“We will. You will.” She savored the fervent prayer he whispered against her lips. “You told me you loved me on a pile of tea bags,” she murmured, heart twisting inside an invisible fist. “It was romantic, but I needed you to be there. To hear you say it.”
Austin tilted her chin up, hitting her with eye contact that robbed her of the ability to inhale. “I’ll love you straight through into the next life, Polly Banks.” He tipped her head to the side and planted a hot kiss beneath her ear. “And the next one. And the one after that…”
Oh, she was going under. But before she could drown in Austin’s sensual spell, she pressed a hand over his heart. It was pounding. “I love you, too, Austin. Everything you are. Everything you’ll do. I love you.”
Epilogue
Henrik pounded his boxing gloves together, wishing it were a bare-knuckle fight so it would hurt more. Make him forget more. Shouting of various volumes blended together behind him. Everything blended lately. He was living in a flip-book that went back to the beginning every morning. Wake up, go through the motions, repeat the following day. It was all black and white to him.
Maybe that was why he’d decided to go through with this unsanctioned fight, even though his participation was never supposed to happen. It had only been the setup for Austin’s con. Yet he’d found himself unpacking the cardboard box containing his old boxing gear, laying it on the kitchen table where he passed it for hours, considering. When the time had come to make a decision, he’d realized it had already been made.
He was one sorry fuck. Living in a shitty one-bedroom in Arcadia Terrace. Friendless. Jobless. And he’d gotten that way over a girl with whom he’d exchanged one single goddamn sentence. One.
He’d been just outside the park on his lunch break, leaning against the hood of his police vehicle and scanning the sports page. He’d never know what made him glance up, but the sports page had been forgotten in his hand. A green dress. She’d been wearing an emerald-green summer dress that made her hair shine like burnished red-gold in the sunlight. Ailish had run those hazel eyes over Henrik’s badge before giving him her undivided attention.
There had been shadowed rings beneath her eyes. Fatigue in the set of her shoulders. But nothing could have detracted from her stunning beauty. It outshone everything in the vicinity. Made the birds’ chirping sound dull and desperate. He could remember commanding himself to breathe, but only being able to manage a quick pull of oxygen the entire minute he’d encountered her.
Looking back, he knew even if they hadn’t exchanged that one sentence, he still would have fallen for her. Right then. One look and he’d sunk to the lowest ocean floor, unable to hear a sound, save her husky voice.
Do you ever wonder which side you’re really on, Officer?
She hadn’t been mocking him. She’d truly wanted to know. The distress in her tone had gripped him by the throat, rendering him incapable of responding. She’d moved on before he could formulate an answer. Or help her, as every bone in his body demanded. Save. Fix. Mine.
So a month later, when she’d been implicated in her father’s crime? He’d made up for that day in the park when she’d silently begged for his help.
Or. Or, it was possible he’d imagined the entire exchange. Seen it for something it wasn’t. And he was legally insane. Probably something he should have considered before staking his career in law enforcement on it.
Across the ring, Henrik’s opponent was smiling, but he wouldn’t be for long. One thing he knew from being a Chicago cop was this: a wounded animal was the scariest animal of all. A wounded animal came at you with triple the strength. Triple the determination. And Henrik was wounded as hell. He wasn’t just an animal tonight. He was a motherfucking monster.
The spectators were out for his blood. He could hear the word “cop” being spat like an epithet behind him. Didn’t they know he was one of them now?
Henrik estimated he had another minute until the bell rang and he could release the aggression pounding inside his temples. He actually felt bad for the other guy and the way he’d feel tomorrow. If anyone deserved a good beating, it was Henrik. After all, his aggression was directed squarely at himself. No one else.
He’d compromised himself for the girl.
And then he’d lost her.
Her location was pinned to his refrigerator at home, courtesy of Austin’s late-night delivery, during which the cocky Brit hadn’t said a single word. If Henrik were capable of feeling pity for anyone else, he might have felt it for Austin as he stood outside Henrik’s door, pale and agitated, muttering words beneath his breath. Or a name, rather. Polly.
Yeah. Pity wasn’t exactly in Henrik’s arsenal at the moment. He needed to distract himself from the insane compulsion to drive to Ailish’s location. To make sure she wasn’t in danger. Or being held against her will. God help everyone within swinging distance if she was hurt or scared.
This girl with whom he’d exchanged one sentence.
The bell rang and Henrik punched himself in the head with his right fist. Then his left. As he closed in on his opponent, his agonized growl rent the air.