner of his vision, his gold wedding band glimmered, bisecting her signature tattooed on his ring finger. “Heard he was a married man.”
“He is.” She shifted her weight onto one foot, resting the pointed toe of one dangerous heel on the carpet. Her pencil skirt stretched with the movement, outlining runner’s thighs, the curve of her hip, and he held back a self-deprecating laugh. They’d be so damned fast the first time. “And he’s stupendous in the bedroom.”
“Do tell.” Lips twisted, he dipped his head toward the exit. “We should take this conversation somewhere private.”
“Agreed.” She tipped her chin, meeting his gaze, and laughter and desire glittered in the green depths of her eyes, that unique blend of emerald and forest he’d been falling into forever. “Want to help me carry my things?”
“I’d carry your things anywhere, precious.” He lowered his voice to a suggestive timbre, one he knew from experience set her off every time. Sweet Jesus, they fired hot.
Her lashes fell, and she spun on one thin heel. “Holy Mother, you’re lame.”
With a chuckle, he followed her to the front of the hall. My Lord, he liked watching her walk.
“Please tell me Eva was all right when you left.” She shifted her notes into her portfolio while he unhooked her laptop from the projector.
He snorted. No idea how their seven-year-old ended up with a touchy temperament. None at all. “Oh, Eva is peeved that we are ‘having fun’ without her.”
A pained frown creased her brow. “Wonderful.”
One of his own brows arced up. “Don’t you even. We had a little sitdown before I left for the airport, and Bea has Barbies and grilled cheese in the works, so it’s all good.”
Caitlin’s lips curved. “Eleanor will be thrilled.”
“I know, right?” Their logical, practical fifteen-year-old still had a penchant for the fashion dolls, and it tickled him about as much as her stuffed chicken still sitting on her bed next to her throw pillows. He was okay with that because she was already growing up too fast for his liking.
She’d spent the weekend discussing colleges and majors, and she was only heading into tenth grade. Woodfield, where both girls attended, was all about college readiness, but damn. He’d missed the first six years of her life thanks to his dumbass nineteen-year-old self’s decisions. He needed his remaining time to slow down a little.
“I’m sure you have a list of fun experiences.” She put a slight emphasis on the word list, and he raised a brow again. Like she wasn’t a listmaker as well. “What’s first? Am I getting a personalized tour since it’s not a crowded football weekend?”
