He glanced up and immediately regretted the decision.
Julia stood with her back against the pantry door, and she looked…
Like Aphrodite sprung to life. A sex goddess in the flesh.
His fingers had knocked her bun loose so that her thick hair hung over her shoulder in a silky rope. Her cheeks were flushed peony pink. Her dark lashes hung low over her half-lidded eyes. And her lips were plump and swollen from the pressure of his mouth.
“Holy shit.” She blew out a ragged breath. “That was…”
“Yeah.” He nodded when she didn’t finish her thought. It didn’tneedto be finished. He wasn’t sure itcouldbe finished since he couldn’t think of a single word in the English language to accurately describe whatthatwas.
“I…uh…” She pushed away from the door. “I wasn’t expecting to get so carried away.”
He chuckled, but it sounded more like a grunt. Falling back on fun so she wouldn’t guess how much he was reeling, he told her, “We Southern boys may be slow with our words, but we’re fast with our seductions.”
A mischievous grin played at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, it wasyouseducingme? I thought it was the other way around.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice rough. “It was hard to tell who was doing what. You know, with all the tongues and the hands and the grinding.”
“Amen.” She nodded with a throaty chuckle. Then she looked down at the state of herself and set about straightening her clothes.
“I knew we’d be good together,” she said without any hint of humility or embarrassment. “But sometimes I amaze even myself.”
He recognized the line fromA New Hopeand followed it up with one of his own. “Great, kid. Don’t get cocky.”
She’d lifted her arms to re-pin her bun, but his response had her dropping her hands to stare at him. “I think I might really like you, Sergeant Rollins,” she confessed with a wry twist of her lips.
His stomach took a free fall like he’d executed a HALO jump.
He should end the conversation now. He should herd her toward the door. He should wave her a fond farewell and hope he never laid eyes on her again.
Instead, he admitted, “IknowI really like you, Agent O’Toole. And that’s the problem.”
“I like it better when you call me Julia.”
He swallowed convulsively. “We should probably try to keep things professional given how easy it is for us to fall into the opposite.”
“Spoilsport.” She pretended to pout, and he had to look away from the temptation of her pursed lips. “You sure you don’t want to meet me for that drink, Britt?” she cajoled, and holy crap, when she said his name like that, he wanted to throw back his head and howl. “Last chance.”
“What just happened between us”—he waved a hand between them—“proves I was right when I said we’re incapable of casual. So one drink would turn into ten drinks, which would turn into ten weeks and then ten months and—” He shook his head. “I can’t do it. I don’twantto do it.”
For a handful of seconds, she simply stared at him, and he thought maybe she’d try to convince him.
He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed when she hitched a shoulder and turned for the door. “Your loss, Sergeant,” she called over her shoulder before stepping into the hallway.
He watched the swish of her hair across her back. Watched the sway of her hips and the unhesitating determination in her steps. Then, she was gone without a single backward glance.
My loss, indeed,he thought as he listened to her footsteps get swallowed up by the noise of the shop.
Shaking his head, he refused to name the hollow feeling that opened up inside him at her departure. Instead, he focused his thoughts on talking down his erection.
The idiotic thing had yet to receive the memo that it wasn’t going to take a happy little trip to Poundtown. It was still hard enough to strain the denim of his fly and have him standing funny.
Not that he could blame it. Because…Jesus, god, Julia is…
Words failed him.Sexywas an understatement.Hot as hellcame closer to capturing her allure, but it was still inadequate. And since he didn’t have time to write the sonnet it would take to describe the wonder of her—and since his poetic skill topped outthere once was a girl from Nantucket—he blew out a steadying breath, adjusted himself into a more comfortable position behind his fly, and opened the pantry door.
Knox and the woman he’d brought with him sat huddled against the back wall. Hew sat crisscross applesauce-style in front of them, which was a little like seeing a grizzly bear twisted into a pretzel.
