Chapter Two

"Roman, you need to calm the fuck down." Finn Bethel's deep voice crackles through the speakers, instantly pissing me off.

I"ve had enough of people telling me to calm down, and they"ve been spouting that same bullshit for the last thirty-six hours...ever since my case went up in smoke, thanks to my partner, Brady Kaplan.

A muscle in my cheek jumps at the reminder.

"I am calm," I growl at my boss, one fist clenched tightly on the steering wheel of my truck, the other drumming against my thigh.

"Bullshit," Finn mutters as I pull to a stop at the light two blocks from my condo in Santa Cruz. "I told you that we"re handling Brady. You need to stay the fuck out of it before you get your sorry ass suspended beyond the shooting investigation."

"We just lost half a million dollars in guns, Finn."

"I know," Finn sighs heavily. "Not a fucking thing we can do about it right now, though."

He"s not wrong. The motherfucker we were targeting, Jose Guerrero, runs the United States arm of a drug cartel out of Sinaloa. They"ve been virtually unstoppable with him running things here and Pedro Francisco at the helm in Mexico. Had Brady kept his shit together, we could have figured out why they"re suddenly anxious to get their hands on such a massive number of weapons. We"ve been hearing rumors for months that Guerrero is up to something big. We just don"t know what.

Instead, Brady got antsy, blew his cover, and fucked our case, putting half a million dollars of guns into the hands of one of the most dangerous cartels in North America. Even worse, he nearly got his wife and son killed. I had to kill a fucking cartel member to save them.

"Until we know whether your cover is shot to shit, you need to lay low. You could be targeted next," Finn reminds me.

Not that I need the reminder.

I know all too well the potential consequences if Brady"s fuck-up exposed my identity. It"s not just my job at the ATF and my cover as a small-time arms dealer at stake; it"s also my safety and that of my daughter. If Guerrero suspects that I"m the cop who killed his man, he won"t hesitate to eliminate Tahani to send a message. Guerrero is ruthless and merciless. He"s a goddamn nightmare to anyone who crosses him.

My hand tightens around the steering wheel, a low growl rumbling in the back of my throat at the thought of Guerrero getting anywhere near my daughter. If Brady put her in danger, I will lose my fucking mind.

I don"t tell Finn that, though. I don"t need another lecture about staying out of it. Brady"s fucking lucky all he got was a black eye and a broken nose. He could have lost everything.

"You headed to the condo?" Finn asks when I flip on my blinker and hang a left.

"Yep. About two minutes out."

"Good. Stay there until this shit blows over," he instructs like I didn"t already plan on doing exactly that.

I"m not stupid. I know how this game works. I live and breathe the fucking rules, both the ATF"s and my own. Losing isn"t an option for me, not when it means putting Tahani at risk. My entire life revolves around keeping her safe. It has since the day I found out she was my kid, and I will never do anything that puts her in the sights of men like Guerrero or his boss.

"Plan on it," I tell Finn anyway as I make the final turn onto my street. The smell of the ocean seeps through the vents, intensifying. The sound of waves crashing against the shore washes over me, but the familiar sound doesn"t soothe me like usual. I"m wound tight and beyond pissed.

"I"ll keep you advised of the situation here," Finn says.

"Yeah, thanks."

He disconnects the call.

I hit the garage door opener as my condo comes into view ahead. It"s a two-story building with a sleek black exterior and a small balcony above the entrance.

The place is modest compared to most of the other homes in the area, but I don"t need big and flashy. That's never been my style.

"What the fuck?" I mutter as I pull into the driveway, staring at the red Dodge Charger parked in my garage. I"ve never seen the car before, and I know Tahani hasn"t been here since she texted me two hours ago to tell me that she and Trent are already in love with their new place in Sacramento. The lights in the condo are off, the entire place shrouded in darkness.

Warning bells sound in the back of my mind.

"There"s no fucking way they"ve found this place already," I mutter to myself. The condo isn"t even in my name or any alias I"ve ever used. I buried the purchase under a mountain of paperwork when I bought the place. I come here when I need to get away. It"s quiet, peaceful, and close enough to Berkeley that I could spend time with Tahani before she graduated without worrying about who might find out about her. Finding me here would take a fucking miracle.

The reminder doesn"t relax the tension coiling my muscles into tight knots.

I kill the headlights, back out to the road, and roll three houses down before reaching into my glove compartment to grab my Glock. After chambering a bullet, I shove my phone into my pocket in case I need it. Once I kill the engine and step out of the truck, I keep to the shadows, circling around to the back of my property with my gun held firmly in my grasp.

I strain to hear anything over the crashing waves as I move through the shadows, but the house is silent.

That fact doesn"t help relax me any.

Moving quickly, I slip through the side gate. The hinges squeal, but the sound is so faint that the wind quickly swallows it. I stay in the shadows for a long moment, watching for any movement through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The house appears to be as vacant as I left it after Tahani"s graduation.

I make my way to the back deck and then stop before my boots hit the first step. The back door is standing open, and the lamp beside the couch is on, casting the room into muted shadow.

And then I see her.

Mila Lawson.

Tahani"s best friend and the entire reason I have a rule about not fucking my daughter"s friends.

Blondes with green eyes are a dime a dozen in California, but blondes like Mila? Not even close. She has no clue how fucking gorgeous she is. She"s curvy, soft in all the right places, and has the longest, sexiest legs I"ve ever seen. Her ass should be criminal. It"s soft and round, and I want to know what it feels like in my hands while her legs are wrapped around my waist and I"m balls deep inside of her. I want to know what that soft voice sounds like screaming my name.

I"ve fantasized about her so much over the last four years it"s ridiculous. Since the day I met her, she"s looked at me like she knows exactly what I"m thinking. Like she might not object if I gave in to the filthy thoughts running through my head and claimed her.

That"s a problem for me.

I don"t fuck my daughter"s friends. Ever.

But I haven't fucked anyone at all since I met this particular friend. I keep telling myself it's because I don't have time. When I'm being honest with myself, I know that's a fucking lie. Somewhere over the last four years, Mila Lawson became an obsession I couldn"t shake. I"ve fucking tried. Christ, I"ve tried. But I can"t get her out of my head.

"Motherfucker," I mutter, my heart hammering against my ribcage as I secure my weapon and tuck it into the waistband of my suddenly too-tight jeans. Instead of going inside, I stand there for a minute, watching her, trying to get my heart rate and dick under control.

She leans over the back of the couch, focused on something out of sight.

Her shorts barely cover her round ass and thick thighs. And her legs? Goddamn. Those legs are going to be the death of me. They"re completely bare and on full display, making my cock painfully hard. Her blonde hair tumbles in waves down her back, loose from the bun she usually contains it in. Her full lips move as if she"s talking to someone, but she"s alone.

What is she doing here?

Shit. She can"t be here. Not right now. Not when Guerrero and his gang may be looking for me.

Before I can even process the sliver of fear working its way through me, I"m moving quickly up the steps onto the deck and then striding toward the open door.

"Mila."

She jumps backward when I bark her name, a startled cry falling from her lips. Her hip bumps against the table behind the couch, and the glass of wine resting on top wobbles and then crashes to the ground. Shattered glass and white wine spread across the floor at her feet.

Mila"s gaze meets mine, her mesmerizing green eyes wide and dilated with fear and something else. Sadness. It clings to her, lingering in her eyes and the dark shadows beneath. And fuck me. The sight makes something possessive twist through me hard and fast. I want to pull her into me and tell her that everything is okay, protect her from whatever has that look on her face.

I don"t do that, though.

"You can"t be here," I say instead. The words come out a lot harsher than I intended, but I don"t call them back. I fucking can"t. For more reasons than I"m willing to admit, even to myself.

She stares at me for a long moment and then shakes her head as if clearing it. "I"m sorry, Mr. Gregory. I didn"t know you were going to be here. I–"

I jolt forward to stop her when she steps backward, but it"s already too late.

She cries out as her right foot comes down on a shard of glass. Blood immediately drips onto the floor, running in a rivulet from her heel.

"Shit." I grab her around the waist, plucking her up off the floor and into my arms. My cock jerks as soon as I have my hands on her. Her skin is soft, and she smells like peaches and sunshine. That combination sends heat twisting through me.

Gritting my teeth, I try to ignore my body"s reaction to her. I hold her weight easily, tucking her into my chest. Glass crunches under my boots as I stride toward the kitchen.

Mila whimpers, clinging to me like she"s afraid I"m going to drop her, but there"s no chance in hell of that happening. She may be curvy, but she"s petite. I lift far more than her weight every day. Standing upright, she barely reaches my chest. She fits in my arms like she belongs there.

"I"ve got you," I say into her ear to reassure her and then flip on the kitchen light. Turning toward the sink, I set her on top of the counter before spinning to grab a hand towel. I try hard not to think about how soft her body is or about how she curled into me the instant I had my arms around her.

"I"m so sorry," she whispers in distress, her eyes wide as she stares at her blood smeared down my shirt and jeans.

I don"t respond, instead turning on the faucet and letting the water wash away the blood still dripping in a steady stream from her foot. She cries out when the water rushes over the cut, and the sound goes right through me. I hate knowing she"s injured and in pain because I was a dick.

I turn the faucet off once most of the blood has washed away and then adjust her so I can see how bad the damage is. The cut isn"t large, but there"s a sliver of glass still embedded in her skin. I hand her the towel, instructing her to hold onto it, and then move to grab the first aid kit out of the drawer across the room. Once I"ve gotten everything I need out and ready, I look up at her.

Her plump bottom lip is between her teeth. Tears shine in her green eyes.

Fuck. I"m an asshole.

"This is going to hurt," I warn her, speaking quietly. My throat is dry, my voice husky.

She nods bravely, clenching her hands into fists around the towel.

I grit my teeth and work quickly to remove the piece of glass with a pair of tweezers, trying not to hurt her. Once the glass is out, I pry the towel from her grip and hold it against her foot. She doesn"t make a sound as I apply pressure to slow the bleeding. Doesn"t even flinch.

When I glance up at her, she still has tears in her eyes, but they haven"t fallen. She may be in pain, but she isn"t delicate. She"s a fucking warrior. Since the day I met her, she"s been that way.

Pride for her bravery twists through me, leaving me feeling unsettled and turned on at the same time.

I remove the towel and clean the cut as gently as possible. Yet again, she remains quiet, not even making a sound when the alcohol pours over the cut, and I know that has to hurt like hell. She doesn"t say anything when I bandage her foot, either.

By the time I"ve finished, an awkward silence has settled over both of us. I avoid looking at her as I move around the kitchen, cleaning up the mess and trying to get myself under control. Once I feel a little less off-balanced, I turn around to find her gaze focused on the countertop, her shoulders slumped.

She looks miserable, and I feel like an ass all over again.

"I"m sorry," I say.

"I"m sorry," she blurts at the same time, looking up.

Her gaze tangles with mine, and once again, I"m struck by the sadness in her eyes. I"ve always found myself paying a hell of a lot more attention to her than I should have. She"s always been a little defiant but never very loud or in-your-face. There"s always been a certain confidence in her eyes, a little gleam of contentment. I don"t know what shook that confidence, but I don"t like it.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I growl, causing her to flinch away from me. I fight the urge to scowl at her reaction and try to soften my tone. Every move she makes has me on edge, ready to crawl out of my skin. I know part of that is the situation with Guerrero. But the biggest part? It"s her and those big green eyes. "I shouldn"t have startled you."

"It"s okay. You didn"t know I was here."

"Why are you here?"

She flinches again, and I bite back a curse.

"I…um, I broke up with Damien."

Well, fuck.

I"d forgotten all about the dick who thought he deserved her. He didn"t. I only met him twice, and I didn"t like him. He was an ass who spent as much time looking at every other woman who walked by as he did at Mila. Can"t say I"m disappointed he"s out of her life. I wanted to send the little prick packing when I found out about him, but I didn"t simply because having him in her life gave me one more reason to keep my fucking hands to myself.

I"ve been running out of reasons for a long goddamn time with her. But she"s my daughter"s best friend. They"re the same fucking age, for Christ"s sake. If I touch her, I may lose my daughter. Mila may lose the only family she has. I can"t let that happen. As much as I fucked hated that she was with Damien, it helped ensure I didn"t do something I couldn"t take back.

"Tahani told me I could stay here for a few weeks while I look for a place," she says, hopping off the counter. She tries to put weight on her foot and hisses in pain before squaring her shoulders and trying again. She takes a step forward, limping, and then another, refusing to let the pain win. "I didn"t know you were going to be here, or I wouldn"t have come."

I don"t know why that statement pisses me off, but it does.

"I"ll get my things and get out of your hair," she continues before I can say anything.

"Mila–"

"I"m so sorry for inconveniencing you, Mr. Gregory."

Inconveniencing me?Is that really what she thinks? That"s she"s an inconvenience? What the fuck?

I reach out and grab her arm, halting her before she can limp past me.

"Stop apologizing to me," I demand when she meets my gaze again. "You haven"t done anything wrong. I didn"t expect anyone to be here, and I was an ass." It"s not really an excuse, but it"s the only one I can offer her. I don"t talk about my cases with anyone, especially not with Tahani"s friends. But the thought of Guerrero knowing Mila exists scares the hell out of me.

"It"s okay, Mr. Gregory," she says quietly, pulling her arm out of my grasp. She offers me a wan smile, one that doesn"t reach her eyes. "Really. I don"t mind going."

"Stop calling me Mr. Gregory."

"I…Okay?" Her brows crinkle, confusion pulling the corners of her full lips down into a frown.

She"s called me Mr. Gregory since the day I met her, and it drives me fucking crazy. The way she says it in that sweet voice is erotic as all hell. Every time she says it, I want to bend her over and fuck her until she"s screaming it. But hearing it reminds me why I can"t do that, and that pisses me off. Before her, I always took what I wanted when I wanted it. I didn"t fuck around often, but if I wanted something, I took it. With her, I can"t do that. I can"t explain that though, so I don"t try. I just tell her what I want, demanding she give it to me. Just once.

"My name is Roman. Say it."

I think she"s going to refuse me, but she doesn"t.

"Roman," she whispers. Her eyes darken and the tip of her tongue darts out, sweeping across her bottom lip as if she"s tasting my name.

My cock hardens immediately. I want her. Right or wrong, I want to hear her scream my name in that sweet voice.

"Stay," I blurt out before I can stop myself. It"s a bad idea. No, it"s a fucking terrible idea. Her staying here will lead nowhere good for either of us. She"s Tahani"s best friend. She"s half my age, barely even twenty-two. There may be people looking for me. She just got out of a relationship.

I want her way too fucking much.

But fuck if any of that matters. Not when she"s looking at me with her lips slightly parted. Not when the sound of my name still echoes between us. Not when I still remember how she melted into me when I had her in my arms. Not when my dick hasn't gotten hard for anyone but her in four years.

"What?" Her eyes widen.

"I want you to stay," I tell her, boldly holding her gaze.

"I–" She searches my face, her bottom lip between her teeth again. I don"t know what she"s looking for, but whatever it is, she finds it. She stands up straighter, and her shoulders go back again. "Okay," she whispers, a sweet smile twisting at her lips.

That smile sends a bolt through me, twisting deep. Christ, she"s so sweet. So innocent.

She"s your daughter"s best friend.

I am so fucked.