Falling for the New Guy Read online

  She needs a distraction

  One of Bluff City’s finest, Tess Camden always follows the rules. That means a romp with the strong and silent new guy on the force would be out of the question. Besides, no matter how deliciously sexy Marc Santino is, she’s his boss. So she’ll stick with her keeping-to-herself routine.

  Still, Marc has Tess aching to be all kinds of wrong. And all those reasons they have to stay away don’t seem important…especially if their sexy arrangement remains their secret. Suddenly, their hot affair becomes more than just a distraction. Can they let it turn into something more?

  Maybe a bar was exactly what he needed.

  And what about Tess?

  It didn’t matter if she was pretty. If his body had some different idea of her than his brain did. Because his body was kind of interested in her body. His mind? It found her irritating as hell. Besides, she was practically his superior.

  Marc glanced up from locking his door to see Tess leaning against the rail at the top of the staircase. She’d changed. Jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, leather jacket slung over her shoulder. Her hair was still pulled back, but in a looser way than it had been when she’d been in uniform.

  There was nothing sexy about it. Nothing. But sexy was the first word that popped into his head anyway.

  Trouble. Plain and simple. And he’d never done anything remotely resembling trouble. Was that why it seemed so enticing?

  Dear Reader,

  Marc and Tess’s story ends my Bluff City series (I mean, probably—you never know!), which is my first series with Harlequin Superromance.

  I think more than anything I’ve written, the books in this series are about the ways love holds us up when times are tough, and that is one of my favorite themes to explore. I’ll miss Grace and Kyle, Jacob and Leah, Henry and Ellen, and Marc and Tess a little extra for the milestones and firsts that came along with them.

  I hope their stories bring you some of the joy and hope they’ve brought me.

  If you’re on Twitter, so am I (probably more than I should be). I love to talk to readers: @NicoleTHelm.

  Happy reading!

  Nicole Helm

  nicolehelm.wordpress.com

  NICOLE

  HELM

  Falling for the New Guy

  Nicole Helm grew up with her nose in a book and a dream of becoming a writer. Luckily, after a few failed career choices, a husband and two kids, she gets to pursue that writing dream. She lives in Missouri with her husband (the police officer who, sadly, does not go by Captain Quiet) and two sons (who are also extremely not quiet).

  Books by Nicole Helm

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  Too Close to Resist

  Too Friendly to Date

  HARLEQUIN E

  All I Have

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles

  To my husband. For answering my endless (and somewhat disturbing) questions without batting an eye, and for being the love that gets me through all the rough patches.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  MARC SANTINO PLACED a box in the corner of the empty apartment along with one other box. Add the two his sister and her boyfriend carried, a bed, a bookshelf and a few folding chairs, and it made up all his worldly possessions. That hadn’t seemed quite so little until he put it into the apartment, tiny as the space was.

  “Are you sure about this place?” Leah asked, dropping her box and then skeptically kicking loose baseboards and poking at electrical outlets.

  Marc had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her to be careful. She was an electrician—she knew what she was doing.

  But what kind of lunatic so casually ran her fingers over outlets?

  He didn’t say that, though. He was not going to ruin whatever weird equilibrium he and his not-at-all close little sister had managed over the past few months with his—some might say—paranoid worry. He liked to call it concerned with safety.

  “It’s a little rough, but I’ll have plenty of time to clean it up. Besides, the price was right.”

  Leah and Jacob shared a look. Marc wasn’t a big fan of when they did that. Unfortunately, the brief time he’d spent visiting in order to facilitate this move to Bluff City, Iowa hadn’t given him any insight into what those shared looks meant.

  “Jacob and I could move into the big house,” Leah said, referencing the large house Jacob’s company had restored and used as an office. But Marc knew they were trying to sell it, and living in Leah’s house was more practical for them. Or more private, anyway.

  “I want a space of my own. Somewhere small that I don’t have to clean.”

  Leah let out a pained sigh. “I don’t think Mom will like this.”

  Marc ignored the bitterness that coated his stomach. He’d made strides with Leah over the course of the past few months, but his relationship with their parents, Mom especially, remained complicated.

  He didn’t want to analyze it, or to feel that bitter asshole part of himself that, even at thirty-two, was jealous of his sister. A sister whose health problems had been the center of his childhood.

  No, his entire life, as evidenced by him being here right now.

  “Mom won’t care.” She only cared about Leah. “Besides, by the time she visits I’ll have it looking better.”

  Another pained sigh from his sister. “That doesn’t fix what the outside looks like.”

  “Mom won’t care,” he repeated, keeping the snap out of his tone by sheer force of will, but she seemed to get it. Instead of arguing further she leaned against Jacob.

  “We should go.”

  Marc liked Jacob well enough, but since the guy was in love with Leah he always got a little prickly over Marc’s terse way with her when they got on a topic like this. Which was great, as it should be and all that.

  But sometimes Marc wanted to give the guy a shove. Which he would never do. He was a cop. He’d dealt with people a lot more annoying than a protective boyfriend, and he always kept his temper in check. Always, even when the guys he worked with lost their cool. Marc kept it under control.

  That was him. So he simply nodded. “Thanks for the help.”

  “Anytime, you know. Anytime.” Leah offered an awkward wave and a paltry smile and he did his best not to scowl. Until they were gone, and then his mouth did that of its own accord.

  Scowled at the closed door. Dingy, a little rust around the doorknob. Leah was right that he couldn’t fix what the whole complex looked like,
but he had no doubt he could have his apartment looking decent in a week or two.

  His new job at Bluff City Police Department might start tomorrow, but he had no life in Bluff City. All he had was a sister he was childishly resentful over.

  So why the hell did you agree to this?

  Though his mind poked him with the question on a fairly regular basis, he knew the answer. His parents had asked him to, and he didn’t say no to them. Ever.

  Pathetic, Santino.

  No doubt. But they wanted to move near Leah. They wanted their little family to be a real close-knit one. And Leah had built a life for herself here. So he’d gotten a new job, moved from his place in Minnesota, and Mom and Dad would be moving as soon as they could.

  Because of Leah. The motivation for every Santino family decision. Even when she’d run away. Even when she hadn’t given the family an ounce of her attention, Leah had been the center of Mom and Dad’s wants and needs, and he was nothing.

  He glared at his boxes, ready to tackle the task of unpacking. A task that wouldn’t take long at all, but would at least take his mind off all this shit. Dumb shit.

  A loud thumping from out in the hall caught his attention before he made any progress unpacking. Followed by muffled cursing. Yeah, the walls weren’t exactly thick, were they?

  He walked to the door, wondering if he should get his gun out of its safe first. The peephole was murky and he couldn’t make out much. Still, as run-down as this apartment complex down by the river was, it wasn’t grab-your-gun-before-you-check-out-the-hallway bad.

  So he opened the door. And, okay, he strategically placed himself to be ready for whatever situation he might find.

  He did not expect a woman standing at the top of the stairs, cradling one arm, leaning against the wall, cursing as though her life depended on it. Cursing really creatively.

  “Are you—”

  Her head jerked up, hand coming off her arm long enough for him to notice a bloody piece of fabric beneath.

  “You’re hurt.” He moved toward her, his initial reaction. Someone was hurt, you moved in to help.

  “Yeah, I noticed,” she muttered, staring down at the bloody fabric on her forearm before squeezing her hand over it again.

  “Let me help.” She stiffened when he reached toward her, so he did his best to seem unthreatening. “It’s okay. I’m a cop. I can show you my badge if you’d like.”

  She snorted and pushed herself away from the wall, very much ignoring and avoiding his outstretched hand. “Yeah, well, I’m a cop, too, buddy. Badge and all. Which means I can help myself.” She walked past him to the door at the end of the hall, then turned around.

  “Wait. I know you.”

  He was pretty sure he’d remember eyes like that. Which was a weird-ass thing to think, but they weren’t really blue, instead nearly gray. He’d never seen gray eyes before. Paired with the half assessing, half go-screw-yourself expression in them, he was pretty sure he’d remember her.

  “New guy. San...San...San Francisco?” She flashed a grin, some of the go-screw-yourself fading.

  The corner of his mouth inched upward against his permission. “Santino.”

  “Right. Right. Matt Santino.”

  “Marc.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said, right?” She half smiled at him and he felt like a dumb teenager scrambling to say something. Something that might impress her.

  Idiot. If she knew him and was a cop, she had to work at BCPD, which meant no impressing.

  “Tess. Tess Camden.” She nodded at his open door, blood starting to drip onto the hallway floor. “You live here?”

  “Um, yeah.” He moved toward her again, gesturing at the next blood drop threatening to fall. “Don’t you think you should—”

  “Good. That’ll be convenient.”

  “Convenient? What do you—”

  But she’d opened her door, was stepping inside. “See you tomorrow, San Francisco.” With a wave, she slammed the door shut.

  Marc wasn’t sure how long he stood there in shock. Sure, it hadn’t been a seriously painful injury or she’d probably be screaming or going to the hospital or something. But she’d been dripping blood in the hallway, and that wasn’t good. At all.

  But it was none of his business, and surely if she was a cop she knew how to take care of herself. Still, the image of that bloody scrap of fabric stayed with him, and he didn’t think he’d shake it until he knew what all that was about.

  * * *

  TESS WISHED SHE could muster some anger. Frustration. Determination. But all she could feel with her arm stinging under the spray of her morning shower was defeated. Hollow. Sucky.

  She stepped out of the shower, shivering against the cold morning, and gingerly dried off before winding the new bandage around her gash and shimmying into underwear.

  She really was lucky it hadn’t been worse. The bottle that had shattered when her father had flung it at her could have actually hit her. Or more pieces of flying glass could have caught exposed skin. It could have done enough damage she’d have to call in sick to work.

  But it hadn’t.

  Damn it, how was he getting the alcohol? He didn’t drive. Had alienated all of his friends. She’d long since stopped bringing him anything that could be remotely used to trade.

  Every time she thought she’d gotten him weaned off, every time she thought he was on the path to recovery and forgetting everything...they ended up back here.

  On a sigh, she pulled her hair back and began to braid, pulling as tightly as she could. It was a severe look, one she didn’t go for every single day on the job, but she needed to feel severe today.

  She needed answers. Why couldn’t she find the answers?

  She glanced at the clock and groaned. She was running late, and she didn’t like to be late on a good day, but with her first day training...San...San...oh, whatever the hell his name was, she didn’t want to set a bad example.

  She hurried through putting on her uniform. Some days it was a little constricting. The Kevlar, the straight lines, the shiny name tag. But other days it was armor. Today was definitely one of those days. There were rules and order in the world, and she was the woman to enforce them.

  She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, pushing her feet into boots. She’d save lacing them up for when she got to the station.

  She caught the glimpse of her trainee at the top of the stairs. “Hey, San Francisco?”

  He didn’t reappear right away, but after a few seconds his head popped back around the corner. “Marc,” he said in that same low, measured voice he’d used last night when he’d wanted to help her.

  “Sure. Listen. I’ll give you a ride.”

  His dark brows furrowed together. “I’m not—”

  “Obviously you didn’t get the memo,” she said, approaching the stairs and him with a smile. “I’m your FTO.”

  “You’re my...you’re my field training officer?”

  “In the flesh.” She could get all bent out of shape at his shock. If she were a dude he wouldn’t be all fumbling and surprised. But if she got irritated by every sexist jerk, she would have left police work a long time ago.

  “That’s why me living here is convenient.”

  He followed her down the stairs and she kept her eyes straight ahead, voice neutral. “Indeed. The beauty of a small town. Only so many places to live off a police officer’s salary. There’s another guy on the top floor, but he’s a school resource officer. Don’t see much of him.”

  He didn’t say anything to that and they walked out into the chill of an early March morning. She’d forgotten her coat, but she’d just deal today. She wasn’t about to seem as though she didn’t have it together for the new guy.

  She pointed to her patrol car. “I’m sure they
explained it to you, but to refresh, two weeks in, you’ll get your own take-home car, but right now, you’re watching me. I’ll be with you for the whole three months, one with each shift. Last two weeks we’ll do a shadow with me in plainclothes and you handling all the calls.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She glanced at him then. He was a big guy. Tall and broad. The uniform with vest underneath made him look even broader than he had last night in the hallway. He had a neutral expression on his face, but he had that chiseled jaw, a sort of impassive, serious resting face.

  She was always jealous of guys like that, who could look intimidating without even trying. No one laughed at them when they told them to get out of a car and spread ’em.

  Of course, she’d been doing this for ten years now. She’d learned how to wield herself in a way that kept most people from messing with her simply on the grounds of her being female.

  But it’d be nice to not have to work so hard. Mr. Football Player Shoulders and Ruggedly Handsome—

  Whoa, whoa, whoa. None of that. She didn’t cross lines like that. Never had. Never would. Besides, from their encounter last night, he seemed like the compulsive-helper type. I’m-a-cop-and-I’m-here-to-help type.

  In other words, so not her type. She wasn’t interested in anyone’s help. Especially someone whose uniform was so freakishly unwrinkled it looked as if nuns had slaved over pressing it all night.

  “Man, where’d you take your uniforms?” she asked, opening her driver’s side door.

  “Take?”

  “Yeah, what dry cleaner? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one so crisp.” She slipped behind the wheel and he did the same in the passenger seat. Filling up that entire side in such a way she felt cramped.

  “Well, it’s new.”

  “But you had to press it, right? It comes all creased in the package.” She looked at him, got tricked into looking him in the eye. Kind of a really light brown. Like amber or something. Mesmerizing.

  You are not serious right now, brain.

  He looked away. Thank God. “I did it myself.”