He wouldn’t have had to if you answered his calls, a small voice of reason reminded her.
No. Fuck reason. Anger was so much easier than the other emotions his mere presence jumbled up inside her. One night did not give him the right to stop by her place of employment and chat with her co-workers. So what if they used to be his, too. They weren’t anymore, and he shouldn’t be here, period.
Full of righteous indignation, she shot to her feet, intending to give him a piece of her mind. But then he spotted her, his dimple flashed in a smile, and butterflies rattled around in her belly.
He wore a new black nylon jacket instead of the beat to shit Carhartt that he’d had since she met him. The open zipper revealed a gray button-down that he wore as easily as he did a T-shirt. His dark-wash jeans looked crisp and new, and he’d combed his hair back from his face.
Had he dressed up for her?
Weird.
Too weird.
As was the fact that she no longer wanted to punch him. Actually, she found herself staring at his mouth and the insanely sexy dimple indenting his left cheek.
The man was fucking gorgeous. Why had she never noticed before?
He said a quick goodbye to Miguel and was half way across the office before she realized he’d moved.
Oh, shit.
She dropped into her chair and started gathering witness reports, desperately needing something to do as he drew even with her desk. He said nothing for a long moment, and her hands started to tremble. She hated being so nervous around him, but what exactly was she supposed to say to him now?
Like so many times before when they worked together, he set a Kit Kat bar on the edge of her desk. “I tried calling. And texting. I, uh, actually stopped just short of stalking.”
She accepted the candy peace offering with a half-smile pulling uncomfortably at her cheeks, and her hand lingered on his. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted to feel skin-to-skin contact with him again, which was so fucking wrong on so many different levels.
She jerked away and covered the gaffe by tucking the candy into the top drawer of her desk. “I know.”
“Yeah, figured as much.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and gazed around at the overflowing desks jammed together in an office not quite big enough for all of them. Coffee scented the air, which hummed with constant activity from phones ringing and detectives talking. The place wasn’t nicknamed the Hive for nothing.
“Hasn’t changed much around here,” Cam said.
Bull. It changed irrevocably the day he quit to join his brothers in starting up Wilde Security, but she couldn’t tell him that now. There would be all kinds of sexual subtext in anything she said.
This sucked. Big time.
“Eva.” He squatted down beside her desk until they were eye level. “Can we go somewhere, grab a bite to eat for breakfast, and figure this out?”
Yes, a part of her all but screamed with relief, but at the same time, another part recoiled at the idea of having such a heavy conversation with Camden, of all people. It just wasn’t right. Couldn’t they pretend nothing happened?
She opened her mouth to say something—she had no idea what—but Miguel sauntered up and saved her from having to figure it out.
“Looks like we’re not going home yet,” he said. “Call just came in.”
Thank God. Murder, she could handle.
She stood so fast, Cam had to back up or risk getting hit in the face. “I have to go.”
Cam straightened and blew out a breath. “Sure, but we do have to talk.”
“Yeah, of course. We will.” She grabbed Miguel by the sleeve of his shirt and tugged him away from her desk. And away from Cam.
“Saved by the murder, huh?” Miguel said once they were out of earshot. He glanced over his shoulder, but she continued tugging him forward, bypassing the elevator for the stairs.
“Shut up.” She hit the push bar for the stairwell door and took the steps down in a jog.
He grinned and followed at an easier pace. “I’m detecting lots of interesting undercurrents between you two all of the sudden. Did you finally fuck?”
Eva whipped around. “What? No, of course not. He’s my best friend, nothing more.”
“Uh-huh.” Miguel appeared thoroughly unconvinced.
“Oh, God.” Defeat rolled through her and dragged her down to sit on one of the steps. “Does everyone know?”
“Chica,” he said in the same admonishing tone she’d heard him use with his teenage granddaughters and ruffled her hair as he passed. “You work with a bunch of detectives. We’ve always known it was never a question of if with you two, but when.” He stopped a few steps down and gazed back with a knowing expression. “So, was it Key West?”
She sighed. She didn’t have to answer. He already knew. The whole freaking department already knew.
“Hah!” He did a celebratory Ricky Ricardo dance move down the rest of the stairs. “I won the bet.”
Whoa. Bet? That got her moving again. She chased him out into the parking lot. “Hold up, de la Rosa. You bet on my sex life?”