“So, you used to be a homicide detective?” My gaze meets Evan’s, as my index finger swirls languidly over his rock-hard chest. Soft, silk to the touch, yet powerful, hard, steel beneath my fingertips. Though I can’t bring myself to fully divulge the dilemma of my business or otherwise, I don’t want him to see straight through me. Might be ridiculous, us being strangers, yet this uncanny connection forces me to desire more about him, hence my asking a personal question when, so far, we’ve kept the topics general.
“Yeah, I was the walking cliché,” he replies, voice a lazy dream. “My job consisted around advocating for the dead. They can’t talk, I talked for them.”
“I bet you were a hero to their families.” I lick my lips so as not to leave my bottom lip dropped, so in awe of him. Evan’s like the savior I never got the day I watched my father be gunned down. “Why become a Narc detective?”
A tension thickens between us, but whereas some would turn away, Evan’s eyes meet mine. “People say there’s nothing as sinister on this green earth than the murder of a child.”
“Oh God,” I wince, hands raised to the heaven. “You officially win, with regard to worst job ever. I would break down and attempt to murder all the potential suspects just at the thought of them…” I pause, skin crawling.
He downs whiskey on the rocks. That soft, mesmerizing laughter wraps around me.
“I suppose you wouldn’t make a good cop.” Evan elaborates, “But I caught him. He’s on death row. Let’s not get into a debate on the procedural safeguards for those on death row.” Evan gives another wry smile, similar to the one he offered after I apologized profusely. “The investigation was probably the longest time I went without sleeping, though. Prior to that case, I felt such a sense of accomplishment when working out the clues, putting the puzzle together in order to give rest to weary family members. Now your turn, Reese.”
I toss my drink back. Like the little chickenshit I am, taking a sip of this rather good wine has become my ploy. It’s the same thing I did about an hour ago when we were unable to agree about the best underrated rock band. My brain doesn’t comprehend ‘agree to disagree’ and my brain surely doesn’t comprehend the ability to trust. I place the empty wine glass onto the side table, and shrug. “I really don’t have that interesting of a job…”
“Don’t downplay yourself, Reese,” Evan adds, reading me full well.
My mouth hitches upward. Fuck, I am. Telling you about me, is just as intimate as sex. Instead of admitting the truth, I say, “I’m not. Although my work isn’t nearly as dangerous, I’m just frustrated with myself.” Instead of telling Evan the name of my business, I toss the ball back in his court. “Back to this ‘Who done it?’ stuff. Heads up: dumb question here, so you caught the child…” I pause, even the words give me the creeps, “The child murderer, right? Why quit doing what you love? I can see the pride in your eyes that being a homicide detective and putting the pieces to a puzzle together had to be…” Kind of like the finished product of my latest, greatest cupcake recipe.
Those warm brown eyes darken as Evan says, “I didn’t quit.”
My eyebrows rise. So far, Evan has been mellow, I sense that having the notion he quit is hard for him.
“I still help families, and the general public live in a safer environment. Now, there was a long, lengthy court battle. That bastard got death row, but what does that mean in California? Yet and still, he’s sitting behind bars, with men who will live long lives and die on death row. Him too. In my opinion, the motherfucker hasn’t truly paid. My apologies for my language.”
Evan stands abruptly, the tension is dead. His eyes twinkle as he picks me up and into his arms in one quick swoop. I laugh at his spontaneity.
“We’ve been outside long enough, Reese. If someone were to observe this gorgeous body of yours, I’d have to retaliate.” Evan carries me past the sliding glass wall.
“Mmmm, retaliation?” I joke, “I knew sticking with you would be entertaining.”
“Oh yeah,” Evan says. My body goes sailing into the air. I shriek in laughter when physics forces me to fall, sinking onto the plush mattress of his bed. The feather duvet puffing around me. Though I traded Wild Turkey for a clean, crisp wine a while back, I giggle incessantly.
Evan grabs my thigh, his large fingers, enveloping around the curviness of my flesh. “Besides,” he says, dragging me toward the edge, “you’ve damn near killed me half the night, with those tantalizing, big brown eyes…”
“I think I can live with that,” I retort, all smiles. Try as I might, I can’t pull away from his hold. He mumbles about how good I smell, and I make a mental note to thank Jamie for his perfume.
“Turn over,” Evan orders.
In another life, I’d question him. We’ve known each other for a mere moment in the span of a lifetime, yet the motion is as automatic as inhaling fresh ground coffee on a Sunday morning, I roll over to my stomach.
As I lie across his bed, Evan’s large hands knead into my back. He’d tossed me over with so much strength, my entire body is aching for him to take me. My fingers instinctively cross, my God, my luck has changed. At least for tonight while in the company of a man I
