Law Man

Chapter Sixteen My Mara Likes Candles

Mitch and I didn’t come up with different names for Operation Take out the Trash over chili, cornbread and cupcakes seeing as Mitch was helping Billy with his homework and Billie was inexplicably and unusually grumpy. This took all my attention between bites of delicious chili, cornbread and, finally, cupcake as she grumbled, griped, moaned and misbehaved.

Mitch made good chili, by the way. There were four different kinds of beans; it was spicy, meaty and flavorful but not too hot and he topped it with grated cheese that was all melty. The cornbread was awesome. And cupcakes from Tessa’s Bakery never disappointed partly because the cake was rich and moist but mostly because she always topped them with a mountainous swirl of frosting.

I decided it was Billie’s broken sleep last night that was making her grouchy and I was with her. I was tired too. Except I couldn’t be grouchy with a grouchy kid on my hands and Mitch close.

Finally, we got them ready for bed and in bed, something that was usually not a chore, they were good kids. Billy didn’t put up a fuss but Billie was whiney and recalcitrant and I was a lot more tired when I finally got her settled and, while I read to her, she dropped off, clutching her new teddy bear.

And it was after that I wandered back into Mitch’s living room to see him on the sectional, beer in hand, long legs stretched out, feet up on the huge ottoman, a baseball game on his flat screen but his neck was twisted and his eyes were on me over the back of the couch.

“She down?” he asked quietly and I was tired, worried about Billie, worried about everything else and hoping Billie got a good night’s sleep and still his question made my heart flutter.

It was simple but intimate. His concern for Billie mingled with concern for me wrapped around a familiar kind of question a father asks a mother, a husband asks a wife.

I liked it. The simplicity and intimacy of it was beautiful and it was more beautiful coming from a handsome man, a good man, a nice man who was sitting in his awesome sectional in his gorgeous living room with his eyes warm on me.

I thought all this.

But I said, “Yeah.”

Then, tired, worried, suddenly alone with Mitch, feeling weird about where I was, what I was doing and how quickly all of it happened, not to mention what Mitch had said to me that morning, I considered my options of what was next. And this was where I should sit on his sectional.

I decided the safest bet was as far away from him as possible so that was where I went. He was in the middle of one side of the sofa. I sat close to the armrest on the opposite side.

He watched me do this and his lips twitched but he didn’t move.

It wasn’t lost on me that the last time we had a moment of alone time in a living room while a baseball game was on TV, we’d ended up in a clinch. And I was tired but it was still early-ish. And lastly, going to bed meant going to his bed.

So I had to kill time and do it not ending up in a clinch.

To accomplish that, I blurted the first thing that came to mind, “You have good taste.”

“What?”

As I spoke my eyes were on the ottoman while I shifted to curl my bare feet under me and leaned against the armrest but when he asked his question, I looked at him.

“You have good taste,” I repeated and his brows went up in question so I haltingly explained, now feeling weirder, “You, um…dress really nice and your, uh…apartment is really nice too. I mean, uh…you have really nice furniture.”

To that comment he asked strangely, “You know Design Fusion?”

I tipped my head to the side and asked back, “The store in Cherry Creek North?”

“Yep,” he answered.

“Yes,” I answered.

“My sister, Penny, owns that store.”

Uh…wow.

I’d been to that store. The furniture in that store was unbelievable and the price tags on it were even more so.

“Wow,” I whispered and he grinned then flicked a hand out.

“This is her shit,” he told me.

“Pardon?”

“She furnished this place for me wholesale.”

At that, I blinked. “Your sister furnished your apartment?”

“Yep. She’s a nut. She decorates everything. The inside of her fridge is decorated.”

I blinked again. “The inside of her fridge is decorated?”

Mitch nodded, grinning.

“How do you decorate the inside of a fridge?” I asked, intrigued by this concept.

“She’s got decals on the sides of the fridge and fancy bowls she puts fancy shit in that isn’t food that sits on the shelves. Sometimes she even puts small vases with flowers in there.”

I didn’t know if that was weird or cool. I also didn’t share this indecision with Mitch.

Luckily, he kept talking. “When she redecorated her kids rooms three times in a year, her husband had enough, talked her into opening her own store so she could decorate other people’s houses and make money doin’ it instead of spendin’ all theirs doin’ it. So, when I moved in here, she took over and I let her because if I didn’t, she would anyway and if I fought it, it wouldn’t be pretty.”

“So you had no say?” I asked, surprised, seeing as Mitch seemed like a man in command of everything and definitely his surroundings.

Mitch shook his head. “I told her it had to be comfortable and it had to look like a guy lived here and not a gay guy. She succeeded on the first; the second is up for debate.”

He stopped talking but his eyes didn’t leave me and I got the feeling he expected me to chime in with my opinion.

So I chimed in with my opinion and stated, “It’s, uh…not totally gay.”

He threw his head back and burst out laughing. I bit my lip. His laughter became chuckles, his chin dipped back down and he caught my eyes.

“That’s good, I guess,” he muttered through a smile, his eyes very warm making my chest very, very warm.

Instead of belatedly intelligently keeping my mouth shut and absorbing myself in the baseball game, I stupidly decided to clarify, “It looks really nice, Mitch. It suits you since you always look really nice too.”

“So you’re sayin’ that the way I dress is nice and not totally gay?” he teased and my back straightened a bit because I knew he was teasing but I didn’t want him to think I was insulting him, not even a little bit.

And furthermore, the way he dressed was totally nice and not nice in the way gay guys always looked nice.

“No, I’m saying you always look nice as in, um…nice and, uh…that’s it. You just always look really, really nice.”

When I was finished speaking, his face changed as did his eyes. Both got warmer but the latter got dark in a way that made my warm chest even warmer and other parts of me got warm too. Then suddenly his eyes moved over my body curled into the armrest of his not totally gay but definitely comfy and cool sofa.

Then equally suddenly he got to his feet.

Then I watched as he moved into the kitchen then back into the living room and I noticed he was carrying candle jars. Then I watched as he set them in his wall unit and lit them. Then I watched as he turned out a lamp which meant only one was illuminated so the glow of the room changed from functional to something else entirely. Then I watched as he moved to the ottoman, nabbed the remote, pointed it at the TV and it went blank. Then I watched as he tossed the remote back on the ottoman, tagged another one, pointed it back at the wall unit and suddenly Journey’s “Still They Ride” was playing softly from his stereo.

Great song.

And the candles were good ones; the calming scent of fresh cotton was already filling the room.

Candlelight, romantic room illumination and soft music.

Uh-oh!

Frozen, I stared as he dropped that remote on the ottoman, came to me, put his hands right into my armpits and lifted me straight up.

“Mitch,” I whispered as my hands curled into his shoulders. One of his arms slid down over my bottom and he leaned into me then it hooked behind my knees. The other one curled around my upper back, he lifted me up and maneuvered between the ottoman and the couch, taking me with him. Then he shifted, sat with me in his lap, twisted, leaned back so he was reclining and I was reclining mostly on top of him then he rolled so we were both still reclining but now he was reclining mostly on top of me.

Through this, I was silenced by shock.

As he settled on top and beside me with his back to the back of the couch and my back to the seat, I repeated a now breathy, “Mitch.”

“Operation Take out the Trash,” he whispered, his hand coming up to curl around the side of my neck.

“Pah…pardon?” I whispered back, my hands still curled into his hard shoulders.

“I want your Mom and aunt out of Denver,” he announced.

I did too. I suspected he knew that so I didn’t respond and concentrated on trying not to respond to his warm, hard body pressed down the length of the side of mine with his strong hand warm on the skin of my neck.

This got harder when his thumb moved to stroke the underside of my jaw which felt really nice but luckily he started talking again and I decided to concentrate on that.

“As I guessed, they didn’t know shit about what happened to your apartment. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna lay off them. They’re here to give you a hard time. I’m gonna give them a harder time in the hopes that they’ll decide it isn’t worth it and take off home.”

This sounded like a good plan.

“How are you going to do that?” I asked.

“They’ve been here three days and been to the police station twice. If they move on you, I’ll have them arrested.”

I finally stopped thinking about his warm, hard body pressed down the length of mine, his strong hand warm on the skin of my neck and his thumb sweeping sweetly on my jaw and stared at him in shock.

“Isn’t that police harassment?”

“No,” he answered immediately. “It’s the police’s job to stop citizens being harassed. You haven’t seen your Mom in thirteen years. You haven’t shared much but what you’ve shared tells me there’s a reason why. You’ve moved on, away from her and set up a life, a good one also away from her. Then she comes to your door shouting it down, getting your neighbors involved. Then she comes to your place of work and uses foul language, getting your boss involved. An officer of the law explained calmly to her and your aunt what the situation was and how they could communicate with you and they ignored it and did their own thing which was not the right thing. They change their tune, they contact you and act like decent human beings; we stall Operation Take out the Trash. They keep doin’ what they’re doin’, they get another ride in a cruiser. They’ve had warnings. Two strikes. Strike three, you press charges and they sit in a cell. They get out, they have two choices. They continue on their current bent and make those charges worse which means they’ll spend more time in Colorado than they expected or they get their asses home and leave you and those kids the fuck alone.” He paused and held my eyes for a moment before he finished, “They try to get to you one more time, Mara, I’ll be explaining those choices to them through bars. That’s Operation Take out the Trash.”

I stared into his eyes and didn’t know what to say.

What I did know was that the depths of humiliation were fathomless that this good man stretched out beside me was dealing with all that was me which was to say Bill and all his garbage and my Mom and Lulamae and all the garbage that was just them.

And because of this, I closed my eyes and turned my head away.

Mitch didn’t allow me to escape.

His hand cupped my jaw, turned my head back and he whispered his order, “Look at me, sweetheart.”

I opened my eyes.

His head dropped an inch toward mine.

I held my breath.

Then he plumbed the fathomless depths of my humiliation by informing me quietly, “I called Iowa, pulled their sheets.”

Oh God.

He went on, “I know about them.”

Oh God!

His head dropped another inch so he was all I could see. “And, baby, somethin’ else I know. You are not them.”

My hand left his shoulder so I could curl my fingers around his wrist at my jaw and I whispered, “Mitch.”

“You are not them, Mara.”

“I –”

His thumb moved to press against my lips and his face got even closer.

“You…are…not…them, baby,” he whispered.

“You…” I said against his thumb and he moved it to sweep my cheek. “I mean, everything around you, all the stuff consuming your life right now, it’s about me, Mitch. It’s about where I come from. It’s about who I am and who I am is about them.”

“You’re right and you’re wrong,” he told me.

My other hand at his shoulder slid down to his chest and my hand at his wrist joined it when I asked, “How am I wrong?”

“All the stuff consuming my life, as you put it, is about you and, Mara, baby, I do not mind that. And what it’s about is also about you. You being a good person. You tryin’ to do right for your cousins. You puttin’ yourself out there so they won’t live the life I’m guessin’ you were forced to live. But what’s happening to you and them is about them, Bill and how he didn’t pull himself out of that life you pulled yourself out from and that has not one fuckin’ thing to do with you.”

“It does,” I whispered.

“It doesn’t,” he returned firmly.

“Mitch, it does.”

“Mara,” his fingers tensed on my jaw, “why do you think I don’t mind all the shit that’s consuming my life?”

I blinked because this was a really good question.

“I…I don’t know,” I stammered and he grinned with his mouth and his eyes, close up, and it was phenomenal but he added another thumb sweep of my cheek which made it breathtaking.

“Because, you give good Christmas presents,” he stated.

I felt my brows draw together as, still stammering, I asked, “Pah…pardon?”

“You give good Christmas presents,” he repeated. “LaTanya, Bray, Brent, fuck, even Derek, they all talk about them. And they also talk about the birthday presents you give.”

They did?

“But –” I started but he interrupted me.

“And you work hard. Your co-worker thinks the world of you and your boss thinks you’re the shit, so much, he considers you like a daughter.”

I blinked again, my belly getting warm that he got that from Mr. Pierson and I asked, “Really?”

Mitch grinned again and answered, “Really.”

“I –” I began but his hand tensed at my jaw and his face came even closer. So close, I could feel his breath on my lips. I closed my mouth and stared into his soulful brown eyes.

“You look nice. You dress nice. You smell nice. You have a fantastic fucking laugh. You’re loyal. You’re loving. And, honey, every time I’d see you in the breezeway or at a party, it was cute as all fuckin’ hell even as it was just as frustrating how you’d tuck that hair behind your ear, avoid me like the plague and get the fuck away from me as fast as you could. Since that moron you used to date left the picture, I’ve been waitin’ for my shot and it sucks that it comes with you cryin’ in my arms and those kids learnin’ early that life can really suck. But if takin’ that shot means puttin’ up with that shit and comes with you bein’ where you are right now rather than hiding behind your door and retreating into that world in your head, I’ll put up with that shit in order to take it.”

Oh my God.

Oh my God!

“You’ve been waiting for your shot?” I whispered.

Mitch nodded. “For two years and the two years prior to that I watched and wondered what you were doin’ with that asshole who, seriously, sweetheart, even at a glance did not come close to deservin’ to breathe your air much less have you on his arm.”

I had to admit, even though Destry was out of my zone, Mitch wasn’t really wrong about that.

But he was wrong about something else.

And he was a good guy, a nice guy and he needed to know.

“Mitch, there are things you don’t know about me,” I told him carefully.

“You’re right but, we get time, you’ll tell me.”

“I don’t think –”

He interrupted again, “Somethin’ happened to you and whatever that was, you’ll tell me at your time, at your pace. I pulled your Mom and aunt’s sheets and, Mara, seeing your cousin, your mother and your aunt, knowin’ about them, I’m not turned off by it, honey. Knowin’ that was how you grew up and seein’ you now, miles away from that shit, having left that life behind, which isn’t an easy thing to do, only makes me more into you when I was already really fuckin’ into you.”

I stared into his dark brown eyes so close to mine and couldn’t stop from blurting, “What you’re saying does not fit in Mara World.”

It was a stupid thing to do, stupid and revealing and I knew this when one of his eyebrows twitched in surprise before both of his eyes lit with humor and his body shook with it.

Okay, so I sounded like a dork but I was a dork and he really needed to get this for his own good and what he needed to get was not only the fact I was a dork but all of it.

So I kept talking. “It’s against all the laws of nature.”

His body started shaking more, his hand slid from my jaw to my neck and curled around, he bit his lip and I knew just looking at him it was to stop himself from roaring with laughter.

So I whispered, “I’m not being funny.”

Suddenly, the amusement swept from his features, he slowly closed his eyes and dropped his head so his forehead was resting lightly on mine just as his fingers at my neck gave me a gentle squeeze.

Then he opened his eyes, looked deep into mine and he whispered back, “I know but, baby, today, you told me you were with me. And I’m askin’ you now to stick with me and, if you do, I promise, I fuckin’ swear, I’ll guide you to a place where you get that what you just said was fuckin’ hilarious.”

I just knew he’d figured out how weighty my words were earlier.

“Mitch –” I started but he lifted his head away an inch and shook it.

“Mara’s World is fucked up and twisted and my guess, that mother of yours and probably that aunt had somethin’ to do with that. In the real world, the world everyone lives in, including you, honey, you and me make a whole fuckuva lot of sense.”

That whoosh swept through my belly even as I pressed lightly against his chest and said quietly, “I don’t think so and…and…I don’t want you to be disappointed when you figure it out.”

I watched his eyes close slowly again then they opened and I caught my breath at what I saw in their fathomless depths.

Way before I recovered (not that I could recover), Mitch’s head descended but it veered to my right.

Then I felt his teeth nip my earlobe then his tongue touched it then he reminded me on a whisper, “Today, you yourself said I was your Mitch.”

Oh God, I forgot he heard that.

“Am I your Mitch?” he went on.

I started breathing faster, my chest so warm it was hot, my fingers clenched in his shirt and I didn’t know if it was to hold him to me or push him away.

“Am I your Mitch, baby?” he pressed.

I couldn’t talk about this. I couldn’t explain to him why I defended him. How I said he was my Mitch because I didn’t know what to say, how to describe who he was to me because I couldn’t describe who he was to me because I didn’t know who he was to me but I couldn’t allow them to insult him.

I had to move us on.

And that was why I told him, “The candles smell really good,” awkwardly changing the subject and deciding my hands clenched in his shirt were to push him away which I tried to do but he didn’t budge an inch.

It was then I heard the song change to Paul McCartney’s “My Love”.

Oh God!

I loved this song! It was a great song, a sweet song, a beautiful song.

His nose tweaked my earlobe then his lips slid down my neck as his hand at the other side slid over my shoulder then in over my chest then out and down my side.

While he did this, I shivered.

“If I’m your Mitch, you’re my Mara,” he whispered against my skin, his words making me shiver again because I liked that idea, a whole lot. Then I felt his tongue glide along my throat as his hand glided back up my side and I shivered yet again.

Okay, it was safe to say I was losing control of the conversation (not that I ever had control of the conversation) and my body and I had to do something about it.

So, somewhat desperately and not-so-somewhat breathily, I noted, “The scent is really nice and you can tell those candles are good ones. They obviously didn’t skimp with the oils.”

His lips moved on my throat and I knew it was because he smiled then his tongue slid up the other side of my neck to my ear where he kept whispering. “My Mara likes candles so when the kids and I were at Target pickin’ up food, Billie picked those candles for you.”

He noticed I liked candles.

Oh God.

That was so nice.

His thumb started stroking my side just under the swell of my breast.

Oh God!

That felt super nice.

I unclenched my hands and pressed lightly on his chest as I turned my head and whispered, “Mitch –”

But when I did, his head turned too, his lips captured mine and he kissed me.

He did not go all out. It was gentle. It was sweet. Probing, unhurried and soft. There were tongues but it was nice, not invasive, giving a lot but taking nothing and my fingers clenched in his shirt again this time definitely to hold him to me.

Mitch broke the kiss and whispered against my lips, “Love that mouth of yours, sweetheart,” and I couldn’t help it, I shivered again.

He moved slightly away and held my eyes as his hands went to my wrists at his chest. He moved them around him and down, not releasing them but still managing to pull his shirt out of his jeans and shove my hands up under so they encountered the hot, sleek skin and hard muscle of his back.

He felt so unbelievably good I involuntarily made a noise in the back of my throat.

Then I watched his eyes get darker. I liked the way they got darker then his head descended and his lips captured mine again in another kiss. This one still sweet, unhurried, gentle but not probing, giving a lot but now taking a little, coaxing me to give and I wanted to give to Mitch so I did. He’d added his hands moving on me the same way. Unhurried, gentle, discovering and my body melted under his and my fingers explored the contours of his back and I liked what I felt so much, my hands shoved up higher so I could explore more.

Then he broke the kiss again but this time his lips glided across my cheek, along my jaw. He added his tongue when they swept down my throat then back up then he added his teeth again, nipping my earlobe and then he worked the skin behind my ear with his tongue. All slow, leisurely, taking his time as my hands moved on his back, my body yielded more under his and my breath came faster and faster against the skin of his neck.

Then his hand moved over my ribcage, up and I held my breath as his head came up and his lips caught mine, his tongue sliding inside as his fingers curled over my breast.

I liked the feel of Mitch’s warm hand at my breast so much my back arched slightly and a small moan glided up my throat and into his mouth.

His thumb swept over my nipple and I liked that a whole lot more so my back arched hard and a long, deep moan glided up my throat and into his mouth.

That was when leisurely and gentle got lost. As my moan slid into his mouth, Mitch slanted his head and deepened the kiss. It was harder, demanding and God, so, so good.

I pulled one of my hands out of his shirt so I could move it up his back, his neck and into his soft, thick hair and hold him to me and I did this because I didn’t ever want him to stop kissing me.

Not ever.

His finger met his thumb at my rock-hard nipple and rolled it over my blouse and, God, God, that felt so damned good I whimpered against his tongue, my hips surged up coming into deep contact with the hardness of his and all was lost.

He shifted so his body was more on top of me as his other hand went down my side and yanked up my skirt even as his knee came up between my legs, forcing them open but he didn’t have to. I was already curving one leg around his thigh.

“Jesus, so sweet. So fucking, fucking sweet,” he muttered against my lips, his voice deeper, gruff and I felt the change in his tone rocket straight between my legs.

“Mitch,” I whispered, lifting my head as my hand in his hair pulled him down to me. I kissed him, hard, demanding, sliding my tongue in his mouth and this time I got his groan in mine in return.

That rocketed straight between my legs too.

Then his hand at my breast went to the buttons of my blouse. Swiftly and expertly he undid them as we kissed hot, wet and heavy. I pressed my body up into his and he ground his down into mine and I loved taking the weight of him, feeling the power of him.

Then suddenly he stopped undoing the buttons half down my ribcage, his fingers curled in, tugging it aside and I gasped into his mouth as my body twitched with excitement. Then the cup of my bra was drawn quickly aside and I lost his mouth on mine but his fingers curled under my breast, lifting it. Then his upper body angled down, his lips rounded my nipple and he sucked deep.

As in deep.

Oh God, God, God! That felt unbelievable.

So unbelievable, my back came off the couch, my head pressed into the cushion as my neck arched and the fingers of both my hands drove into his hair. All this as I moaned deep then whimpered as what he was doing with his mouth at my nipple shot a path of fire right between my legs.

Mitch suddenly lifted his head and twisted his neck so he was looking at the back of the couch.

I stared at him dazedly wondering why he was doing that and how I could get him to keep doing what he’d been doing a second ago when he muttered a harsh, low, “Fuck.”

Then suddenly his hands were moving quickly on me, pulling up my bra, drawing my blouse closed and yanking down my skirt.

Then his body suddenly shifted so it was fully over mine, covering it completely and his neck twisted the other way so he could look across the ottoman.

And it was then I heard a trembling, little girl voice penetrate my foreplay on the couch with Ten Point Five Detective Mitch Lawson addled daze saying, “Auntie Mara, I don’t feel too good.”