Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

He’d done it.

He’d declared his intentions to Moira—whatever those might end up being—and now the ball was in her court.

He was thrilled she hadn’t just slugged him and walked away, called him delusional, or even worse, vowed never to talk to him again. He just wished he’d had time to draw her out into revealing her thoughts; see if she would have acknowledged his honesty with something more than a nod.

Of course, as he’d known it would be, their conversation had been interrupted as team members egressed the house, which was why he hadn’t wanted to get into things until they’d gotten back to his place, but…

Welker wanted to laugh. Moira, who was always so put-together and buttoned-up, had clearly thought about things so long and hard, she hadn’t been able to contain herself, and had spouted out her concerns at a very inconvenient time. Welk took that as a positive—that he’d been on her mind— hence, he’d answered as concisely as possible.

There were more questions, of course, that would need to be aired, but he remained upbeat because that particular laundry was on its way to being hung.

Did he know what any of it would entail? He hadn’t a clue. Was he looking forward to finding answers? Hell, yes , and he hoped Moira was prepared for what was coming.

He could see her worrying her bottom lip as they walked back toward the house to reconnoiter with everyone standing in her yard, and he wanted nothing more than to soothe that lush bow as well as her conflicted emotions. But both would have to wait. For a while, she’d need to chew on this new information he’d put forth, making up her mind, eventually, whether she wanted to take a chance on them exploring what might be between them, or choosing to ignore it.

If she picked option number two, Welk wouldn’t be discouraged. He’d simply have to work harder

Moira was no chicken, though. He knew that. A small thrill went through his body, believing that she wouldn’t back away from the gauntlet he’d thrown. Which had him pondering… What will come next ?

If she opened herself up to…dating him, what then? How long before he could run his hands, unfettered, through her thick, lush hair? How would their mouths mesh once they got a taste of each other? Did Moira like to be on top during sex, or on the bottom?

Fuck. Now his dick was hard, and that was the last thing he needed.

Thankfully, he’d pulled the tail of his shirt out of his waistband earlier in order to mop sweat off his brow, so at least nobody would be aware of his indiscretion. He needed to get himself under control, however. Someone was bound to notice the flush he knew was on his face, or the rapid pulse in his neck as he contemplated what was underneath Moira’s clothes.

Down, boy. Down.

He conjured images of Moira’s destroyed belongings, and the devastating picture rapidly did the trick, deflating his libido.

Mason gave a quirk of his head, and led a number of the group back into Moira’s now empty living room. “Looks like we’re pretty much set, here,” he told Moira. “You’ll want to have a professional cleaning crew come through, once your insurance approves it.”

Right. A few of the assholes had made it a point to piss on not only her clothes, but her floor, and even though the team had sprayed the urine stains down with cleaner, the stink remained.

“I can’t thank you enough, everyone,” Moira began, looking at her boots before she raised her eyes to those standing around. “And you, Mase. You’ve been…”

She walked forward a few tentative steps, drew in a deep breath, then reached out and put her arms around the chief, hugging him.

To say that Mason looked shocked was an understatement.

Welker, too. And every teammate whose mouth dropped open.

The boss floundered for a few seconds, wide eyed, then his astonishment morphed into a grin which he sent over her head to Welk, before he heartily returned her gesture.

“We’re here for you, Moira,” Mase assured her, patting her calmly. “Any time, any place. We’re your back-up with these MC assholes, since your own department doesn’t seem to be stepping up.”

They ended their clinch, and each backed up a few steps as everyone—almost as if permission had finally been given—came over and gave Moira a quick hug, before waving and leaving.

Moira waited until everyone but Welk and Mason had departed. “I don’t quite know what I’ve done to deserve all this…” She sent an arm around the now empty room.

“You’re one of us,” Welker rasped, wondering how such a caring team-player couldn’t see her value.

“Well, thank you.” Moira hung her head and contemplated the floor, clearly done with the touchy-feely sharing.

Mason understood that they’d pushed the limits of her interpersonal skills, and his tone became serious. “Now I have some orders for you.”

Moira raised her eyes and nodded, snapping her spine straight and appearing more like herself now that they were back to business.

Cripes. Welker was in trouble over the Jekyll/Hyde thing. He wanted both versions of Moira. The kick-ass SWAT member, and the vulnerable softie. Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted all versions of the fascinating woman, which he knew had to be many.

Mason led them outside again to where everyone was still hanging about. Sin edged in and laid a hand on Moira’s arm, lending her silent support.

The boss was giving Moira orders…

“Stick with Welker,” the chief told her. “Between the two of you, you should be safe until we can get to the bottom of things.”

Moira looked…agreeable, if that were possible.

“I’ll do that…” she yielded. But an impish smirk Welk had never seen before, touched her lips. Was it his imagination, or was everyone now watching her; seeing the subtle change in her attitude, like he was?

She blew his mind with her next comment.

“…even though Vestore can be a huge dick sometimes.”

And there she was. The teasing woman he’d glimpsed over the course of the day, but this time, it was nearly spontaneous, and minus any vitriol. This Moira—this bolder, sassier one—was even more captivating than the versions to which he’d initially been attracted, and he liked it so much he didn’t want her to disappear into her own head again.

In that regard…

Welker gave the listening crowd an irreverent grin. “That’s me, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the entire contingent. “A huge dick.” He waggled his brows.

Moira coughed, Mason snorted and turned away, and Sin threw a disgustingly damp towel at him that she’d been using to wipe her face.

“Gross, Sin,” Welker dragged the thing off his shoulder where it had landed, and tossed it back to her.

“You deserve it,” she groaned. “No bragging about size.” The forthright woman snagged the towel out of the air before it smacked her. “If I know you guys, this will turn into a cock-measuring contest, which I, for one—living in an all-female household—can’t take. My lady-parts have been parched and neglected for far too long to listen to that shit.”

The banter ramped up, as it always did when any kind of sexual innuendo was thrown out.

Welker watched Moira closely. She usually distanced herself when things got bawdy. But this time, she held her ground, and even looked like she might add something a time or two, before checking herself and remaining silent.

Still, she looked like she was enjoying the repartee.

These were all steps in the right direction, as far as Welker was concerned, and long overdue. Even if, selfishly, he couldn’t make any headway with Moira, he was elated on her behalf that maybe—now that she had proof her team would come to her rescue and bail her out of any mess—she’d drop her guardedness and start having some fun.

“You ready to roll?” Welker asked her as the joshing died down and people began to disburse.

“Yeah.”

She turned her eyes to her house, and didn’t look particularly sad as she contemplated the shell that remained. “I think…”

She shook her head, not finishing her sentence.

“What do you think, Moira?” Welker urged lightly, trying to draw out what was on her mind without spooking her.

She sighed. “Maybe, when all this is over, and it’s safe to come back here, I’ll…ask your sister for some advice on how to improve the place.”

Yes!

“I might even ask for decorating pointers from anybody who might want to give their input.”

“I’ll help,” Welker interjected, thrilled that she was thinking along the lines of not being so independent. “I know you said you’re handy, but I can help with the carpentry necessary to fix your walls, and build out a new kitchen.” Because she’d certainly need one of those. The cretins had yanked out not only her cheap cabinetry, but they’d disconnected and smashed all her low-end appliances.

It occurred to him that—considering the inexpensive choices she’d made before with her furnishings—Moira might not have the money to replace things. She’d fight him, but he’d find a way to take care of it.

As they walked to his car, Welker waited to see if she’d shoot him down on his offer, but when he received a tentative smile and a nod, he felt his shoulders relax.

Her gesture wasn’t exactly an over-the-top endorsement that he’d have carte blanche, but he’d take it.

“Alright then,” he said, opening the passenger door of his Subaru for her.

She looked at him askance, but held her tongue and got in. Welker chuckled to himself. What had it cost the normally prickly woman to accept the gentlemanly gesture without comment? He might never know.

He closed the door behind her and rounded the vehicle.

Once Welk was in his seat, had started the car and joined the line of vehicles leaving the property, he figured some small-talk might be a nice way to spend the fifteen minutes it would take to get to the store.

“So, what do you like to eat?” he asked pleasantly. “Or more to the point, what do you like to cook so we know what to buy for food?”

Moira shrugged. “Whatever you enjoy is good with me.”

Welker huffed. “That wasn’t what I asked, Moira.”

Geeze. Had no one she’d lived with ever considered her tastes? “What, in particular, are your favorite foods.”

Her brow wrinkled, and she appeared to be pondering, deeply.

What the hell ? The question wasn’t rocket-science.

He changed the direction of their conversation for a moment.

“How long have you been living on your own?” he asked instead.

“Twelve years,” she mumbled at his change of subject as she eyed him with some trepidation. “Why?”

Welker knew, in his gut, that something had been wonky in Moira’s household growing up, so he’d purposely chosen not to make her talk about that time in her life. Welker was patient. He’d eventually get to the bottom of things.

“A long time, then. And I remember you saying you like to cook. You also, obviously have to eat,” he chuckled. “What do you feed yourself?”

“Whatever is on TV,” she answered without hesitation.

Welker blinked. What the hell did that mean?

“On TV?”

“Yeah.” She blew out a breath and gave a lift of her shoulders. “I watch cooking shows. Whatever my favorite chef makes one night, I buy the ingredients the next day after work, and…that’s what I make.”

Okay. This was interesting, and something he could work with.

“How many of those dishes you copy do you make, again, because they were a success, and you liked them so much?”

“Uh, none?” She looked confused.

“None?” he repeated, letting his own perplexity show.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, tipping her head slightly. “Once I know I can cook something, I…move on.”

“Even if you find the food you made, delicious?”

Moira nodded, and the scowl line between her eyes returned.

There was a story here, and Welker would be damned if he didn’t, eventually, get to the bottom of it, but right now, Moira was looking uncomfortable, so he went with the flow.

“Okay. I’m not sure I get it, but…what did you watch last night before you went to bed? Before the shit hit the fan?”

Ten minutes later, they pulled into the box store to park.

Welker couldn’t believe it. Moira had launched into an animated description of a dish; more excited than he’d ever seen her. The recipe she expounded on was an amalgamation of puff-pastry and bolognese, served with a side dish of green beans almondine in some fancy garlic sauce.

It all sounded freaking delicious.

“Okay, then,” he told her, rubbing his hands together and smacking his lips before opening up the phone app he had for lists. “Give me a complete rundown of all the ingredients, and while you’re clothes shopping, I’ll pick up everything we need. That is, if you’re okay cooking?”

She looked almost…shocked?

“Welker?”

“Yeah, Moira?” he grinned.

“You’re not only going to say yes to a new, untried recipe, you’re going to…let me cook? In your kitchen?” she stammered.

“Of course,” Welker laughed. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I want to.” Her eyes lit up with excitement.

It killed him that something so small could change her entire countenance. What the hell had Moira been through that had made her so insecure? The list of Welker’s questions kept getting longer and longer.

“Good then,” he managed. “Now tell me what I should buy.”

Moira rattled off the list of ingredients like she’d made the dish a hundred times before, instead of just seeing it once on TV. He was impressed, and told her so, but she scoffed, telling him to hold his praise for after he’d eaten it.

Welker knew his opinion wouldn’t change.

They took a few more minutes to discuss breakfast foods, snacks, and beverages before Welker got a decent picture of what, exactly, Moira fancied. Even though she didn’t know it, she clearly had her preferences; fruits, vegetables, and carbs, with a smidgeon of protein thrown in.

He could work with that.

They got out of the car, then split up once they passed through the large, sliding doors.

Moira went left, Welker went right, telling her they’d meet up at the registers when they were finished, while also impressing upon her that she should take her time.

Welker knew, even then, that she’d try to be finished long before him.

He also knew what would be in his cart when they were finished.

He couldn’t wait to see what would be in Moira’s.