My Killer Vacation

Do I want to walk away from my acquaintance with this man leaving things undone?

No. If it was up to me, we would go back to his motel room this very second. There is a wealth of physical urges inside of me that I strongly suspect can only be tapped by Myles. Yes, I’m afraid of going home never having experienced them. But at the same time, I don’t want to be a distraction to him. This man houses a lot of pain. He lashes out to hide it. And maybe I’m too soft in nature, but I can’t stop wanting to help. As much as I want to prove to myself that I’m brave and viable, I also want Myles to realize he had one bad case back in Boston. That doesn’t mean he has to walk away from his whole life. A career that he’s obviously meant for.

Bottom line, he’s holding me at a distance for a reason. I have to respect that.

But he’s right. I’m stubborn.

I’ve wanted to help solve Oscar Stanley’s murder since the beginning. To solve the puzzle and in the process, prove I’m more than just play it safe Taylor. Now I have the added wish to be of some assistance to Myles.

Whether he likes it or not.

Whether he knows it or not.

“Are you coming for burritos?”

“Yes,” he growls, turning from the ocean and storming past me.

I smile at his back and follow. “I was thinking…”

“Jesus, here we go.”

“Nothing bad. I just need some new reading material. And since you’re so determined to babysit me, I was hoping to tag along into town with you this morning?” He stops abruptly when we reach the street, steadying me when I stumble. Eyeing me suspiciously.

I’m the very picture of guileless. Outwardly, at least.

“I just want to browse the library.”

He’s not buying it. “You’re sure that’s all you have planned?”

“I mean…” Needing to distract him, I smooth a palm up the center of his pecs and he gives an audible swallow, watching my hand as it moves upward, then back down in the direction of his belt buckle. “If you want to revisit the parking lot, I won’t object.”

“Taylor,” he rasps, grasping my wrist, holding it away while he gets his breathing back under control. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart.”

I pull my hand away, pretending his rejection doesn’t make my throat hurt. Not when I grasp his purpose and sympathize with it. “Will you let me tag along or not?”

“Of course I will.”

“Good.” I force a smile onto my face, even as his rebuff continues to sting. It’s rejection my brain understands, but my heart doesn’t want to accept. “Let’s eat.”

He stands still in the middle of the road for another few seconds, a vein ticking in his temple, until he eventually follows.





Chapter 14





Myles





* * *




What am I going to do about this woman?

Taylor leans down to refill my coffee mug and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to take the pot out of her hand, set it down and pull her into my lap. In fact, I’m pretty goddamn positive it would feel like the most natural thing in the world. And the more I begin to admit things like this to myself, the more determined I am to keep my hands off of her.

When we first met, I decided she was the relationship type, the settling down kind.

Not for me.

She was not for me.

Then she throws me the rough sex curveball and I think, maybe…maybe I could give in and show her how it’s done.

She proceeded to show me how it’s done, instead.

Rougher. More.

Pretend it’s you.

She’s ruining me with her mouth and her trust and her apple-scented skin. I can’t sleep or think straight, let alone focus on this case. And now…now that I overheard what she said about me on the beach, I’m exposed. I’m worrying about her feelings like it’s my fucking job. I want to be the man she thinks I am. Maybe I always have been and I hadn’t met the right woman for me yet. Maybe I’ve just been running so long I can’t see myself clearly anymore. But when she smiles at me…I do. Or I start trying to see him.

I don’t want to try, though. I’ve gone down the path of attempting to be good and noble and heroic and it turned out I was meant to be the villain. Being the villain has been easier than facing the past—and I never should have taken this case, either, because deep down, there is hope germinating. Hope that I can move forward from what happened. Taylor is watering that hope, giving it sunlight. But moving past what happened to that kid…no. No, I won’t be absolved. I won’t excuse my actions by letting go.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to have a repeat performance, too. With Taylor. I need to stay focused, protect her, figure out who killed Oscar Stanley and move on. End of story.

Unfortunately, my resolve is on seriously shaky legs.

Taylor returns to the coffee maker with the half-empty pot and I lean back to watch her walk. Because sweet Jesus, who sold her those tight pants? She might as well be naked. I can see the outline of her thong through the gray nylon. I have to grit my teeth against the urge to follow her into the kitchen and yank those buns up into my lap. Where they belong.

“You ready to go?” she asks, looking through her purse. Totally unaware that she’s making me hard and doing strange things inside my chest at the same time.

“Yeah.” I shove away from the table and stand. “Just the library, right, Taylor?”

She blinks at me innocently. “Yes. Just the library.”

Bullshit.

But we’re going to see how this plays out. If I don’t take her into town, she’ll simply go on her own. There’s no way I’ll get any work done if I’m worrying about her safety. “You good to take my bike?” I ask on my way to the door. When she doesn’t answer, I turn back around with my hand on the knob. “Half pint.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

I cross my arms and lean back against the entrance. “What has you worried?”

“Crashing.” She is wringing her purse in her hands. “There is no hard outer shell on a motorcycle, Myles. Or airbags.”