“What’s going on?” he mimicked.
He spun around in her direction just as she started to follow him into the kitchen. The abrupt change brought them face-to-face before he thrust out his right hand in front of her.
His knuckles were bleeding.
Instinctively she reached for his hand, about to insist that they put something on it, but he jerked back and put several feet behind him.
“What happened?” she asked.
He continued to stare at her. “You’re a fucking cop. You’re supposed to deduce. What do you think happened?”
Okay so he was mad and cranky.
“You got in a fight,” she said patiently.
“I did.”
“With Anth?” she guessed. The two of them were constantly going at it, although rarely with fists.
“Nope.”
“Luc?”
“Let me tell you about my night,” he said, his voice deceptively calm now. “See, I went over to Anth and Maggie’s for dinner. Had a nice time, got to look at the latest sonogram, all of that—”
He turned and stalked into the kitchen, continuing his story as he did so. “Got a craving for whiskey. All that talk about nurseries and baby names will do that to a single man. So on the way home, I stopped by a bar. One of the fancy hotel bars off Broadway where you can be anonymous, you know?” he asked, pulling an open wine bottle off her counter and tugging off the cork.
“Okay…” she said, urging him on.
He poured himself a liberal glass. Didn’t offer her one.
“Except I wasn’t anonymous, Henley. Saw someone I knew. Any guesses?”
Jill went through her mental catalog of people Vin might have run into that would result in a fight. The list was… long. Past suspects, past witnesses, other cops. Whatever his tragic reasons, the man wasn’t exactly in the business of making friends.
She shook her head. “Tell me.”
“Tom,” he said, a wide, horrible smile on his face.
Jill’s stomach dropped.
“Yup, that’s right,” he said, lifting his glass to her. “But wait, that’s not all. I saw Tom… and another woman. A blonde that was not you. And he was far, far more friendly than an engaged man has any right to be with another woman.”
Jill closed her eyes and tensed as he moved closer.
“But then Tom’s not engaged now, is he, Jill?” His voice was soft. Dangerous.
She shook her head mutely.
“Sure would have been nice to know that before I punched the guy for cheating on you.”
Jill let out a little whimper of dismay that was entirely self-directed.
How could she have been so selfish?
So stupid?
“Jill.”
She didn’t move.
“Goddamn it, Jill, look at me.”
She did, only to suck in a breath when she saw how close he was. Too close.
“When?” he growled.
“When what?”
His fingers wrapped around her shoulders, digging in just slightly. “Don’t play dumb. When did you and Tom end your engagement?”
Jill swallowed.
He kept their gazes fused, and had there only been anger there, she might have stepped away. Might have suggested they have this conversation when he’d calmed down.
But there was something beyond the anger. Something far more dangerous to both of them. Hope.
“When?” His voice was hoarser now.
“A week before LA. The day after the dinner party at my house.”
Something unreadable flashed across his face—something that looked almost like guilt, but that didn’t make sense.
Then his head tipped back as he sucked in a long breath, and she couldn’t tell if it was the answer he’d wanted, or the answer he’d feared.
“Why?” he asked. “Why’d you guys break it off?”
“You know why,” she said quietly, silently begging him not to make her say this. Not after he’d told her he didn’t want her just a few short days ago.
He shook her a little. “Tell me why, Goddamn it. Why aren’t you marrying him?”
His eyes were frantic now. Desperate. And maybe a little scared.
Maria’s words from earlier came rushing over Jill. I don’t know that anyone’s ever tried to love him.
And then she remembered Vincent’s mother’s parting words.
If you want him… you’ll have to be the brave one.
And Jill knew in that instant, that she did want him. She wanted Vincent Moretti desperately, consequences be damned.
And so Jill did the bravest thing she could think of.
She went on her toes.
And kissed him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jill’s lips touched his, and Vincent went still with shock.
They’d kissed before. Meaningless pecks, quick kisses of triumph over a break in a case. That one time he’d pretended to be her boyfriend to ward off a creepy ex.
But those had been casual kisses. Friendly kisses.
But this?
The way her lips trembled under his, the way her fingers gripped the lapel of his jacket, holding him close…
It didn’t feel casual.
And it sure as hell felt a lot more than friendly.
The question was…
What did Vin do about it?
Did he hold on to his anger? Because Vincent was angry. Almost unbearably so.
Or did he…
In the end, there was no question.
Not really.