“He’s on a job right now for a few weeks. So when that happens, we don’t really hear much from him until he’s back.”
Was he a spy? A ninja? What kind of job had the man going off the grid for weeks on end? Especially in this technological day and age?
“He’s in security,” Mickey said, reading her mind again. “Surveillance, security, protection, intel, that kind of thing. Right now, I think he’s on some kind of surveillance job, but he couldn’t tell me much. Just that he’d be away for a few weeks.”
She couldn’t escape the shiver that suddenly wracked her body. She was going to have to keep this baby-size secret to herself for even longer.
“There’s no way I can get in touch with him sooner?” she asked, almost pleaded, her pulse racing and eyes going wide when Mickey plunked another hot basket of fries in front of her. She could have kissed the man.
He just shook his head and refilled her drink. “’Fraid not. Though if you leave me your number and name, when he comes back, or on the off chance he checks in, I can let him know you’re looking for him. Who knows, he could be home tomorrow. That’s sometimes the way with these jobs.” He placed a notepad in front of her, and she hastily scrawled down her information, loathing the idea of having to tell Brock something like this over the phone but hating the idea even more of having to tell him face-to-face.
It was another three weeks before she heard even the faintest of squeaks about Brock. Liking Mickey and the vibe, she’d gone back to the bar numerous times and just sat and chatted with the big, friendly bartender. Tonight was one of those nights. Krista was just getting ready to pack it in and wish Mickey a goodweekend when his cell phone buzzed on the back counter.
“Looks like Brock is home,” he said. “Just got in. Said he’d come by the bar tomorrow to check on things.”
Krista swallowed the hard, sandpapery lump in her throat and nodded, grabbing her coat and shoving her arms into the holes. “Thanks.”
Balancing his duffle bag, a box of pizza and a six-pack of beer in his arms, Brock pushed open the front door of his house, only to be greeted by thechirp chirpof his alarm. Plunking everything down on the bottom step, he quickly disengaged the alarm and toed off his shoes.
Exhaustion was an understatement about how he felt right now. That three-week stint up in northern Alberta casing a warehouse that was rumored to be doing some human sex trafficking had been brutal. Thankfully, he’d been able to drag his brother Rex along, so at least he wasn’t alone and didn’t have to hunt the monsters himself.
But he was glad to be home. He sniffed the air as he shut the door and listened for any peculiar sounds. Twelve years in the navy and with special ops had taught him to hone in on all of his senses, always. And he was doing just that. He’d made some enemies over the years, and although most of them were either dead and buried or serving significant time in prison, one could never be too cautious.
But nothing smelled, sounded or felt suspicious, so he lugged everything upstairs and flicked on some lights. His belly grumbled at the smell of the pizza he plunked down on his leather ottoman. He glanced at the duffle bag full of dirty clothes and then again at the pizza box.
Laundry could wait.
Sloughing off his jacket like a second skin, he sank down into his big La-Z-Boy recliner, popped open a bottle of beer, flipped the television on to the news and dove into his meat lover’s pizza with extra mushrooms and banana peppers.
He was four slices into his extra-large but only half into his bottle of beer when there was a knock at the door.
Grumbling at the inconvenience of being interrupted and too tired to deal with people, he flung open the door seconds later and nearly swallowed his tongue.
“Hi,” she said shyly, toeing at a dead leaf on the front stoop and averting her gaze.
A grin spread across his face before he could stop it. The last two months had been spent dreaming about this woman’s luscious body and whether he’d ever get to taste it again. Was she here for a booty call? She’d been a little lioness in the sack and brazen.
Did he like that?
Yeah, he did.
“Constable Matthews?” he asked, giving her a moment to compose herself.
She licked her lips. “Uh … hi,” she said again. He liked that he flustered her.
One eyebrow slowly drew up his forehead in curiosity. “Hi?”
“Um … Mickey … at the bar, he told me you were back. C-can I come in?”
He moved out of the way and allowed her to enter, though even with his back pressed up against the wall, her shoulder still managed to brush his chest when she walked past him. He couldn’t stop himself and inhaled as her hair swished past his nose. God, she smelled good. That scent alone had haunted him for weeks, had him waking up with a stiff cock most mornings and with nothing but his palm in the lukewarm shower to satisfy the fantasy.
She toed her gray ankle boots off but left her coat on before following him up the stairs. He led her into the living room and motioned for her to sit down on the couch opposite his La-Z-Boy. With a groan meant for a man twenty years his senior, Brock sat back down in his chair and watched as her bright blue eyes took in her surroundings, zeroing in on the pizza.
“Want a slice?” he asked, lifting up the box and holding it out to her.
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Leaning back in his chair, he brought his beer bottle up to his lips and took a sip, amused by the odd expression on her face. She seemed so different than the other two times they’d met. The first time she’d been this cocky cop with something to prove; the second time she’d been down in the dumps and then off her face drunk. But now, now she seemed almost nervous, scared and unsure of how to behave.
