Page 29 of Straight Shooter

He flicked her knee. “I wasn’t suggesting permanence, Priss.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue as easily as if he’d said it every day for the last ten years. It had annoyed her for half her life, but the nickname had a sexy ring to it when it came from his lips.

She tilted her head and surveyed him from the corner of her eye. “Who said you could call me that?”

He winked. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.” He slowed to a stop at a red light. “Do you mind?”

She shrugged and looked back at the window. Staring at the scruff on his jaw only made her fingers ache to drag through it. Funny, facial hair on men never turned her on before, but now . . .

“It doesn’t bother me that much.”

The light turned green and he accelerated. “I don’t want to use it if it bothers you at all.”

Interesting. Most people would throw a nickname around without caring how the other person felt about it. At least that had been her experience. “I’ll let you know if it bugs me.”

He chuckled. The scenery had changed. Now, thick brushes spaced out the houses. The bald cypress trees lining the street bathed white porches in shadows. The large two-story homes with raised foundations seemed to have more windows than siding.

“It’s beautiful here.”

Rhett leaned forward and gazed through the windshield. “I used to spend the summers here as a kid. I have a lot of memories of hot summers, sweet tea, and swimming in the ocean.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Lucky kid to spend your summers in paradise.”

He chuckled and threw his wrist over the steering wheel. “Yeah, well. You didn’t know my granny. If I didn’t spend 90 percent of the day out of the house, she put me to work.” A fond grin turned up the corners of his eyes. “She’d get pissed at me for sneaking food and then running off with my friends and avoiding my chores.”

The image of Rhett being a carefree, wild child made her press her knuckles to her teeth. She snorted.

He frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just . . .”

He nudged her arm with his elbow. “Say it.”

“Picturing you as a kid getting into trouble is . . . cute.” She wrinkled her nose. “And hard to imagine.”

He tossed his head back, and laughter rolled from his lips. “You think because I’m an FBI agent I didn’t get into trouble as a kid? I bet my childhood put yours to shame.” The smile fell from his face as soon as the words were out.

She kept her smile screwed into place, but unease bubbled in her stomach. He might not have been a perfect kid, but she’d bet the envelope sitting in her bra that he hadn’t stolen CDs at the age of seven. Nor had he lain awake at night wondering if his foster parents would feed him the next day, or if he’d get backhanded for sitting in the wrong seat. He hadn’t had to steal food, trade clothes, and learn the hard way that no one in the world would take care of him but himself. By his standards, she was a criminal, but she could have turned out far worse. She didn’t want to think about what road she’d be on if she hadn’t met Dani.

Silence sucked the light mood out of the car. Her brain worked to fill it, but nothing suitable came out.

Then Rhett reached across the console and pulled her hand into his. His palm was rough, and its meatiness was warm and comforting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“What do you know about my childhood?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. That’s why I’m apologizing.” He squeezed her hand and pulled away.

She dragged her fingers back onto her knee and ached with the lack of his touch. He might not know anything about her childhood, but he was a fed—it wouldn’t be hard for him to determine that her career choice meant she’d been raised by wolves. She nodded at the scenery. “Is she still here? Your grandma, I mean?”

“She passed away ten years ago.” His voice lowered, and he kept his focus on the road. “I haven’t been back since.”

She placed her hand on his elbow. His heat radiated through her palm, and moisture collected on her skin. The need for touch flared deep inside her. Rhett was easy to be around, and even easier to talk to, and that should have had her running in the other direction—not toward him. “I’m sorry. She sounds really wonderful.”

He moved his far hand from the steering wheel and smoothed it over her fingers. The gesture screamed intimacy, and bells of longing rang in her head. “She had hair like yours and a temper much worse, believe it or not.”

She choked back a laugh and slid her fingers away from his grip, which didn’t seem to want to part with hers. Trepidation pounded against her ribcage. She surely had rocks for brains. As much as he turned her on, Rhett also turned on something deeper inside her, something lost and buried—need. Need for companionship, connection, and affection. How had she gone so many years completely starved of intimacy? He did something to her. Something insane and wild and . . . forbidden.

Despite the things that Rhett brought to life inside her, she couldn’t forget that any other day, any other place, he’d be her enemy.