"That I have an extensive collection of sex toys," she interrupts, gaining the attention of the cabbie.
His attention is so rapt on Regan, he veers into oncoming traffic before an overcorrection hurls us toward a railing. Once he has us back on the right side of the road, he apologizes profusely. It is lucky his eyes are brimming with remorse, or I’d arrest him with a lot more than just reckless driving to his list of convictions.
Regan waves her hand to the driver, using him as an example when she explains, “I was joking, but clearly some men love the idea of a woman pleasing herself.” She huffs before continuing, “Others can’t stand the thought. They get paranoid they’re being rendered obsolete.”
Although shocked at the change of direction in our conversation, I know where it stems from. She’s using her appeal to sidestep my interrogation. It is a pity for her I’ve interrogated the best evasion artists in the country during my years at the Bureau.
“Some men are intimidated by a knowledgeable woman. But not this little black duck.” I give her a saucy wink. “Only men not worthy of the challenge would find it concerning.” I seek her gaze. When I get it—wide-with-lust eyes and all—I murmur, “However, this isn’t about your sexual capabilities. It’s about your safety. That should always come first, Regan.”
And just like that, our conversation is back on track.
“My safety comes before anything,” Regan assures me, her drunken slur not detracting from her sincerity. “That’s why I tried to check into a hotel. You’ve lied to me more times than you’ve been honest, and you dissed me within minutes of kissing me, yet all I want to do is shred off your clothes and jump aboard for a ride. That’s not something a sane woman does. You make me unhinged, Alex, and quite frankly, I don’t like it.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.They don’t prepare you for this in the academy. No red-blooded man could be trained for this. Regan is dynamite. She’s beautiful, smart, and brave. But she’s also bad for business. I am an agent. I’m investigating her boss. This cannot happen.
Her breathing shallows when I scoot closer to her. It stops altogether when I ask, “What if I promise to keep my hands to myself. Will you follow my plan then?”
Regan sighs a long and disappointing moan. Some good comes of it. The whiskey fanning my face ensures me I’m doing the right thing.
“I’ll take that as a yes—?”
“I’ll take that as your solemn vow that you’re gay?” Regan bites back, stunning me with her quick-wittedness. “Goddammit, my gaydar is usually rock-solid.”
Even aware she is goading me for the hundredth time tonight, I can’t harness my ego. “Did our kiss not assure you I’m straight? You couldn’tfeelthe effect it had on me?”
I’m two seconds away from being charged with indecent exposure when Regan screws up her nose and gags, as if turned off at the prospect of another grind up against her front door.
“Mercifully, I’m saved from prosecution when she faintly mumbles, “I felt it. Why do you think I want to see it?”
My ability to reply is lost when the taxi pulls to the front of my building. When I attempt to hand him some bills from my wallet, he gestures for me not to bother. “The entertainment more than covered the fare.”
“I bet he wouldn’t say that if you had whipped your cock out like you wanted to,” Regan murmurs into my ear, the alcohol heating her veins making her forget the serious reason we’re here.
Not wanting any resident of Ravenshoe to owe me a favor, I squeeze a bundle of bills through the partition separating the driver and me. He grumbles something under his breath but pockets my money all the same.
"It's a little shady for a PI," Regan insults when I join her on the sidewalk of my building. The slur of her words proves my assumption that she's tiptoed from tipsy to drunk during our travels. "I guess it makes sense. If you live amongst the riffraff, they won't be as suspicious about your loitering eye."
Her fake snotty tone forces a smile to crack my mouth. “It’s definitely not up to your standards, but it has a bed, toilet, and hot water. What more do you need than that?”
The creak of a security gate drowns out Regan’s reply. She remains as quiet as a church mouse when we make our way up the cracked concrete stairwell of my building. Thankfully, the department adhered to my request for a mid-floor dwelling, as Regan sounds two seconds from passing out. For a woman who runs every morning as if she’s outrunning the boogeyman, she’s a little unfit. We’ve barely scaled four flights of stairs.
I realize my assumptions are way off the mark when Regan mumbles, “Have they heard of security lighting? This place is really dark.”
After switching her bag from my left to my right hand, I curl my other hand over hers, halving its shake. “Just one floor to go, then we’re in the open.”
She nods but remains silent. Her pulse stops thrumming through our conjoined hands when we reach my floor. I had an outdoor security light fitted the day I arrived in Ravenshoe. It flicks on the instant our feet hit the landing.
“Is this you?” she asks when we stop at my door, but her tone relays she already knows my answer.
I nod anyway.
She takes in the two doors next to mine. “How many other tenants are on this floor?”
“It’s just me right now. Ms. Emerson moved out a couple of weeks ago, and Carly’s away visiting her parents.”
Regan’s eyes snap to mine. “Why doesn’t Carly get a fancy salutation?” Jealousy energizes her tone.
I smirk, loving her possessiveness but hating it at the same time. I’d give anything for our situation to be different, for her to work for anyone but Isaac, but I learned a long time ago that wishes are never granted to men like me. I have to work for everything I have—including relationships.
