And she liked it. Liked him. How many times in the past few hours had she thought she’d like to take a moment not to be an agent, and to turn back into his arms?
“Am I more capable?” he asked. “I hope so. I’ve been out of the academy for years. A decade. So I hope I’ve gained something from my experience.”
“That’s fair,” Meg said. “Or fair enough.”
“Would I rather have a man at my back?” He shook his head. “No. I want someone I trust. I believe in you, kid.” He raised his cup to her again. He turned as their waitress arrived to deliver their meals.
“I’m not a kid,” she informed him when their waitress had gone.
“No, I guess you’re not,” he said. “Ketchup?”
She burst into laughter.
“Ketchup is funny?”
“I can’t read you. I can’t read you at all. One minute, I feel as if you’re...well, as if we’re almost on the same wavelength—and the next, ketchup.”
“It’s good on a burger.”
She gazed down at her plate and wondered if she was a fool. She thought about her past, her previous relationships. Nothing recently. A great romance in high school that ended the minute she’d gone to college. There’d been lots of flirting with male cops at the police academy. Then she’d dated a lawyer until he’d begun to look at her too oddly, uncomfortable with her “hunches.” Then more flirting, this time with the male cadets at the academy. All kinds of innuendo—and yet nothing that she chose to pursue, not with the goal ahead of her. And now...
She looked up. Matt was watching her, hazel eyes like broken shards of crystal, his expression as charming as she’d ever seen.
“What is it, Agent Murray? There are things we can’t learn at the academy, aren’t there? So, you want the truth—without condiments? You’re a stunning woman, but surely you know that. I’d love to sweep you into my arms, and never let you go. Of course, basic decency, not to mention social rules, keep me from doing that, especially when we’re searching for someone near and dear to you. So...if I’m moving too far in what might not be an acceptable direction, I move on to ketchup. It does go well with burgers. Should I have suggested mayonnaise?”
Meg stared at him blankly in bewilderment—and then she slowly smiled. “I do like ketchup,” she told him.
“Good,” he said. “Perhaps I could pass the salt or pepper?”
“Salt and pepper can certainly add flavor.”
“Ask for anything you’d like.” He lowered his head as he turned his attention to the food in front of him. Meg felt frozen—and on fire. She knew she should focus on her burger—and the ketchup—as well.
Or she could act. Act on her feelings. And she suddenly wanted to.
She reached across the table and placed her fingers lightly on his hand. “Want to know what I saw when we first met?”
“What?”
“Arrogance—which I’ve discovered is another word for the confidence needed in this work. And let’s see... A man who looks like a television gladiator, just like Maddie said. And most important, I saw someone who had my back even when I felt I was being judged.”
“Well, you were being judged.”
“And?”
“I’ve already laid it all out quite nicely,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.
“So have I.”
He studied her a moment longer. Then he asked, “Did you want anything else?”
“Pardon?”
“Anything else to eat. More coffee, dessert?”
“No, no, thank you. I’m done.”
He caught the eye of their waitress and quickly paid the check. “Let’s go,” he said, once his card had been returned.
He held her elbow lightly as he led her to the car. She slipped around to get into the passenger seat. When he began to drive, she asked him, “Where are we going?”
He glanced at her, his smile endearingly crooked. “My place.”
“Okay. There is mine.”
“Ah, but I have furniture.”
She eased back in the seat, realizing that they were headed to his house for the direct purpose of having sex.
It seemed remarkable, but she was glad, and the anticipation was warm and exhilarating. She refused to even wonder if she was committing professional suicide. The days had been hard and frantic, and now...
Evidently, foreplay had taken place at dinner. They’d barely stepped into his foyer before she was in his arms. His hold was more sensual than she’d ever imagined. They tore at each other’s jackets and shirt buttons, then paused.
The guns were awkward.
“Upstairs. Bedroom,” Matt said.
“You’re good with words, Agent Bosworth!” She laughed, but she took his hand and raced up the stairs with him. Soft night-lights lit the way. Their Glocks went on the bedside tables.