He hesitated, gaze lingering on the pulse beating gently at the base of her throat.
“Beer.”
She reached in and tossed him one without looking.
He caught it cleanly, forearm flexing, tendon and muscle shifting under skin dusted with dark hair.
“Nice throw.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” she said, that glint in her eyes he’d learned to respect.
“Counselor,” he said softly, stepping a fraction closer, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The air shifted.
The distance between them was negligible now.
She could smell the crisp bite of beer on his breath.
“You don’t scare easily,” he said, his voice a low vibration in the small kitchen. He didn't touch her, but his hand moved—a slow, deliberate reach that ended with his knuckles just barely grazing the stone counter inches from her hip. He was boxing her in without ever laying a finger on her.
“I don’t scare at all,” she countered. Though the lie felt thin, his gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, tracking the way her breathing had picked up again.
“Everyone scares,” he murmured. “The smart ones just don’t show it.”
He wasn’t teasing.
For a moment, the banners and the headlines, the cameras and comments, all dropped away.
There was just the low glow of the kitchen lights and the magnetic pull of a man who was supposed to be her enemy.
If he stepped forward—just an inch—she wasn’t sure she would stop him. She leaned in without meaning to, the angle deepening the curve of her cleavage in the low kitchen light. His eyes darkened, his hand twitching on the counter as if he were seconds away from bridging the gap?—
The front door opened.
“Lass, ye left your?—”
Deck stopped mid-stride.
He didn’t just take them in; he took in the space between them. His eyes flicked to the beer in Reid’s hand, then to Eleanor’s bare midriff. He didn’t move, but he seemed to double in size, filling the doorway, physically blocking the exit to the living room.
“Well,” Deck said, his voice like grinding gravel. “This is cozy.”
“Declan,” Eleanor said, straightening.
“District Attorney,” Deck replied, not looking away from Reid. “Saw the green Jag at the curb. Figured either ye’d taken up with a rock star… or the DA.”
Reid didn’t bristle. If anything, his mouth curved a little more.
“Rock star, huh?” he said. “I’ll take the promotion.”
Deck’s brows lifted. “Oh, I don’t know. Rock stars get things thrown at them when they botch the chorus. You lot just file an appeal.”
Reid laughed, genuinely this time.
“I’m starting to think you like me, O’Rourke.”
Deck snorted. “Ye’d know it if I didn’t.”
