“What? When?”
“I’m not entirely incapable without your assistance, Miss Flores.”
She narrowed her eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“There are many things I’m not telling you, Maya. You can’t expect a dragon to reveal all his secrets.”
“A few would be nice.”
“Join me for dinner, and perhaps I’ll let a few slip.”
He was asking her out to dinner? Maya’s heart rate sped up. But—
“You’re here to investigate the stolen treasure, not spend time with me.”
She hesitated so that he could agree. Except he didn’t say anything.
Ker-thump, went her heart.
“You’ll be too busy staking out the mail van to eat dinner with anyone,” she went on, as though her pulse wasn’t racing. “The main mail depot is in Dunston. Everything comes through there.”
“What an appealingly named city,” he said distastefully. “I have no interest in staking out post vans.”
“Then you’ll have to find some other way to keep yourself busy.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage.”
She closed her eyes briefly. That shouldn’t have sounded so suspicious.
Or so sexy.
She took a deep breath that did nothing to calm the irritation buzzing beneath her skin. “Try not to make too many enemies while you’re here? I still have to live here after you’ve finished swooping in and solving the crime of the century.”
“I shall do my best,” he said dryly. His eyes flashed, and he reached out to touch her hand. She’d still been rubbing her thumb and finger; a bad habit. She had no idea he’d noticed it. “You know me too well.”
She did. “Try to behave?”
His fingers were still brushing the back of her hand. For a moment, that touch was everything.
And then more than everything. He stepped closer, sliding his fingers along the delicate underside of her forearm, drawing her gently and inextricably toward him. Her brain short-circuited, remembering and classifying other, normal touches from when they’d worked together: helping him into his coat, brushing lint from his shoulders, the brush of fingertip to fingertip as she handed him a glass, or a document, or a pen…
Always her, reaching for him. Never him reaching for her. Not like this.
His thumb brushed the inside of her elbow.
She was wearing an oversized t-shirt. That defined a limit of how far he could go before he had to reach under her clothes to go any further. Another few inches of bare skin before the baggy sleeve. The least sexy outfit she had ever thrown on, except atleast Tomás hadn’t thrown up or thrown food on this one. Yet. Maybe.
This couldn’t be happening.
This wasn’t why he was here.
Was it?
He bent his head, the black fire in his eyes an eclipse ring around pupils blown wide and liquid dark. She tipped her chin up to meet his gaze, her lips falling slightly apart. He stared at her mouth as though he wanted to devour it. Devourher.
Every breath of longing she’d ever felt for him surged up with a roar. Her skin hungered for him, the blood soaring in her veins a heat only he could quench. Or make burn hotter until they both flamed out.
She had learned to ignore this feeling, all the months she’d worked under him, but it had never been as strong as this.
