Undercover Engagement by Samanthe Beck

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Congratulations, Officer Brixton, on a successful sting operation.” Her parents’ smiling faces filled her phone screen. “Your mom and I know this is the first of many professional triumphs. Also, Buchanan owes me fifty bucks now, so thank you for that.”

Eden took a break from unpacking dishes and putting them in an upper kitchen cabinet of the townhouse apartment she was finally able to move into. Resting a hip against the very pretty gray granite counter, she frowned. “Chief Buchanan bet against our chances of completing the op?”

“Uh-uh.” Her father’s smile went long and cagey. “He bet against you doing it so quickly. I said you’d nail it down in less than a month. He thought it would take longer.”

Thank God it hadn’t. More time playing house with Swain would have only left her more screwed up in the end.

“Well, I’m glad you won—for everybody’s sake.”

“How’re you settling into your apartment, honey?” This question came from her mom.

Eden held her phone out to arm’s length and took a lazy turn around the white and gray kitchen. “Slowly. Kitchen’s almost done.” She moved past the peninsula to the bright, open living and dining area, with its gleaming, honey-colored hardwood floors and white plaster walls. Because she knew her mom would appreciate them, she tipped the screen to show off the crown moldings and the decorative plaster ceiling medallion around the dining room light fixture.

“I love all the traditional touches,” her mom gushed, while her blue eyes beamed with approval. “Look at those built-ins. And you know what would look just perfect over the fireplace?”

“An eighty-inch flat screen?” Her father teased. Kind of.

“Bite your tongue, Noah.” To Eden, she said, “The painting I did of your second-grade ballet recital.”

“The one you gave me for Christmas that year?” Her father’s eyebrows crashed down to form a stern line. “The one in my home office?”

“That’s the one!” Her mother’s smile flashed bright as a spotlight. “All those soft pinks and pearly whites. That space above the fireplace is crying out for it.”

“Honey…” Her father turned to debate the issue with her mother, but Eden saved them both the trouble.

“You did a lovely job with the painting, Mom, but it’s Dad’s. I can’t ask him to part with it.”

“Thank you,” her father said, and shot her mom a narrow-eyed glare that quelled even the toughest of his big, tough SEAL subordinates, but didn’t work at all on petite, bird-boned CC Brixton.

“But you look adorable,” her mother argued, “in your little pink leotard, that puffy cloud of white tutu, and the shoes. It would be the sweetest conversation piece.”

Yeah, if she wanted to have conversations about whether she’d lost her freaking mind. “Mom, I can’t hang a portrait of myself over my fireplace. It’s Bluelick, not Bridgerton.”

Her mother laughed and waved a hand as if to clear the matter out of the air. “All right. All right. I guess I see your point. I’m just excited to help you decorate your new digs. A new place, new beginnings. It’s very exciting.”

“Yeah.” She took in the high ceilings and the tall, traditional front windows she’d fallen so hard for what seemed like eons ago when she’d signed the lease. “Exciting.” Now though, she found herself missing a big-ass blue sectional and a cramped, eat-in kitchen with a tiny pine table. Pipes that moaned and a screen door that slammed coming and going, if you didn’t catch it first.

Oh, who was she fooling? This wasn’t about the sofa or the screen door. She rubbed her hand over her forehead, where an ache pounded dead center. She missed Swain. Meeting her parents’ stares again, she dredged up a half-hearted smile. “Very exciting.”

Theyweren’t fooled. Two sets of worried eyes looked back at her, courtesy of FaceTime. “Sweetheart, is something wrong?” Her mother asked gently. “You have so much to be happy about. Success with your new job, moving into your new place. But you don’t seem happy.”

“I’m happy about both those things. Really, I am. It’s just…” God, how to explain Marcus Swain to them?

Turns out she didn’t need to. Her father pinned her with a pointed look. “Did you unlock the lockbox yet?”

She examined her toenails rather than square off with The Brick. “Not yet.”

“The job’s done, hotshot. Spring the lock on the personal thing and decide if there are still issues to resolve.”

“I think, based on what I’m seeing, there are,” her mother offered. “Do any of these issues involve the classmate you kissed in the parking lot at graduation?”

She’d never been able to hide anything from her parents. “They do. He’s with the County Sheriff’s Department. He was my partner on the joint op. We got close. Very close, I thought.”

“But…” her mother prompted.

“But now the op is over and…” Shit. “What it comes down to is, I don’t know if I can trust him.”

“He was your partner. You worked an entire op with him, in close quarters.” Her father sat back and folded his massive arms across his massive chest. “After all that, you know whether you can trust him.”

“Do I? Maybe my judgment sucks? There’s some evidence to suggest it does.”

“Let me ask you this, Officer Brixton, would you go through a door with that guy on your six?”

She opened her mouth to give the quick answer, the affirmative one that sprang automatically to her lips, but then stopped, considered. Considered the way he’d helped her get her undercover persona just right. He might not have spared her feelings much in the process, but he hadn’t let her make a rookie misstep right out of the gate, either. She considered how he hadn’t wanted her to be alone and unprotected with their targets, because he didn’t trust anybody. She considered how, when she’d stepped into Rawley’s for the meet, she’d felt that island of calm during her moment of panic, knowing Swain wouldn’t let anything happen to her. “Yes. I’d trust him to have my six.”

“Even now, with evidence suggesting your judgment sucks?”

“Even now,” she admitted.

Her father shrugged. “There you go.” Maybe sensing her lingering doubt, he leaned forward until his face filled the screen. “People always say trust must be earned, and that’s true, but at some point, in the giving of it, it’s also a gift. Your mother and I didn’t raise the kind of woman who takes back a gift, especially a hard-earned one. If he hands it back to you, that’s one thing. But taking it back without a word?” He shook his head. “That’s not fair.”

As usual, her father was right.

“Oh, and Eden?”

“Yeah, Daddy?”

Her father’s slowest, scariest grin filled the screen. “If it turns out your judgment sucked, I will kick that deputy’s ass so hard he’ll have to contract with NASA to get it back.”

…

Moving sucked. Sitting in a half-furnished house with nothing but his own shitty company sucked. Waiting on pizza that he’d eat in his half-furnished house with his own shitty company sucked. Mostly, not having Eden there sucked, but he’d left a message on her phone earlier in the day after speaking with Malone, telling her to call him whenever she got the chance, so the ball was in her court. Which sucked.

A knock at the front door pulled him out of his sucky thoughts.

“About time. Hold on,” he called, got up from the sectional and approached the door, stopping by the hall table to grab his wallet. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming after all.”

Footsteps retreated from the other side of the door. “One sec,” he yelled. Geez. Okay, he’d been a little rude about the wait time, but didn’t the delivery person want a tip?

“Hey, man—” He swung the door open in time to see Eden hustling for the steps. Away from him. His brain stalled at the sight of her, but his reflexes took over. He hooked the back of her jeans and hauled her around.

And there she was, looking wide-eyed and far more uncertain than he’d ever seen competent, resolved Eden Brixton look in their entire association.

“I—I should have called. You’re expecting someone…”

He brought his mouth down on hers. Hard. Desperate. Transmitting every bit of his bone-deep relief to see her—just to have her there—along with all his frustration over their whole fucked up situation. A lone brain cell somewhere in the back of his head warned him she probably hadn’t come here to be shoved against a wall and kissed with a passion that bordered on punishing. She’d probably come for a fucking explanation about the fucking video.

But maybe she had come for the kiss, because her hands rushed up to touch his cheeks, to stroke his jaw while her mouth devoured his with equal urgency. His hands wanted to think so. They were everywhere—in her hair, holding her head captive, yanking her blouse from her jeans, tugging buttons apart. Several gave way, pinging across the hardwood.

When he pushed her bra aside to cover her breast, she moaned into his mouth and arched into his touch. A second later she broke the kiss and gasped, “Talk. I came to talk. To tell you…”

To tell him he was a born liar? To tell him she didn’t trust him? To tell him he wasn’t worthy to lick her boots? He already knew these things but wasn’t sure he could bear hearing them from her right now. Without warning, he dropped to his knees and started dragging her jeans down. “You go ahead and talk, choux. I’m busy.”

She clawed at his T-shirt. He endured the loss of her skin under his lips for the seconds it took for her to whip the dang thing over his head. Then his hands were back with a vengeance, reclaiming her breasts, guiding them to his lips to do things he knew she couldn’t resist. Yeah, he thought with satisfaction after drawing one tight nipple into his mouth. All she could do was hold his head and submit.

He’d explain. He would, and he’d make her believe him. But why start with words? She’d witnessed his fast talk and didn’t trust it. But their bodies had never lied to each other. His was completely incapable of lying to hers. He slid his hands into her jeans, cupped her ass. She clung to his shoulders while he freed them from pretenses like denim and silk. When he nuzzled the soft skin below her belly button she folded her body over him, around him, as if she needed to absorb as much of him as she could with as much of her as possible. As if her body had missed his. His had sure as hell missed her. The scent of her. The heaven of her skin against his. Her taste. Her.

“Please,” she gasped, straightening when he trailed his lips lower. “We need to talk.” But she rocked her hips to hurry him rather than pull away. He locked his shoulders and arms. Clasped her tight, making sure she knew she could rely on his strength. His support. His arms wouldn’t falter. His hands wouldn’t drop her. In that she could trust.

He dipped his head and used his lips and tongue to tell her what was in his mind, his heart. His soul. On his hands and knees, with her leg over his shoulder and her body braced against the wall, he told her everything, again and again, while her skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, and her fingers twisted in his hair.

“Please,” she said again, and this time the word was a whimper.

“Please what, choux?”

She shivered as his breath teased every nerve ending his mouth and tongue had whipped to a fever pitch.

“Please…I have something to say.”

“Say it.” His voice came out rougher, more challenging than he’d intended. He couldn’t seem to reel himself in. “Say it. I’m not stopping you.” But he intended to do his best. Yes, he did. If she thought she could come here tonight and tell him, ‘Adios, Motherfucker,’ without him putting up a fight, she was wrong. Committed to the fight, he grabbed her, shifted them both, and lay her flat on her back on the entryway floor. Before she could do more than let out a cry of surprise, he had her legs over his shoulders and his hands on her hips. “Say it while I’m inside you. I dare you to, choux.”

Her hands found his at her hips and covered them. She arched her body impatiently. “Then you better get inside me, cooyon.”

One smooth surge and he was home. So deep, so tight. It felt like she’d never let him go. She never would, if he had anything to do with it. Could it just be that fucking simple, for once? His cock was inside her and all was right with the universe. Because that’s how it felt.

But not how it was. He crawled closer, forcing her legs higher and wider as he brought his face within an inch of hers. Gray-green eyes slowly focused on him. “Say it,” he urged, punctuating the demand with a thrust. Why was he doing this to himself? Her lips parted, and suddenly afraid she might actually win the dare, he threw his head back and moved inside her with renewed desperation.

“I…trust…you.”

She panted the words over his frenzy of thrusts. Had he heard her right?

“To make you come?”

Her fingers slid into his hair, pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him. Their lips bounced together because he wouldn’t stop moving. Couldn’t.

“I…trust…you…with…everything.” She said the words quickly, gasping them into the space between each frantic thrust.

What? Even with his muscles burning and nerves about to fire all over the place, that brought him to a stop. Holy shit, had this actually worked? “The video…”

She clamped her hands on his ass, writhed under him. “I don’t care about the video. Don’t stop.”

He had to stop. He couldn’t move. He was for real frozen. Yes, he’d intended to win this encounter but figured the win would look a lot like Eden agreeing to give him another chance because she was letting her pussy do the deciding, sort of hating herself, and him, for bringing it down to such a primitive level. That had been a best-case scenario. Her, staring deep into his eyes, telling him she trusted him in spite of the video? That did not compute. “I—I can explain.”

“Don’t,” she repeated, and took advantage of the moment to execute a lightning-fast roll and flip their positions. Then it was his turn to writhe on the floor as she settled herself on him and began to move with renewed purpose. “I don’t need an explanation. I trust you. That’s it.”

It wasn’t it. It didn’t make any sense. She was entitled to that explanation. Unfortunately, every rock of her hips destroyed major cognitive functions. His ability to hold onto coherent thought was slipping fast. “But…”

The word trailed off into a groan when she fell forward onto her hands, so her hair surrounded them like a privacy screen. Her eyes glowed green in the intimate space. “No buts. I trust you straight down the line. I trust you on my six.”

So fierce. So beautiful. His heart jackhammered in his chest. Emotions clogged his throat. An orgasm of epic proportions gathered energy from every cell in his body, pulled every muscle to vibrating tension. This thing was going to rip through him like 22 calibers at extremely close range. Forcing what he hoped was a smile, he reached around and grabbed her busy ass, tried to slow it down. “I fucking love this six.”

“I know.” She wouldn’t be slowed. “I got that much from the nickname.”

“Uh-uh.” The tension inside him increased another notch, making it hard to keep his eyes open. He relinquished her ass and sank his fingers into her hair, brought her forehead to his. “I love you, Eden. I love you.”

Now she stilled. Stared at him with big, unblinking eyes. “Swain…”

That’s as far as she got, because those incredible little muscles inside her squeezed tight, hugging his cock, rippling over him from tip to base. Long lashes fanned over hazy eyes, a flush swept into her cheeks, and a low, grateful cry shuddered up from deep inside her.

The sight of her surrendering, the sounds and the sensations shot him headlong into his own orgasm, and he was gone—a bullet in the wind, flying God knows where at twice the speed of sound, causing all kinds of damage because he sure as hell would never recover. He’d never recover from Eden. He never wanted to.

A long time later a slightly slurred, highly satisfied voice reached his ears. “Glad we talked that out.”

He eased himself into a sitting position, bringing her with him simply by roping an arm around her, loving the feel of her lax against his chest, her legs straddling his lap, his cock still nestled inside her. “I got a little more talk in me, choux, and this time I want you to listen.”

“We’re good,” she murmured against his throat. “If you give me an explanation, you’re not trusting my trust.”

“This is starting to hurt my brain.” Bracing himself on one arm, he tipped her head up until he could see her face. “I know Dobie showed you a video he took from the motel.”

“He did, and yes, it gave me a moment of doubt. More than a moment,” she admitted when he simply raised a brow, “and I’m sorry for it.” She touched his hair. Brushed her fingers through the front. “I thought about luring you to Rawley’s once it reopens and giving you my version of the patented Swain grovel.”

“I’d pay to see that.”

“I couldn’t wait that long. I missed you too much, and once I had a chance to sit down and examine my feelings, I realized I didn’t have room for that doubt I’d felt. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?” Her soft lips trembled.

He leaned in and kissed them. Did his best to kiss the guilt away before responding, “Forgiven, on one condition.”

Now her brow lifted. “What condition?”

“Well, I didn’t see Dobie’s video, but I can do a general reconstruct in my mind on what it depicted—or seemed to depict. So, you’re going to have to accept my apology, too, for not just telling you Malone had tapped me to meet a whistleblower, pick up evidence, and deliver it to the department. When that meet finally happened, the whistleblower was tired, nervous, kind of cracking under the strain, and grateful to be one giant step closer to done with the whole thing. I think you got an eyeful of all that tired, nervous, and grateful, choux, but that’s all it was.”

“Dammit, Swain.” She swatted his chest. “You’ve gone and given me the explanation anyway.”

He caught her hand. “That was my condition. How’s the wrist?”

“What?” She raised her head. “Oh. It’s fine. All better.”

“How ‘bout us? Are we all better?”

“You tell me.” She smoothed her hand along his raspy jaw. He turned and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Almost. I owe you one more explanation. No, I do,” he insisted when she started to shake her head. “This one’s a little tougher, so just bear with me while get it out, okay?”

Curiosity shown in her eyes, but no doubt. “Okay.”

He took a deep breath before drawing back the curtain over his own insecurities, but it had to be done. He loved her and he needed her to understand this part of him, even if he wasn’t proud of it. “I let you believe you shouldn’t trust me. I let you think it because I knew you didn’t, and I was afraid you wouldn’t, and I’d never earn it because…I don’t know. Genetics, I guess. I’m the son of a grifter, and my most impressive quality is my facility to manipulate people and situations. On some basic level, I figured I wasn’t good enough for Eden Brixton.”

She leaned in and kissed him, very gently, very softly. “You really are the biggest cooyon of all time if you believe that. You have many impressive qualities, including the very admirable one of taking that quick brain of yours, and your shady street smarts, and using them to do good. That’s just one of the reasons I fell for you.”

Fell for him? His heart stuttered, then raced. “What’s that, choux? You’ve fallen for me?”

“I have. It’s given me a lot of bad moments, because you can also be a total cooyon sometimes, but if you give me the chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I love you.”

“The rest of your life, huh?”

Her cheeks went pink. “Figure of speech, Swain.”

“No, no.” He didn’t bother hiding his grin. “You said the rest of your life. They’ll be no backtracking now. Hold on.”

“Swain!” She gripped him tighter as he lunged to his feet with her in his arms.

“Trust, remember? Doncha trust me not to drop you?”

“It’s less a matter of trust and more a matter of physics. I’m not some tiny damsel in distress.”

He walked them through the entryway, past his small kitchen full of boxes, and into the dimly lit living room just big enough for his big-ass sectional and, currently, a bunch of moving boxes. “No, you’re a tall, gorgeous cop with hazel eyes that go green when you’re mad, a pat down technique that ought to be illegal, and a smile that slays me every time you aim it my way.”

He placed her on the sectional, then stood and stepped back to admire her in the glow of the flat screen on the opposite wall, still showing sports highlights with the volume down. “In a nutshell, choux, I love you. So, if we’re talking about proving things to each other for the rest of our lives, let’s do this right. Sit tight.”

He strode down the hall to his bedroom, smiling as she muttered, “Um…okay.”

It didn’t take him long to find what he was after. She still sat on the sofa looking around his sparse living room when he returned.

“You have a lot of unpacking to do.” She gestured to the boxes along the wall.

“Nah. I’m hoping to move again, soon.”

“Why? You don’t love living out here in the middle of Camp Crystal Lake?”

He grinned at the horror movie reference. “I like it fine, but you don’t.”

Her answering grin wavered. “Are you looking to move in with me, cooyon?”

“Under certain conditions.” He searched the cushions until he found the remote. Aiming it at the TV, he changed the app to YouTube, and then keyed in a video. While an ad ran, he turned back to her.

“What conditions?”

“Just one, really.” He knelt in front of her and held out a small, velvet box.

“Oh my God. Swain…” Her hands shook as she reached for it.

He smacked her hand lightly, startling her eyes back to his. “Wait for it,” he said. “I’m setting a mood, here.”

“Geez. Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t realize you—”

Music floated into the room. A catchy beat. A whispered rap. The soulful strains of a mid-2000’s hit by a certain young, male heartthrob. “Justin Bieber?”

“Hell yes,” he confirmed. “I’ll be your Bieber. You be my Selena, because Eden, for me, you are it. I’ll never get over you.” He made a move to open the box, but she said, “Yes!” before he could.

“Yes, already? Don’t you want to see the ring first?”

She shook her head. “No. If that tacky, overblown monstrosity you gave me the first time is in there, I don’t want that to influence my answer. The ring doesn’t matter. You matter. We matter. The rest was just…”

“Hey now, I thought you said you trusted me?” With that tease hanging between them, he lifted the lid on the box. Watched her eyes drop and then widen.

“Oh, Swain…”

“It matches your eyes,” he said, and lifted the square cut emerald out of the box.

“My eyes are hazel.”

“They’re green like this”—he slipped the ring onto her finger—“when you’re all fired up.” He leaned in and kissed her. “And if you stick with me, choux, you’re bound to be fired up a lot. I’m hoping when you get in that state, you look at this ring, and you know I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered against his lips.

He kissed her back, deep and unhurried. “I know.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it or fixing it, or doing whatever she liked. “From the time I kissed you in the parking lot at the church?”

“Nah. I knew way before then.”

“Ha. Maybe.” She gave his hair a quick pull. “But you’ve loved me since Taser Day.”

“Come again?” He lowered his head and looked up at her, trying for innocent.

“You drew my name, and you switched.”

Well, shit. Busted. “Alvarez has a big mouth.”

“The roommate bond supersedes all other classmate bonds.”

“Okay. Fine. Carson’s going to get an earful from me. That’s all I’m saying.”

She smiled, but it faded as she met his eyes. “Why did you? Switch, I mean.”

“Learning what it feels like to be on the receiving end of a Taser hit has value, and I understand that. But even so, I wasn’t going to be the guy to cause you pain.”

“Well, gosh. Now I wish I hadn’t Tased you. I really enjoyed it, at the time.”

“I know.” He lowered his head to let her browse her fingernails down his neck.

“I…uh…I actually gave you an extra hit. I was feeling a little mean toward you that day.”

“I know,” he repeated.

“And you’re not mad?”

“Nah, choux.” He raised his head and grinned at her. “That’s when I knew you loved me.”