Jake bolted up, pressing his hands against his temples.
“Shit.”
“Shit,” echoed from his side.
She was half sitting up as well, sheet clutched to her, hair tangled and full, spilling around her face like wildfire.
By morning’s light, she was even more desirable. Stunning, sensual…and somehow vulnerable.
But morning’s light was far too real, as well.
They stared at one another.
What the hell had he been thinking? Jake wondered. She was Nick’s niece. Arrogant, too sure of herself, bound to get into trouble. He needed her the way he needed to walk around with a dagger sticking into his side. Hell, it had been sex. Just sex. Spontaneous but consensual. Good sex, damned good sex, but just sex.
Wrong. Not with this woman. She’d gotten under his skin before he’d ever touched her. He wondered how he’d gone so many years, passing by once in a blue moon, noticing her from a distance, maybe even getting a beer from her from time to time. He’d thought of her only as Nick’s niece. As a kid. Well, she was definitely not a kid. She was a simmering blaze, and he should have felt the lick of the flames.
God, he was an idiot. She was still Nick’s niece, and in the academy, besides. It wasn’t against the rules for officers to date, so long as they kept their relationships for their personal time. But she was still in the damned academy. And they weren’t dating. They’d had sex.
Arrogant trouble.
And she was staring at him now with something akin to pure horror.
What the hell had she been thinking? Ashley wondered. Obviously her mind hadn’t been any part of it. His hair was tousled, his flesh bronze, and damned if his ass wasn’t just perfect as she’d expected, but…
He was Detective Jake Dilessio.
And she didn’t do things like this. Karen did, once in a while, and she’d thought about it, but…she didn’t do things like jump into bed with a complete stranger.
“Shit,” he said again. He seemed to be looking at her as if he had awakened next to a cobra.
“Shit,” she repeated, then bounded out of the bed, searching for her underwear and sleep shirt. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty. You’ll have to hustle to make class by seven.”
“I don’t have to be there at seven. I have until eight.” The thong was a loss. She would have to streak across the grass with a bare butt under the T-shirt.
“Why?”
“I—I’ve got a meeting. You’d better hustle. Oh, no, that’s right. You’re Detective Dilessio. You make your own hours, do your own thing. But you’re right, I have to get moving.”
Ashley slid into the T-shirt and hurried down the two steps, through the living area and over to the front door. She was pleased with her exit.
Except that she couldn’t work the lock. He came up behind her, clad again in his cutoffs, and unlocked the door.
“Ashley?”
She didn’t look at him.
“What? I do need to hurry.”
But she felt him there, and lifted her head to meet his gaze.
“Be careful, all right? Don’t go thinking you can solve the problems of the world—or even solve the mystery about your friend.”
“I am careful.”
He nodded. She stood there, chafing beneath his gaze, feeling her face redden. He was going to give her some speech about last night not having meant anything.
But he didn’t. He smiled. And his voice was soft. “Thanks for coming. That was one of the nicest nights I’ve had in as long as I can remember.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, well…thank you.”
“Great sex,” he told her. The door opened.
She didn’t know what happened then, what caused her lips to move or the words to come out. “The best I ever had,” she said.
She could have kicked herself, but since the door was open, she fled, instead.
Ashley’s morning was mind-boggling, but made pleasant largely because she had been handed over almost immediately to a wonderful woman named Mandy Nightingale, who was warm, friendly and incredibly professional. Mandy—who insisted on being on a first-name basis—explained to her many different areas of forensic expertise and introduced her around the department. She talked about the horrors they often encountered, clearly waiting to make sure Ashley was up for it. Ashley explained that photography was something she had dabbled in, but that she was no expert. That didn’t seem to bother Mandy, who promised to take her under her wing and teach her everything she knew.
“I can teach photography,” she said, “but I’ve seen your drawings. That kind of talent is hard to find.” She went on to explain that Ashley would work as a civilian employee of the Miami-Dade Police Department, and that yes, certainly she would be able to go back and finish the academy at any time. “The thing is, and I’m not trying to twist your arm, positions like this really don’t come open that often.”