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"What?"

The word was entirely too innocent.

I looked at her.

"You know what."

Her expression didn't move, but the pulse at the base of her throat did.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Liar."

Her eyes flashed and I should’ve left it there.

Instead, I rose, slowly. Her boot stopped swinging. I came around the corner of the desk until I stood in front of her, close enough that her knees nearly brushed my thighs.

She could’ve moved.

There was room beside her. There was also an open window behind her and probably three knives somewhere on her person. Robin of Locksley had never required an invitation to run from me.

She stayed exactly where she was.

I put one hand against the desk beside her hip.

Not on her.

Never on her.

But close.

Her scent strengthened.

"Still don't know?" I asked quietly.

She tipped her chin up at me. "Perhaps your imagination is getting away from you."

"My imagination doesn't smell like lavender."

That got her and for the first time since she'd appeared in my office, Robin had no immediate answer.

Her lips parted and my eyes dropped to them.

And the scent of her changed again.

Christ.

I lowered my head. Not enough to kiss her, but enough that the room seemed to shrink to the few inches between her mouth and mine. "You should be more careful, Little Ghost."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Is that a threat?"

"No."

I let the silence stretch. "It's advice."

Her gaze moved over my face. "You planning to do something about it, Sheriff?"