“Okay.” Alex followed him to the door.
“Like I said, give me a holler in the morning when you’re ready to roll.” He opened the door before turning back her way. “Oh, and I probably should’ve said something earlier, but about that kiss. It was . . .”
Phenomenal. Earth-shattering, even. The best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.
Thankfully she spoke up before he said any of those things.
“It’s okay.” Her arms went back to their previous, crisscrossed position. “I get it. You were trying to keep Gordan from seeing me because you didn’t realize he knew who I was.”
The woman always had been quick on the uptake.
Coulter smiled back with breath of relief. “Thanks for being so understanding.”
If only she knew how deeply that kiss had affected him. He’d swear her taste was still there on the tip of his tongue.
“Goodnight, Colt.”
“’Night, Alex. See you in the morning.”
He stepped into the hall as she shut the door behind him. Coulter waited until he heard the locks engage before walking the short distance back to his room.
Once inside, he began to pace, his mind workingovertime to come up with another plan. He needed a way to keep Crawford from Alex. Something that would supersede the other man’s desire for the two of them to have dinner.
Me. I need to give him me.
Coulter stopped mid-stride and checked his watch. He winced when he saw the time. It was late, but it hadn’t been all that long since the asshole had called Alex. If he called Crawford now, so soon after, it may raise flags he preferred to keep hidden.
Tomorrow.
He’d make the call tomorrow, which would buy him some much-needed time to develop a proper story. An alternative that would be even more tempting than having dinner with Alex.
For now, there was another call he needed to make.
Coulter pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed another number he’d memorized long ago. He began pacing along the same path as before, but with slower, less anxious steps. It rang twice before the man on the other end picked up.
“This is Owens.”
“It’s me. Is this a good time to talk?”
“Good as any,” Rafe Owens, the owner of Tac-Ops responded. The man’s British accent was thick as he asked, “Are you in trouble?”
“Depends.” Coulter huffed. “You ever have someone you know show up in the middle of an op?”
“With Tac-Ops, no. But it happened to me twice during my time with MI6.” A slight pause ensued before his brother’s boss spoke again. “I take it someone from your personal life was a guest at Crawford’s party?”
“From both our lives, actually,” he revealed. “Alex Webb was there.”
“Alex Webb?” Rafe repeated. “You’re telling me Falcon’s sister-in-law was there?”
Along with Rafe, the members of Tac-Ops often referred to Coulter’s brother as “Falcon” due to his mad skills with a sniper rifle.
“Apparently Crawford was in Charlotte last week,” Coulter gave an indirect response. “According to Alex, he—and I quote—‘stumbled upon’ her gallery and invited her to tonight’s showing.”
“And of course, Alex went because what burgeoning artist would decline such a coveted invitation.”
“Exactly.” He exhaled loudly before running a hand over his tense jaw. “She knows, Rafe.”
“About Crawford?”
