“Like what you see?” I ask, expanding my chest.
Oh yeah. The good detective likes my muscles.
He bites his bottom lip. “I’m just doing my civic duty.”
“I’m surprised you managed to do so without an entire camera crew,” I snark, reminding him that his arrest of Brantley Whitaker nearly derailed my cousin’s big gala.
He rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t even my case. The lead detective broke his ankle in a bike accident, and we had too much pinned on going in that night.”
“So they tagged you for the big bust?” I ask, admiring his physique. No weak calves here. “Pretty impressive for a junior detective, no?”
Boone looks away. “It was kind of a hazing situation. No detective wants media attention.”
Oh.
“Well, if you don’t want media attention, may I suggest you figure out a way to talk to me in a way that doesn’t involve handcuffs.”
He looks surprised, as if he’s just now figuring out this could go viral.
Interesting.
“Tell you what, if I agree to buy your dad’s department two…no.Threenew police cruisers, will you let me go?” I ask, the wind teasing out a few coils.
He steps back, his brows meeting in the middle.
“What? You thought I wouldn’t look into you, Detective Hitchens? Son of Officer Loyal Hitchens of the Canyon, Texas, police department?”
His confusion and wariness are…ugh. So attractive.
“Are you trying to go down for bribery?” he asks, barely audio over the wind.
“Not if I can go down for free,” I say, stepping into his space, hands still trapped behind my back.
Boone’s breath catches. His strong hands go to my waist.
“Stop that,” he says, his breath hot on my neck.
“Stop what?” I ask, drifting a little closer as I send him a wide-eyed look of pure innocence.
He’s not buying it.
“You’re flirting with me,” he accuses, but there’s no weight to it.
“And this isn’t flirting?” I ask, batting my lashes as I wiggle my hands enough to jangle the cuffs. “You mean you haven’t been flirting with me since you saw me in my underwear at the fountain?”
He goes quiet, then circles around me. Seconds later, the cuffs fall from my wrists.
Stifling a grin, I tuck the loose hair behind my ear as I turn around and look down at him. He’s avoiding my eyes, working his jaw like it owes him money, his usually neat hair ruffling in the violent breeze. I stick out my hands without commentary and he examines my wrists.
“Just in case it wasn’t obvious, I like the flirting,” I say, my voice soft as his thumbs swirl around the sensitive skin.
I’d probably be more nervous if my life were less of a shambles, but mostly I’m just tired of wanting the feel of his body against mine. Tired of wishing I could taste him again. Wishing he could taste me.
Tired of missing those dominant hands on my body.
He stills his thumbs, and I lean in.
“C’mon, Detective. You’re clearly off-duty,” I say, lifting my chin at his sweat-soaked attire. “And I’m not sixteen anymore.”
