Page 5 of The Man I Hate

“May I have your keys?” he asked.

He was as polite as he was good-looking. I gave him my keys on the heels of a half-hidden smile. “Here you go.”

“Lock her car when you’re done and take the keys to the station,” Braxton said, tossing the officer the keys. “We’ll pick them up when we come in.”

O’Malley gave a sharp nod. “See you in the station, Rourke.”

Braxton moved aside and gestured toward his vehicle. “After you.”

I stepped around him. “How did you know I was going to breakfast?”

He smirked. “Good guess.”

I walked past him. A hint of his cologne tickled my nose. He smelled like he looked.

Striking.

He followed me to the SUV and opened the door. As I struggled to pull my five-foot-two frame inside, he pressed his open hand against the small of my back.

“Here,” he said. “Let me help you.”

My life had been dick-free since the vow of celibacy that followed my half-assed failed marriage. Subsequently, I hadn’t had a man touch me in years. Upon having Braxton do so, fiery desire shot through my veins.

One hand cupped my waist. Another pressed against the back of my bare thigh.

Every inch of my skin itched with want.

He lifted me effortlessly and then released me into the comfort of the fine leather seat. Feeling lightheaded, I glanced in his direction.

His hazel orbs expressed his interests with unclouded clarity.

Braxton Rourke may have been hungry, but it wasn’t breakfast he was hungry for.

Braxton

Anna buckled her seatbelt. “How did that police officer know you?”

A typical day for me might include removing crucial evidence from a crime scene, erasing surveillance footage, or manipulating a witness to give an alternate testimony. I worked for the police as much as anyone. Admitting the truth to Anna wasn’t in my best interest.

“I trained some of the officers in close quarters combat techniques. He was one of the officers that took the course.”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “I didn’t realize Marines trained police officers.”

“I received specialized training in the military,” I responded. “After I retired, I offered a course to teach that same training. I was approached by the police chief to train the officers. Fortunately, I was the low bid on the contract.”

“What kind of specialized training?”

I merged into traffic. “Disarming attackers. Close quarters combat. Strategies to survive an ambush. Things like that.”

“Do you still train police officers?” she asked. “Is that your job?”

“Not any longer.”

“What do you do now?”

“I solve problems.”

She laughed. “What kinds of problems?”