Regan’s eyes stray from her apartment building to me. One of the little nicks that hit my heart earlier tonight stops gushing when I fail to register any pain in her eyes. They are clear and bright, as free and open as she has been the past three hours.
I never went into the bathroom with the intention of breaking her. I was merely banging my chest, acting moronic. It was only when our eyes met for the quickest second did I realize she wasn’t vulnerable because of Luca’s memorial or Danielle’s threat of harm. She was vulnerable because for the first time in years, her heart was open and willing to accept the numerous invitations I’ve been handing it the past forty-eight hours. She wanted to let me in.
Although I hate seeing her so raw, it guarantees that every step I take from here on out will be a step in the right direction. She’s caught up in an investigation she doesn’t belong in. She is as innocent as Dane was that night on the hill five years ago, so I’ll do everything in my power to ensure her life isn’t impacted as badly as Dane’s was.
I’ll even walk away from the role I was born to fill if it assures her safety.
“It’s fine. It’s late; Danielle is in custody, and we both have important tasks to undertake tomorrow,” Regan replies, drawing me from my somber thoughts. “Besides, we have to go back to reality at some point, right?”
“Not if you aren’t in a fantasy,” I deny, shaking my head. “This is the most real I’ve ever been. . .”
My words trail off from Regan pressing her lips to mine. “Save the morality statement for when you’re not waking up in a made-up life with a fake license and job description.”
Her lips curving against mine stuff my retaliation down my throat, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “I could always become an accountant? Then I can work with you and your boss crunching numbers all day.”
The creepy feeling on my skin from mentioning Isaac isn’t as noticeable this morning. Probably more to do with the fact that Regan’s lips are hovering over mine than my dislike going away.
She draws back so she can see my eyes. “You could, but. . .”
She leaves me hanging as badly as she did yesterday morning.
“But. . .?” I encourage.
Her face screws up. “My boss has a very strict non-fraternization policy.”
I huff to hide my desire to throw my fists into the air. “So you’ve never. . .?”
I’d like to pretend I left my question open for her to answer how she sees fit, but in all honesty, I can’t stomach the idea of her with Isaac, much less articulate it, meaning the gag that ended my question was very much real.
The bile scorching my throat eases when she answers, “God no. That’d be like having sex with my. . .” Her reply stalls as quickly as my question, her gag as authentic as mine.
She takes a few seconds to clear the horrified expression from her face before asking, “What about you? Have you ever played office shuffle with your boss?”
The crinkle her nose gets when she is jealous is fucking adorable—adorable enough for me to smash our mouths together. I kiss her long enough to quench my desire to have her beneath me for another thirty seconds, but not long enough for her to forget our mutual interrogation.
She arches a brow, demanding I answer her the very instant we stop playing tonsil hockey. “There is only one way I’ll ever lie on the same bed with my boss—when we’re buried beneath the same pile of dirt.”
“So your job is dangerous?” Regan stammers out, hearing something in my confession I didn’t mean to reveal.
I shouldn’t love the worry clouding her eyes, but I do. “Yes,” I reply honestly. “But not in a way I can’t handle.”
My cocky affirmation alleviates the fret brewing in her eyes, but it doesn’t wholly erase it. “Is your position to blame for the scar on your knee?”
The air sucks from my lungs. I try to speak, but I’m lost for words. We’ve fooled around three times in a little under twenty-four hours, but with the exception of the time she scared the living daylights out of me, she’s never seen me fully naked.
Not even two seconds later, reality smacks into me. “Ah, you saw my scar when you were on your knees.”
Regan rakes her teeth over her lower lip, her pose as seductive as her scent. “I wanted to ask you about it then, but I was a little occupied.”
I clutch my chest, feigning battle wounds. “Alittleoccupied. Dear god, please save my ego.”
She rolls her eyes, taking my comment as I intended: playfully.
“I’m sure your ego is perfectly fine.” Her lustful eyes glide down my body in a slow and purposeful probe, only stopping when they reach the wound responsible for my six-month stint in rehabilitation. “Did it hurt?”
I wait for her eyes to return to mine before shaking my head. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” Wounds doctors couldn’t heal are my biggest battle—some I’m still battling to this very day. “Does my scar bother you?”
Regan’s brows furrow. “Why would it bother me?” Her eyes dance between mine before she mutters, “Visible scars have nothing on the ones people can’t see.” She leans in close, bringing her nose to within an inch of mine. “Besides, scars are as sexy as fuck because only big, strong, sexy men have them.” Her growled words have my cock thickening as rapidly as my tongue.
