By the time she walked out the front door, and locked it behind her, a half an hour had gone by. She turned around when the same prickly sensation swept across her. Someone was watching her. She could feel it in her bones. Her tummy tightened, skin flushed hot, feet itched to run away. Fighting against the fear, she inhaled deeply, trying to push the sensation away and calm herself down.
Peyton hurried toward Kinsley’s bar when a sudden rumble of a motorcycle sounded behind her. A quick look over her shoulder and she discovered Boone pulling up next to her.
Dear God, this man was H-O-T.
He handled the bike
like he handled her body—with total confidence. The whole thing worked. Like, really, really well. Heat pooled low in her body, the memory of his touch returning in a flash.
He cut the ignition, not wearing a helmet since Maine didn’t require them, and frowned. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, glancing around once more; her skin still crawled. “I know it sounds totally out there, and maybe I’m just imaging it, but I swear I’m being watched.”
Boone’s back straightened, his expression sliding into hard cop mode. “How long have you been feeling like this?”
“Just now.” She drew in a big, deep breath and then shook her head, not allowing herself to let the fear play games with her head. “I’m doing it, aren’t I?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Doing what?”
“Being that person who is scared but has no reason to be.”
“Instincts matter,” he retorted firmly. “Don’t ignore them. If you feel that again, you’ll tell me?”
She blinked, momentarily stunned by his answer. He always seemed to know what to say to make her feel heard. “Of course.”
“Good.” He patted the back of his seat. “For now, come on. Let’s get out of here for a while.”
“Not a date, I hope?” Even she heard the playfulness in her voice that definitely hadn’t been there the last time she said those words.
“Most definitely not a date.” He grinned.
She laughed softly and fired off a text to Kinsley telling her she’d meet her at the house later and hopped on the back of Boone’s bike.
In short time, the town was far behind them and they were driving along the coast. He took the roads easy, likely far slower than when he drove alone. She shut her eyes against the warm breeze, inhaling the salty Atlantic Ocean air, when Boone brought his hand back to rub her leg. The gentle gesture, the warmth and strength of his body, made that earlier spike of fear melt away. The rocky cliffs, the deep blue ocean for as far as the eye could see, with fishing boats off in the distance…she felt all her coiled tension release and fade away.
When Boone slowed the bike, he pulled next to a small cabin on the side of the road. The building was painted in bright colors and covered in lobster traps with a sign on the front that read OLD MARINA.
In a few minutes, they were seated at the picnic table near the boat dock. Boone ordered enough lobster to feed a small family. Peyton opted for fried shrimp and French fries. “Any news on the case?” she asked Boone, squeezing some ketchup onto the waxed paper covering her plastic tray.
Boone dipped his lobster into butter and devoured the bite. “We’re still sifting through evidence.”
She nibbled a fry. “I guess you really can’t talk about it anyway, right?”
He leveled her with those warm eyes. “Not specifics, no.” He dropped his head over his plate, eating his lobster like he hadn’t eaten in days. Which, she guessed, made sense. He’d need an appetite like that to maintain his hot bod.
Silence settled over them. A comfortable silence while she ate another shrimp, a warm feeling spilling over her. It’d been a long time since she’d been with a man like this, eating dinner and shooting the shit. She liked how Boone didn’t bother with impressing her. He cracked the beer bottles before them and drank from the bottle, leaving the caps right there on the table, his paper napkin crumpled next to him.
Stoney Creek was a long way from the glitz and glam of Seattle. But there was something perfectly special about this place. About Boone. About how easy and natural this all felt with him.
It suddenly occurred to her that while she knew some things about him, the important things she’d learned from Kinsley. “How long have you been a detective?” she asked, curious about what made Boone Knight click.
“Seven years a detective, two of those here, but I worked as a beat cop in New York for five years when I was first starting out.”
“You moved to New York City and then moved back here, right?”
God, she was being obvious now. His grin said as much. “I’m guessing you want to know why.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I’m a bit curious, yeah.”