He stopped because he had no right to say that to her. No claim on her. She could fire him, demand a replacement. No one wanted to be around a guy with that kind of shit clinging to him, and no matter what Hawthorn said, that shit would stick to him for the rest of his career. His life. She would leave after the holidays and go on a world tour, meet up with Harry Linton again, marry a movie star or a music star or a tech mogul, and he’d be here. The only thing that made sense was to clear his name so he could keep the only life he’d ever wanted. The only family he’d ever truly belonged to.
She closed the folder, covering up the damning pictures, the allegations laid out in precise black and white letters on the page. Her movements were precise, straightening the edges so only the tab with BETTIS, JORDY showed. She did the same thing with the psychos email folder. The silence in the kitchen thrummed in his ears. No traffic noise, no television or radio, only the chirps and vibrations from her phone, cheerfully pinging notifications of new texts, tweets, posts, emails.
Then she tilted the phone and shut off the ringer, opened the drawer holding her hot pads and kitchen towels, and dropped it inside. Three steps and she’d closed half the distance between them. She looked up at him, but he couldn’t identify the look in her eyes. Desire, yes. Check. That was totally familiar. But something softened the look, something he didn’t recognize.
It was too much. Aware that his hands were tightly fisted, his shoulders rigid, he looked away.
Another step. Another infinitesimal tightening of his fists. His nails were all but embedded in his palms. He could smell the track on her hair, the cold air, hot rubber, grease, and underneath it, Cady’s wild, warm scent. “Don’t get too close,” he said.
She took another step. Less than an arm’s length between them now. Couldn’t she feel him vibrating? If he let go, he’d blow apart like a bomb.
“I’m serious, Cady.”
At that, she stopped. “You’re not in the mood? You don’t want me?”
The answer to both those questions was no. He wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life, all the basic things, like a permanent home. A family. A place he didn’t have to earn, didn’t doubt would always be there. He’d thought he had that in the department, but now even that was up in the air. Possibly, one of his brothers or sisters had betrayed him.
He stared at her. Never back down. Never walk away from a fight. This wasn’t a fight, except it felt like one, had all the charged emotion and threat of bruises, blood, getting scraped raw, inside and out.
Holding his gaze, Cady stepped through the invisible barrier defining his personal space. The shock of it went through him like a sonic boom. As the wave passed, echoes fading, all his nerves jangling, she reached out her hand. Impossibly, he stiffened even more, tensed and ready for God only knew what. A kiss.
She laid her hand on his shoulder then trailed her fingers down the length of his arm to his wrist, nearly numbed by the edge of his pocket digging into his flesh. The contrast between her callused fingertips and her gentle touch confused him for a moment. Then the tug coalesced into a request, and he pulled his hand from his pocket.
She rubbed the tender skin of his knuckles, then turned his fist over, clenched fingers up. Without applying any pressure, she stroked the skin until his fingers relaxed, tightened reflexively, then eased a little more. Before he knew what was happening, his whole hand relaxed, opening space for her fingers to stroke from his wrist to his fingertips.
A quick glance at his hand, then back at his face. She smiled, then set his hand on her hip. “Give,” she said, tapping his other hand.
She repeated the process, but this time his attention was torn between her touch and the heat of her body radiating through her jeans to his hand. Before he knew it, his left hand was open, vulnerable nerves set alight by her index finger tracing the creases in his palms.
This hand she lifted to her mouth and kissed. Training and experience prevented him from looking away, but the shock he got when he watched and felt her mouth against his skin nearly stopped his heart. She wasn’t looking away, either. Her gaze held his without challenge. As she kissed each fingertip, then bit the base of his thumb, he felt himself softening from the inside out, his shoulders relaxing, all the tension in his body slipping down to harden his cock.
He’d taken the edge off with sex before, a quick, hard fuck to let off some steam, but this was different. He couldn’t frame exactly how. The only way to know was to see it through.
The thought terrified and exhilarated him.
She lifted her chin and drew his hand down her throat until the heel of his palm rested over the notch in her collarbones. He could feel her pulse thudding under his fingertips and thumb. For a split second he wondered if she was crazy. She’d just opened his hands and put them on her body in the most fundamentally vulnerable way possible.
His heart took off as fast as her car, skittering sideways in his chest, individual beats blending together into a frantic thrum. His cock was an iron rod in his jeans.
She wasn’t looking away. Her pupils were blown wide, and a pink heat infused her face. She should be scared. She should be on the phone to Chris, or Hawthorn, demanding another bodyguard.
Not running.