I did insult her. She just pointed out how narrow-minded and shallow I’ve become since I’ve been working on this case.
I’m well aware of the struggles of artists. My mother became a world-renowned cellist after struggling to achieve her standing. My father struggled in his career as a linguistics and literary studies professor to become respected enough to publish reviews and journals and be taken seriously.
They both would tell me they are disappointed in me right now.
I shouldn’t care that she’s insulted, she’s just part of my job right now. I don’t have time to worry about her feelings, but I do have to spend a lot of time with her, so I want to keep the peace as much as possible.
At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself as I try to ignore the feeling of guilt that is churning in my gut.
Clearing my throat, I tilt my head to crack my neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to diminish your talent.”
Setting her brush on a disk sitting on a tray next to hereasel, she turns to me. There are splotches of paint on her too-short shirt, which leaves a gap between it and her tiny shorts. Her belly button piercing is silver against the golden tan of her skin, and there are splatters of paint on her arms and a line down one cheek.
Her face is clean of any makeup, her eyes a little sleep swollen, and those lips… fuck, those lips…are just as plump and pink as they were yesterday. She’s fucking gorgeous.
“You didn’t diminish anything, you just proved me right.”
It’s my turn to be insulted, but I don’t show it. “Right about what?”
With a small eyeroll and a sigh, she steps toward the doorway that I happen to be blocking. “It’s too early to fight with you, Special Agent. I need my caffeine first.”
Holding my hands up in surrender, I back away from the door into the kitchen as she walks past me to the coffeemaker.
Shaking my head, I say, “Not interested in a fight.”
As she walks by, the smell of jasmine wraps around me. Her head comes just to the bottom of my chin with no shoes on, which makes her look small. She can’t be more than five foot five, I’m a whole head taller than her.
She opens the cabinet, and when she reaches up to grab a cup, her shirt rides up even higher, exposing the round globe of her ass, and I can see the soft skin on her back and hip.
Fuck me.
I’ve got to keep this professional. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and remind myself why I’m here as I think about the work I need to focus on today.
CHAPTER SEVEN
KINLEY
I CANfeel him watching me. Just to be a bitch, I make sure my shirt rides up high enough to give him a little backside view and arch my back a little to push my ass in his face.
Keeping my back to him, I stir creamer into my coffee and take my first drink with a sigh. I had a horrible night’s sleep and woke up with a headache. Tiptoeing around the cabin when I made my coffee and started painting in my studio, I forgot about the beeps that tell you when the coffee is done brewing.
The events of the week must be getting to me because I’m not in the mood to entertain or to be friendly and hospitable. Glancing over my shoulder as I set my stirring spoon on the counter, I see he’s leaning against the door frame with his hands in his pockets. “Do you want a cup of coffee? I made enough.”
Turning, I lean against the counter and sip my nectar of the gods, hoping it will help with the stress headache that is squeezing my neck.
He shakes his head. “No. Thank you.”
“If you want breakfast, they will serve it in the big house in about an hour. There will be tons of food if you’re hungry.” I look at him over the rim of my cup as I take another sip. I think he’s still mad at me for sneaking out to shake him last night.
His intense stare doesn’t leave my face. “Are you going to the big house?”
Rolling my eyes, I huff behind my cup, which is still in front of my face. “I don’t eat breakfast, but I promise I won’t go anywhere if you want to go.”
He shakes his head again. “I’m good.”
Lowering my cup to my chest, I lift an eyebrow. He is still mad at me, and he doesn’t trust me. I should feel pity for him and walk over to the big house, but I’m not going to. “Do you want anything? Or would you rather stand there and stare at me?”
If he thinks I’m going to be intimidated by the stare, I’m not. His brown eyes are too pretty to intimidate me, so I just have to keep giving his attitude right back on principle.
