Right, so, time for the big reveal. “Me. I’ll be your protector, sweetheart.”
And not one word of that was a lie.
THREE
CHARLES
I had lied to Detective O’Rourke. Of course I had a type, but hell if I was gonna admit that it was him, sitting right there in front of me like some kind of fantasy made flesh. I estimated him to be in his late thirties, with gorgeous green eyes that seemed almost luminous—the kind of green that reminded me of deep forest shadows with sunlight filtering through. His dark hair was perfectly messy, like he’d run his fingers through it, and I had the sudden urge to do the same.
The short, neatly trimmed beard framed his mouth in a way that made me wonder what it would feel like against my skin. The man was, as romance novels would say, ruggedly handsome—all sharp jawline and strong cheekbones with just enough roughness around the edges to make him interesting.
And I hadn’t even mentioned his body yet. Sweet lord, his body. The tight, black T-shirt he wore—I thought detectives always wore suits or was that a TV cliché?—clung to every defined muscle like it had been painted on. His chest was broad and solid-looking, the kind you could rest your head on, and his abs were clearly outlined beneath thefabric. Those biceps were absolutely chef’s kiss—the kind that spoke of real strength. Everything about him screamed competent, capable, and utterly, devastatingly masculine.
But hell no, I wasn’t about to tell him that. I’d already humiliated myself enough, thank you very much.
“You’re single?”
Now, why on god’s green Earth had that been the first question out of my mouth? What the hell was wrong with me?
His mouth pulled up in a slow grin that should have been illegal in all fifty states, showing off two perfect dimples that carved themselves into his cheeks like little crescents of temptation. Because, of course, the man had dimples. Of course the ridiculously attractive detective who was about to pretend to be my boyfriend had the kind of smile that could probably make nuns reconsider their vows.
“I thought we had already concluded it didn’t matter since this isn’t a hookup. Or did you change your mind?”
Change my mind? Was he implying that…? “I wasn’t propositioning you, if that’s what you’re asking. Nor vetting you as a potential…lover,” I said stiffly.
I needed to stop talking before I made an even bigger fool of myself.
“Duly noted,” Detective O’Rourke said. “But for the record: yes, I am single.”
Okay then. “So how is this gonna work? Don’t you need to talk to your boss or something?”
“My boss?” He looked as if I’d suggested he fly to the moon.
“Your chief of police or whatever he’s called?”
Understanding dawned in those green eyes, accompanied by a brief flash of something—embarrassment? Alarm?—before his cop mask slid back into place. “Yes, yes, ofcourse. I’ll do that right now and discuss the…arrangements with you. With him, I mean.”
Before I could respond, he’d left the room.
He was a bit…odd. Not in an alarming way, but quirky in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I’d almost say clumsy, but that was more physical, and that wasn’t it at all. He moved with the easy grace of a predator, like a lion or a bobcat stalking through tall grass, though he didn’t give off predator vibes otherwise.
Not that I thought he was harmless. He was anything but that—far too sharp and observant, with eyes that seemed to see straight through me.
The thought of him posing as my boyfriend was as exhilarating as it was intimidating and somewhat scary. How was I ever going to pull that off without making a complete fool of myself?
Not the pretending-to-be-attracted-to-him part. That would be the easiest thing to convince people of, since I wouldn’t have to act. But everything else? That scared me. If he was gay—and I was definitely getting that vibe from the way his eyes had lingered on my mouth when I’d been talking—how would I ever make sure it stayed pretend? How would I make sure I didn’t accidentally cross a line and, I don’t know, climb him like a tree?
The door opened again, and Detective O’Rourke walked back in. “Good news. The chief is on board.”
“That easily?” I had expected that to take much longer. Wasn’t the NYPD known for being slow and bureaucratic?
“Yes. The chief agreed there was both a considerable risk to your safety and an excellent opportunity to try and catch Carlo red-handed. If we can gather evidence of attempted murder, we may have enough to convict him and send him to jail.”
Hmm, that sounded very reasonable. “Okay. So what’s the next step?”
“The next step is that I now stay glued to your side, so lead the way.”
I frowned. “Don’t you need clothes?”
