“Um, as you can se
e, I’m in no shape for visitors.” She looked down at her own sweaty garments and grimaced. “Maybe later?”
Great first impression. Pointing a gun at the man while looking—and smelling—her worst. Now she had to choose between putting him off or lying about a criminal. She doubted there’d be any first dates in their future.
“It won’t take long, ma’am. Or I don’t mind waiting if you want to clean up first.”
And let him look around Curtis’ little hideaway while she showered? Not a good idea.
“Well, if it won’t take long, now is fine.” She stepped back to admit him.
Now what? Brenna blew out a deep breath, her mind racing. Calm. Yes, she had to stay calm. Or Mr. Tall, Dark and Unsettling would pick her apart in twenty words or less.
She led him to the small living room at the front of the house and perched on the edge of a chair. He chose the sofa across the room and stared at her with those unusual swirling eyes, giving away nothing of his thoughts.
Intense. Quiet. Perfect descriptions of him. “Gotta watch out for the quiet ones,” Aunt Jeanne had always said. Looking at the detective, Brenna suddenly understood why and couldn’t have agreed more.
“Can I get you something to drink?” She stalled again.
“No, ma’am.”
“Brenna, please. When you say ma’am, I start looking for my aunt.”
A corner of his mouth tipped up. And what a mouth! She’d been so mesmerized by his eyes earlier, she’d barely acknowledged the wide mouth that looked oh-so capable of sin.
“Brenna.”
His deep, smooth voice gave her shivers. How would his whisper sound in her ear as he was thrusting deep inside her?
No. He was here to ask questions, not seduce her. She should be coming up with a believable story, not fantasizing.
“Last name?” he asked.
“Sheridan.”
“You live here?”
“I’d planned to visit, stay awhile. But I’m from Texas originally.”
That smile on his lips crept up a little farther. His eyes warmed. “I gathered that from your sweet southern accent.”
Brenna tried not to blush under the weight of his gaze. Impossible. His stare centered on her, not exactly sexual…but not purely professional either. Especially when his gaze dipped for just a moment from her face to her breasts. Shit! She was wearing a thin white tank top, damp with sweat, and no bra. Knowing those enigmatic eyes of his were trained on her breasts hardened her nipples. Brenna didn’t have to look down to know that they stabbed the front of her shirt, impossible to miss, and that he was getting an eyeful. From the subtle appreciation in his gaze, he liked what he saw. But to confirm, she lowered her lashes—and looked at the front of his jeans. Holy cow! Up straight, beyond hard. And his size…he’d crossed the line from impressive to imposing.
So the good detective realized she was female. That gave her an idea.
“Southern accent?” She batted her lashes at him. “I don’t hear it. Everyone I know sounds like me.”
He laughed, discreetly drawing his gaze back to her face. But his stare remained heavy, as if she was a puzzle he needed to solve. As if he knew just enough about her to intrigue him.
“Who are you visiting?”
“Curious?” she asked in soft challenge, shooting him a flirtatious gaze. “Why is that?”
“Not because I’m flirting, Brenna.” His expression turned neutral. “It’s my job.”
Yes, his job. Of course. Well, she’d apparently failed in the subtle department. Being too obvious in her attempt to distract him from questioning her—not good. She held in a sigh. Well, lacking a better idea, there was always Curtis’ story…
“I’m visiting Curtis Lawton. This is his place. But you knew that, Detective.”
He acknowledged that truth with a nod. “What is your relationship with him?”
“I’m his mistress but I think you knew that too.”
The detective paused, pondering his next words. “Lawton is much older than you.”
“And much wealthier.”
His jaw clenched. His biceps hardened and bulged with tension. But his eyes betrayed nothing. “How did you meet?”
“Mutual acquaintance. How is this relevant?”
“Do you know where he is?”
“At the moment? No.”
“Do you have a way to reach him?”
“No. He…drops in when the mood strikes him.”
“You don’t even have a cell phone number? An email address?”
“I’m not his secretary. And I’m not in love with him. I’m merely a convenience for him. He comes by when he wants to take advantage of that fact.”
He paused, mouth pressed into a thin line. For some reason, her answer pissed him off. Interesting…
“You’re a beautiful woman who could do better.”
Wow, talk about a change in tactics. Now what? She could usually think of a flippant answer, but not when his stare heated up and fastened on her. Not when his scorching gaze caressed her mouth, drifted down her jaw then returned for a long, unabashed stare at the hard tips of her breasts poking her tank top. His stare only made them harder. Brenna sucked in a breath.
“I’m interested in someone…good.”
Sure, he would take that to mean Curtis, but she’d love to explore that possibility with the good detective. He looked very, very good, with all that amazing appeal and equipment. Maybe with him she could climax. She could just imagine him without a stitch of clothes walking toward her, all hard body and stiff cock, tall and demanding in that silent way of his.
Oh, just the thought was making her wet.
He crossed his arms over his massive chest. His gaze turned laser-sharp, unwavering. Nerves danced in her belly, arousal danced lower.
“I see,” he answered in a slow drawl. “I just never thought of his predilection as good, and you don’t look like you’d be into that.”
Oh, hell. What else was Curtis into that she didn’t know about? “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “On a purely personal note, since you’re into his scene, what does he do that turns you on? I’m curious. Can you describe it?”
His face remained blank, but something about the way he delivered the question challenged Brenna. Shit! He was toying with her, playing a game of cat and mouse. Now he was springing the trap. Clearly, he knew something about Curtis’ life that she didn’t. This cover story Curtis had suggested was a stupid one, and she’d known that from the get-go.
Brenna stood and sent him a frosty glare. “That question is a little too personal, Detective.”
He unfolded his well-muscled body from the sofa and stood, then crossed her room until he stood right in front of her. “C’mon, we’re adults. Tell me what you like about the things he does to your body.”
Not a clue. She didn’t even want to think about what Curtis did. “E—everything.”
“Hmm. That right?”
The detective sent her a long, measured glance. He didn’t say a word, but Brenna feared he didn’t believe her.
Close. He was too close. So close she couldn’t think of anything to say that would convince him, not without knowing Curtis’ “scene”. So close, she could smell the musky, summer-rain scent of his body. Clean and but complicated—a lot like she suspected the man himself was.
She swallowed, caught in his dark stare. “Yes, that’s exactly right.”