Page 59 of Wrecked With You

“To think I’ll have you as an in-law one day…” He trails off with a wink, then hurries on when I cock my head and cross my arms. “I’ve been planning the perfect evening. I just made a reservation. You’re not going to blow this for me, are you?”

“I would never do that.” I look him up and down. “Unless you’re not man enough to get it done yourself.”

He rolls his eyes. “I love your sister. It’s a shame I have to get the baggage, too.”

I laugh. “Love you, too, brother-to-be.”

A hint of color rises on his cheeks, and I almost regret ribbing him. Almost. I’ve grown to love this man like a brother. And the sooner he makes my sister happy—correction, happier—the better.

Honestly, I’m not entirely sure where this pressure to push their engagement along is coming from. Then I see Tony and Liam bent over Mario’s computer, and I have to admit that I might have a clue.

The pressure’s stemming from happiness. The need to grab it. Claim it.

And if I can’t have my personal shot, then at the very least I want Eliza to have enough for both of us.

Chapter Twenty-One

I’ll say one thing about working in covert ops—there’s not a lot of downtime. Granted, I was never the person responsible for finding the bad guy. Instead, I was the person who took the file I was given, then used the information to either grab the bad guy and bring him in for interrogation or just rid the world of him entirely.

In other words, I’m used to action.

Granted, I spent a lot of years working as a private investigator, but many of those years were just a cover for my covert work for the SOC. But there were still days that I had to spend trolling through credit reports and old newspaper clippings while my eyes burned from staring at a computer monitor. Or, worse, long nights parked outside someone’s house with a camera, thermos of coffee, and no place to pee. Those jobs were the worst, and definitely the low point of my PI career.

I’ll say this for the SSA—it has sparkling bathroom facilities, super speedy computers, an amazing break room, and a snack bar that probably puts the most doting grandmother to shame. So I’m counting this career shift as a step up.

Even so, after two days of slogging through documents and print outs, theories and dead-ends, I’m getting so antsy I’m ready to ask Ryan if there’s someone—anyone—he needs tracked down on another matter. Because I will happily go out into the world and drag the SOB back by the scruff of his neck.

“You look ready to stab someone with a fork.”

I tilt my head up to find Tony grinning down at me, the echo of that low, sexy voice lingering in my mind. I force myself not to smile and instead offer him my best scowl. “You’re not wrong. Careful I don’t target you.”

He laughs, then comes around to my side of the desk and leans against it. He’s barely five inches away now, and I wish he’d edge away a bit more. Just a few more inches so that I can’t smell the spice of his cologne, a scent that’s tangling me up inside.

For the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been having a hell of a time focusing on my work. How can I when he’s sitting just two desks over? And though I tell myself not to be adolescent, whenever I finish a task and take a break, I find myself sneaking looks at him.

And the thing that’s the most frustrating? On at least half of those looks, he’s sneaking one right back.

The last time—less than an hour ago before I escaped to grab a croissant from the snack bar—I’d held his gaze. I said nothing, but I didn’t look away. I want him. I do. And, yes, I get why he’s holding back. I understand it. If it were me, I’d probably do the same. God knows I’ve put myself and my jobs ahead of every other person I’ve ever slept with.

But therein lies the rub. Because for reasons I don’t understand, Tony is in a category all his own. And, dammit, I’m just enough of an asshole not to make this easy on him.

So, yeah. Maybe I want to stab him with that fork.

“You want to tell me why you’re here?” I don’t mean to snap, but it comes out that way.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Just checking in.”

“No. You were—shit.” I shove back my chair, then cock my head. “With me.”

I don’t check to make sure he’s following. I just storm across the room and then out the glass door that opens onto a charming outdoor sitting area that the SSA shares with other tenants in the Domino, a Santa Monica business complex owned by Stark and his half-brother, architect Jackson Steele.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand as soon as we’re through the door and around a corner so as to not be on display for everyone at the SSA to see.

“I was going to ask how your research is going. But you looked to be so irritated I changed gears. You want to tell me why you’re biting my head off?”

“I’m not—shit. Yes, I am. Damn.” I plop my ass down on one of the stone benches. “I’m sorry. This is on me. It’s just that—dammit, Tony, there’s a thing between us. A connection. And I know you feel it too, because I catch you looking at me, and it’s there.”

“What is?”