“Dead?” He pulled the SUV into a parking slot under a blooming crepe myrtle. “No. We’re divorced.”
“Oh. Good.”
He gave her an unreadable look.
Oops. “I mean, notgood, just...” She pulled her thoughts together, trying to hear what he would not say. “Do you blame your job for the difficulty in your marriage?”Your wife? Yourself?
“I’m not blaming anybody.” The flowering branches shielded them from the back of the house, filtering an incongruous pink light through the windshield. “I’m just telling you how it is.”
“Why?” Her heart slammed. Her stomach fluttered.Why are you telling me this?Was he trying to warn her? Or to warn her off?
Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Other than offering her a ride—purely in his role as public servant?—Jack hadn’t done a thing to signal that he was interested in her personally. Which was really too bad, because he had that whole good cop/bad cop thing going on, all in one tightly wrapped masculine package—the brute muscles and cool control, the brooding intensity of his dark, deep-set eyes, the wry, amused curve of his mouth. When she climbed into the SUV, his scent had wrapped around her, soap and sweat and pheromones, until she wanted to bury her nose in the damp soft cotton of his shirt and sniff him all over.
He shrugged. “I thought you should know.”
She sat a moment, absorbing that. “How long?”
“Since the divorce? Six months.”
“But you’ve been down here a year.”
He cut the engine. “Yeah. So?”
She took a breath. The rush of oxygen made her light-headed. Her chest expanded with possibilities. “And there hasn’t been anybody since.”
“No. What the hell difference does it make?”
Adrenaline spiked her blood. Not fear. This anticipation was warm and easy. “If I invite you in for a drink, would that violate your professional or personal boundaries?”
He went still, his hand on the keys. The inside of the vehicle heated up. The air felt charged.
Lauren’s face flushed as the silence stretched. She wondered if he could hear the wild beating of her heart. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I just think you’re probably ready for a rebound relationship.”
He met her gaze, his dark eyes intent. Predatory. “Let’s find out.”
Five
JACK STRODE UPthe flagstone walk, following the movement of Lauren’s smooth, round butt beneath her short, snug skirt. No lines.
She wasn’t his usual type. Before he met her, he didn’t consider himself the kind of guy who was in the market for a casual hookup.
But his dick didn’t care.
The sunlight struck glints in her dark hair like charcoal sparks. She glowed with life and perspiration, warming him in places that had been dead cold a long, long time. She appealed to something dark and animal inside him, a darkness he usually hid, an animal he was doing his damnedest to control.
At least until they got into the house.
Anticipation surged through him, heavy and thick. His skin tightened.
She didn’t use the back door—the family entrance. She led him around to the shaded porch on the side of the house instead, where the inn guests sometimes took breakfast or sat at the end of the day. Inside the French doors was a butler’s pantry with a coffee service and refrigerator for guest use. Through the access on the other end, he could see the Fletchers’ kitchen.
Lauren stretched to open a glass-fronted cabinet above the counter, her little top riding up to expose a narrow band of pale skin and ink, curling lines following the sexy lower curve of her back. A rush of heat slammed into him, blinding him with lust like a teenage boy. He wanted to press his mouth to the base of her spine, to trace her tattoo with his lips.
She turned, holding two glasses. “Drink?”
Hell. He’d figured the drink was just an excuse. A ruse. Like inviting somebody up for coffee after a date. But what did he know? He hadn’t been on a date in years.
She was dehydrated, he reminded himself. And maybe it was better if he didn’t fall on her like a pit bull. He didn’t know if this was a one-off thing for her or if there was going to be a repeat performance. If he wasn’t going to get a second shot, he wanted to make this last.
