Pistol

Chapter Thirteen

Pete caught the eye of the curly blonde he recognised from the bar, and smiled. She returned the expression, but her eyebrows twitched enough that he knew she was suspicious of him.

Jesus—he was suspicious of himself.

The incredible satiny-smooth texture of Steph's lips on him nearly caused him to lose himself, to forget where he was. But he pulled himself back in time. Too close. Far too close. What could have happened if he hadn't? No need to dwell on things that weren't. He'd saved the situation, reminded her who was boss in this game. Pete chuckled to himself as the receptionist scowled at him pass through the foyer. He tossed his hand up—middle finger raised—and stepped out into the bright sunshine of another fucking rosy day.

Fuck nature.

He drew his hand over the slight stubble on his jaw, and fell back into the moment they shared. Thank Christ he'd had the foresight to pin his hands behind his head, because the way her dark hair looked as it slid over the job she gave him—like a dark cloud that crossed a beautiful eclipse—he wanted to grab a fistful of her locks and drive himself deep into her hot, little mouth.

Get yourself together, ya gob-shite.

How had he let it get like this? How the fuck had she got under his skin so easily? The woman was a damn leech; invasive and draining. All he wanted from her was the chance at being understood. A chance at a woman who could level him out, make him act normal. But Jesus, this one made him fuckin' worse.

Space. He needed space.

Why had he said he would see her tonight? He was like a junkie who walked out of the hospital after an over-dose to look for the next hit. The habit had to go. He needed to nip it in the bud—even if she could be his match. The woman was dangerous, a Pandora's Box of sexual bliss. She made him think with the wrong brain, and that wouldn't do. He couldn't let her stay. Maybe the world had thrown him a big wake-up call when fate decided she was going to move away? Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise? The separation he wasn't strong enough to do on his own, because Lord knows he wanted her mouth on him again—right now. Public streets and all.

Shit.

Shit, shit, double shit.

Pete dropped his head back on his shoulders, and squinted into the glaring sun. He'd visit tonight, like he'd promised, but only to tell her he couldn't keep her on. Why did such a sudden sickness take him over when he thought that? He knew it too well—regret, apprehension. He didn't want to let her go. He simply had to. He needed to drop her for the sake of his health.

Right now wasn't the time to start into a self-indulgent relationship.

Relationship—huh.

No. He needed focus. Especially when shit was about to get as fuckin' real as it could get.

****

The lights spilt a soft creamy glow over the walkway as he approached. Had she thought he would turn up? Or had she hoped he lied? Pete stopped outside the plain black door to her unit, and drew a breath to compose himself.

He needed to remain cool, distant, and unaffected—no matter what she did to unnerve him.

Not that it usually took much.

He lifted his hand, and knocked. Small scuffs were audible from the other side, but no shadows played across the low light to indicate close movement. The lock on the door clicked, and it opened, slowly, but past the limit of a chain. She drew it wide, and greeted him with a smile.

He stared, and inwardly screamed at himself for being this deep already. Show no emotion. Show. No. Emotion.

Steph stood in radiant beauty; the lamp-light cast an enticing glow over the out-fit she wore —if he could call it that. Her perfect curves were draped in another oversized t-shirt; the large neck dropped over one shoulder to reveal the tattoo he knew she had already, and more. She didn't wear anything underneath it. Lord have mercy.

Pete swallowed hard, and willed all the blood from his groin back into his head.

"Well?" She crossed her slender ankles as she leant into the door. "Are you coming in?"

He raked his gaze over her body; the t-shirt had lifted on the opposite side she leant on, and exposed smooth, creamy skin on her upper thigh.

Fuck. I'm fucked.

He managed a shrug, and mentally patted himself on the back for not drooling. "I don't think I need to."

She stuck her head out the door, and checked both ways. "You want me to come out there?" Her eyebrow rose, as did a corner of her velvety lips.

A shiver ran down his spine. Damn, he wanted to bite those lips so fuckin' hard.

"I won't stay long." He cringed inside at how callous his tone came across. But it worked.

She dropped her gaze, and drew her arms over herself. He'd crushed her. Like a squishy little bug under his boot.

You're an arsehole, O'Malley.

"I only wanted to stop by and wish ya luck in yer new place."

Her eyes lifted to his, and the unshed tears she tried so hard to hold back glistened in the glow of the distant street-light.

"You've been fun. This—" he gestured between them, "—has been interestin'."

Her chin quivered, and she ducked her head to swipe at her face with a careless hand. "Yeah, okay. Whatever. I guess, um, I might see you round."

"Maybe," he shrugged again.

"Thanks for stopping by." She looked at him a last time, and the tears broke free as she took a step back to shut the door.

He lifted his hand to stop her closing it, to say something, to ease the pain of his heart as it tore in two and became a cold, tar-covered abscess in his chest. But she was quicker. The door closed with a thud, and the light switched off shortly after. He stood at her door, and fought with himself. Should he knock again, or simply leave? After all, he'd done what he came to do—cut her free. So why did it feel so hollow? Why were his feet too heavy to move?

Crickets chirped in the darkness, and a lonely bird chattered to itself from the tree on the driveway. Pete had stood so long that he had become a part of the scenery, imperceptible to the wildlife. He sighed, and drew a heavy hand through his hair then placed his palm on the door. There was nothing he could do to fix how it had panned out. Unless he miraculously managed to turn back time, he'd done it; hurt her enough that she would soon forget him.

It was what he wanted. Or so he told himself.