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I expected her to snort or blush, but she just beamed up at me. “You know, I used to think that was crap, but I guess it wasn’t. There’s so much more to beauty than how a person looks.”
I scowled. “But you look damn fine too.”
She gave me a lazy smile. “Maybe not to everyone, but I do to you and I’ve realized that’s all that matters. I don’t care about everyone’s opinion, Chief. I care about yours.”
With that, my patience cracked. “What, so now that I’m fucking you, you only care what I think about how you look? ‘Cause you sure as hell never cared before!”
She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Well, considering I wanted you since high school, I didn’t think you wanted to be with me because I wasn’t attractive enough for you. So, your words sounded like bullshit. Especially after seeing who you chose to be with. So, yeah. I guess now that I’m fuckable in your eyes, the compliments you give me actually make sense.”
I let my forehead drop to hers. “Jesus, I wish I’d known that. I’ve been hiding my hard-ons around you since high school.”
She pulled back. “What?”
I grasped the back of her neck to pull her closer again. “I’ve wanted you so bad since junior year.”
She blinked, her eyes going wide. “But you took Sarah to prom, not me!”
I lifted a shoulder. “I dropped a few hints. You blew me off.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at me. “Am I supposed to be a goddamn mind reader? Did you ever just ask me to go?”
I let my thumb rub over the hand I stole back. “Didn’t want to make things weird if they didn’t work out.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “So, how is this different?”
I nibbled the skin under her ear. “Because I couldn’t wait one more fucking second. I had to have you.”
Feeling her shiver, I knew I’d gotten through to her.
25
PHOEBE
The chirping of my phone woke me from a sound sleep.
“Hello?”
Ransom grunted, squeezing me closer to his body.
“Is this Phoebe Garrison?” a male voice asked.
I extracted myself from Ransom’s grip and grabbed a sweatshirt. “Yes, this is she. Who are you?”
“Someone with information. You’re working on a story about those models?”
Tugging on the sweatshirt, I went to the guest bedroom. “Ah, yeah. What do you have?”
“Do you have something to write on?”
Clicking on the light, I grabbed a pen and my notebook. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
The man read me a list of numbers and letters.
My mind was a little foggy, but I couldn’t tell what it was. “Okay, these aren’t dates or IP addresses, street numbers, or times of day. It’s early. Help me out here. What are these?”
His voice was raspy, but quiet. “There’s a correlation here. Find it and you may be onto something.”
I scrubbed at my eyes. “I’m awake now, I swear. What makes you think there’s a correlation between these numbers and the women?”
