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Anything recognizable belong to Janet Evanovich.

Chapter 4

I lay there staring at the darkness on my ceiling, thinking about what Steph had said about not being willing to settle. Proud of you, Babe. You deserve to be happy.

I consider the life I have chosen. I have material wealth, though I sometimes wonder if it is worth selling my soul to drive my dream car and sleep on 1000 thread count sheets. Men like me don't have friends; Tank is probably the closest thing I have to what normal people would call a friend. You'll never catch us sharing our feelings over a cup of tea or glass of wine, but we've seen the darkest parts of each other's soul and saved each other's asses on more than one occasion. I trust him to watch my six. In my world, that's damn high praise.

While I hadn't purposely chosen to be a father, I did choose to live up to my responsibility to Rachel and Julie. Thinking back, I can't say I have ever settled. Until Steph.

I blow out a sigh and throw back the covers, stalking naked to the small credenza that sits against the wall between the dining area and the living room. I rarely drink anything harder than beer or wine, but tonight I need something stronger. Ella keeps a small assortment of good quality hard liquor arranged neatly on a mirrored tray on the top, and an assortment of crystal glassware is displayed behind the glass doors. Probably hoping one day I'll be civilized enough to have friends.

I scan the labels and reach for an 18 year single malt Scotch whiskey. I pour a finger into a crystal rocks glass and slam it back. I pour another finger into the glass, screw the top back on the bottle, and, glass in hand, move over to sit on the couch. All of the lights are off, so I remote the blinds open and stare out at the night sky. Light pollution makes it impossible to see the stars, but I have seen more than my fair share of starry nights as I lay awake in some far away desert. Instead, I imagine I can see all the way to St. James Street.

I sip my whiskey, and consider Stephanie. There has always been something more than sexual attraction between us. Most men would probably still be fantasizing about a naked Steph handcuffed to the shower rod. But I'm not most men, and I don't need handcuffs to enslave a woman. I found out later how Rameriz was stalking her. Remembering how Morelli left her naked and helpless, I still want to beat the shit out of the asshole.

The first time I kissed her was one of those rare instances when I gave in to my impulsive side. She looked so forlorn, standing there with the tags and VIN plate from my BMW. I just wanted to distract her. Instead, I sparked a fire that has since grown into an inferno. The DeChooch deal was supposed to be a joke. Instead, it turned into an excuse to once again give in to my impulses. I should feel bad for the way I took her the first time, but I couldn't. I certainly didn't force myself on her, she could have said no. But I did intentionally overwhelm her so she wouldn't. I'm an opportunist, but I'm not a rapist.

Another sip of the smooth Scotch slides down my throat as I contemplate the years between the first time together and the vordo. I watched Steph and Morelli yo-yo back and forth. On then off. On then off. I told her they had developed an unhealthy pattern of behavior, but what about mine? Stolen kisses, 'almost' moments of passion when we shared a bed, using the pretense of taping on wire on her to cop a feel. What the hell Manoso, are you a middle-schooler?

Then there were those moments of heart stopping terror. Times I thought I was too late. Finding her folded up in Stiva's cupboard. Damn Hal and his big mouth. She didn't need to know I held a gun to a woman's head to get that address. Watching as Uncle Sonny's goons tossed her over the side. A second too late to stop them. On Joe Morelli's freakin' godfather's orders.

Not that I'm any better. Three different men have come after her because of me. And she has never held it against me.

That realization humbles me a bit. She has every right in the world to hate me for asking her to put herself out as bait to catch Scrog. But instead, she's at my bedside when I wake up in the hospital after being shot. And she brings me flowers and birthday cake when I get home. I smile at the memory of her perched on my desk, her gorgeous mouth opening to accept the frosting flower from the fork in my hand.

The smile grows as I remember the orange scented Glock she returned to me. Who knew our plates would be switched and she'd end up with my poisoned dinner. Only Steph would throw up in her handbag rather than in my car. The same handbag in which she had stored the small Glock I had given her on the way to dinner.

Again, she had every right to hate me for dragging her into the whole mess with Orin. I knew Kinsey and I were being targeted, but I asked her to watch my back anyway, putting a target on her as well. The bastard was going to burn her alive. I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

I raise the glass to my lips and realize it's empty. I glance back to the credenza, but I know that isn't what I need. What I need is sleeping in a second story apartment twenty minutes away. I think again about her parting words, 'You shouldn't settle either.' She's right. What I need is to stop settling for a life half lived. What good are the cars and the cash if I don't have the woman I love. I'm not stupid. I did hear what she was saying tonight. She's done living in denial. She's done settling. If I'm not willing to step up and make my move, she is moving on. And no fucking way am I going to let that happen.