I realize too that Kane’s tirade stems from the very real fear that such a hastily put together operation increases the risk of all of us landing up in prison. Luckily, Joel’s involvement calmed some of Kane’s anger, leading him to grudgingly concede the operation’s success. More importantly, Kane hasn’t pulled me from the SolomiChem assignment. Heather still has to report to me, and that’s the way I want it.
52
HEATHER
––––––––
“You hungry?” Justin asks, depositing his keys on the entrance table and heading toward the open-plan kitchen.
“I skipped lunch, so I’m starving.”
“You up for homemade pizza?”
“Sounds good.”
He digs out two defrosted pizza bases from the fridge and places them on the counter. He pours a glass of juice for me and snags a lemonade for himself.
I settle on a stool at the counter, my body still glowing in the memory of our kiss. I find it difficult to look at him now without remembering the feel of his lips on mine, the hard outline of his body trapping me against my car.
Justin puts some music on and we busy ourselves loading the pizza bases with onions, mushrooms, green peppers, olives, and tomatoes.
We keep the conversation light, Justin regaling me with stories of his job as a personal trainer and some of the more outlandish demands of his clients. Chuckling, I share anecdotes about my work at the animal shelter, steering clear of the more heartbreaking stories, not wanting to spoil the mood.
While the pizzas are cooking and Justin’s occupied at the sink, I sip my juice and let my eyes wander around the living room. Justin mentioned he lived with two other guys and evidence of that is all around me. A stack of bodybuilding magazines on the coffee table, the odd sock and item of clothing lying about, free weights in one corner.
After finishing washing up, Justin rests his forearms on the counter and fixes me with a look. “Why’d you skip lunch?”
I play with my glass. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“You sleeping okay?”
“Yes.” After staring at the ceiling for an hour. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for the animals I can’t save, but I don’t tell him any of that.
He studies me for a moment longer. “You’re losing weight,” he says at last. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
Abruptly, he flattens his palms on the counter, frustration sparking from him. It appears he knows me well enough to guess at the truth behind my answers. “There’s a huge physical and emotional toll that comes with undercover work. Don’t underestimate that. The work gets to everyone eventually.”
I’m saved from replying by the buzz of the oven timer. Justin switches on the TV and we eat our pizzas while watching the news. After the meal, I insist on cleaning up while he makes coffee. I take my mug to the living room, kick my shoes off, and flop down on the three-seater couch, stretching out my legs.
Sprawled on the other end of the couch, Justin stares at my fuchsia-painted toes. “I never pictured you with sexy feet.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “You pictured me in a flannel nightgown and curlers?”
The look he gives me is measured. “Not at all.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks. I try to wave away the charged moment. “Feet are hardly attractive.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I once dated a dance instructor I nicknamed Verruca.”
“Verruca?” I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. “Isn’t that the Latin name for warts?”
“Yep,” he answers grimly. “I discovered those babies when she put her feet on my lap.”
“How did you react?”
“I sprang up like I was scalded and she fell to the floor.” He watches me over the rim of his coffee mug. “So if I say your feet are sexy, TT, I mean it.”
