Austin had been so stunned by her acquiescence, he’d found himself back in the freezing-cold hotel room without remembering leaving the bathroom. As if some manner of fight or flight instinct had kicked in, telling him he’d been made. His cover had been blown. In the way that mattered most, it bloody well had. To Polly. To himself. His pursuit of her had never been solely about sex—or providing a desirable woman with pleasure, rather, since sex had never yielded such gratification for him until now. No, he’d wanted more since their first goddamn argument after the initial squad meeting. Since then, he’d been lying to himself and believing it, the con’s affliction that had been prophesized by Charles. He’d been unable to tell truth from fabrication. And the truth was, he’d been in love with Polly since they’d sat across from each other in that conference room at Chicago PD headquarters.
Austin turned the page of his Chicago Tribune too hard, ripping a corner free. The sound reminded him of how the delicate fabric of his and Polly’s relationship had been torn down the middle by his actions this morning. As soon as his fucking head had gotten back in the game and he realized he’d abandoned Polly in the bathroom, he’d all but lunged for the dark doorway, intent on—what? Not a sodding clue. He hadn’t been given the chance to find out what spontaneous action he might have taken when Polly emerged from the bathroom, chin lifted as if she were wearing a ball gown made of sewn-together diamonds instead of a towel.
Yes, it was safe to say he’d broken the spell they’d woven together. She’d had her laptop and portable printer out in under thirty seconds, documents spitting out onto the table he’d planned to fuck her on during round two. Round two so hadn’t happened, to the utter devastation of his cock, which seemed to require Polly around the clock, now that he’d gotten a glimpse of her brand of heaven.
Instead…they’d worked. Briefly. His sexy mastermind had worked the laptop like a master pianist, handily providing the missing piece of his plan, which as it turned out was Henrik. Austin’s observation of the ex-cop had been spot on. It turned out the man was not only good with his fists, but an amateur boxer who might’ve had a career if he hadn’t chosen the police force instead. Those fighting skills and their usefulness were what brought Austin to Arcadia Terrace, waiting for the squad’s newest member, instead of giving head to Polly, where he’d love to be.
That, and the annoying knowledge that Derek had given him a two-day window to accomplish something on the Reitman front.
Austin’s thoughts returned to Polly like a snapped rubber band. Pleasuring her out of her mind wasn’t really an option at the moment, was it? As soon as she’d stacked the documents and placed them in his hand, she’d dressed and blown straight out of the hotel room like it was haunted by a three-headed rottweiler. He might have made a lucrative profession out of charming women until they waved good-bye to their common sense, but it appeared the biggest con of his life lay in convincing Polly he wasn’t a worthless shit bag.
And of course, making her his…girlfriend.
“Girlfriend,” Austin murmured, testing the word on his lips. “Be my girlfriend. I’d like you to be my girlfriend. Keep your hands off my girlfriend. Ah.” He liked that. If he and Polly were exclusive, he only had to state the fact out loud and she became off-limits. Like an invisible net that kept other dicks away.
Henrik turned the corner at the south end of the block, grabbing Austin’s attention. Speaking of other dicks. That giant motherfucker would be the first to hear the news if Polly forgave his earlier panic attack and agreed to keep seeing him outside of work. As in, every single day and night, no questions asked. An eventuality he would be pulling out all stops to reach, preferably before Henrik attempted to sit beside her at another meeting and Austin lost his very sanity.
Austin lifted an eyebrow when Henrik paused outside the entrance to his building. He turned to scan the street under the guise of checking his cell phone, obviously sensing Austin’s presence. Was Henrik simply a good cop? Or had Austin really had a layer ripped away that morning?
Austin rolled his shoulders in a restless movement. No sense in delaying what he’d come here to accomplish. He tipped his hat back with a quick finger flick and checked for oncoming traffic before crossing the street toward Henrik. The ex-cop turned to watch his approach with a mixture of irritation and curiosity.
“Afternoon, mate,” Austin said, removing his hat completely in a sweeping gesture and executing a mocking bow.
“I’m not your mate.”
No, he wasn’t. And he’d be even less so by the time their visit ended. “I wouldn’t suggest pushing your luck after this morning.”
Henrik rubbed his chin, as if to ponder Austin’s meaning. “This morning?”
Austin tilted his head, smiling through the urge to coldcock the other man. “Do they teach passive-aggressiveness at the police academy?”
“No.” A muscle jumped in Henrik’s cheek. “But they teach us how to spot a bullshit artist, and I was paying extra close attention that day.”