“I’m watching for weapons.”
“My legs are weapons?”
“You already tried using one.”
“That was your thigh, not your virtue.”
“My virtue is doing fine.”
Crystal pulled the coverlet back. “If you have to say that out loud, I have concerns.”
“You have a lot of concerns.”
“I’m complicated.”
“No,” I said, and watched her slide beneath the covers with all that fight and heat and bad judgment aimed directly at me. “You’re trouble.”
She settled against the pillow, hair spilling over motel-white cotton, eyes still wide awake. The metal at her wrists rested over the blanket, small and bright in the lamplight.
It had been too long since a woman had been in a bed this close to me.
I’d pictured willing. Easy. A woman who knew my name because I’d given it to her over a drink, not because it was printed on the ID I’d shown before taking her in. I’d pictured a door I could leave through without guilt and a morning that didn’t require transport, paperwork, and keeping both hands off a woman who looked at me like she’d already found the crack in my control.
Crystal turned onto her side, facing me. “Are you really going to sleep in that chair?”
“I’m going to sit in it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.”
“You’ll be useless tomorrow.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Because you’re tough?”
“Because I’ve done it before.”
“Sad answer.”
“Practical answer.”
She tucked one bent arm under the pillow as much as she could and kept watching me. “The bed’s big enough.”
“No.”
“I didn’t invite you to ravish me, Tolliver. I made a statement about square footage.”
“You don’t say anything without an angle.”
“Maybe my angle is that you drive better when your spine works.”
“How thoughtful.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“You’re full of outstanding warrants.”
