Page 22 of Cops and Robbers

Playful to no end. How would that come out in the bedroom? Willing himself away from the thought before it led him down a dangerous path, he turned back. Kate watched him from behind the kitchen island, her feet propped up on the bar stool beside her as she tilted her chair back like she owned the place. She charged the surrounding air with an intoxicating confidence, making it easy to succumb to her charm. He wanted to find out where all that confidence came from. His fists clenched.

“Put your feet down,” he said. “One of these times you’re going to fall.”

She waved a nonchalant hand in his direction. “I’ve been doing it for years. Ever since I came to America and ate at tables instead of the floor. And I’ll keep doing it—without falling.”

He grinned at her in challenge. She wanted to play that game, then? His dragon stood in his mind’s eye, swishing its tail back and forth.

As if his smile put her off guard, she settled back and the chair careened backward. Her eyes widened, and she toppled over, crashing into the mess behind her.

Told you. Raz covered his shit-eating grin, trying to hold in his laughter.

“You have too many boxes,” she wailed.

He stepped around the island as she rolled onto her side atop the boxes that had cushioned her fall. With her face blazing red, she stood, avoiding his gaze and stumbling over folders that slipped out of the boxes. As her hand shot to the back of her head, she winced.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping toward her.

“Go away. I’m fine.” She held her palm out to stop him.

Blood covered her fingertips. Her lip jutted out, and she pressed her hand to her head.

He swallowed the sudden ball of fear and gentled his voice. “Come here.”

She eyed him suspiciously as she took hesitant steps toward him. Turning around, she let him inspect her injury. Her thick black hair ran through his fingers like fine silk. Red tinged a few strands, and he followed the trail to find the wound small enough to fit under a normal Band-Aid.

“It’s a minor scrape,” he said, sighing to loosen the strain in his muscles. “What did you even hit your head on?”

She stepped away from his touch.

“I don’t know. Maybe that paperweight you so conveniently have holding down a box.” She pointed at the marbled black and gold rock with his name engraved on the front, an office-warming gift that had gone unused when they promoted him to Special Agent.

“Sorry about that.” He waved her toward the kitchen door. “Come. I’ll patch you up.”

“I can do it myself,” she grumbled, following his direction while holding her head. They walked through the living room into his bedroom.

He spent little time dirtying his house up other than in his office, but he couldn’t help the tight pit in his stomach that forced him to look for anything out of place in his simple bedroom. You don’t have to make a good impression. She’s a felon.

“Bathroom on your left,” he said.

As she walked toward his bathroom, she gazed around as if trying to find something hidden behind his dresser. The orange of her onesie glared brightly within the bathroom’s black and white aesthetic.

“Someone didn’t skimp out…” She gawked. “A Jacuzzi tub, a shower, his and her sinks. You have it all.”

He grunted as he opened the cabinet next to the bathroom. Something jangled off to the side as if she were ruffling through the products between the two marble-lined sinks.

You’re a curious one. Probably looking for something to steal.

“Do you get hurt on your heists often?” he asked, needing to start his interrogation as he grabbed the medical kit from the bottom shelf.

“I pulled a muscle escaping the Smithsonian.”

She’d left with easily the most expensive item she’d stolen—the Hope Diamond necklace. When the police had arrived, her aerial silks still hung from the museum rafters from her hasty escape—the same kind he’d seen her swinging around on earlier. Midnight never seemed injured at a crime scene, no blood left behind despite the carnage.

Closing the door, he turned, and Kate had her onesie pulled over her shoulders, baring smooth skin and black bra straps. Heat scorched through him, centering at his core. He averted his eyes to her face.

His bathroom wasn’t small, but she seemed to fill every space, testing his limits. His dragon was crawling over his skin, making him itchy and warm even as he stood in the doorway.

She tilted over the sink, pulling her hair back, trying to see the damage. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, he placed the kit on the counter and searched for gauze. After wetting his black hand towel and wringing it out, she tried to clean the cut. As she struggled to locate the wound, his body tensed with the need to help.