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He remembered bits and pieces. That first kiss in the dining room. He didn’t remember the second. He remembered stumbling down the hall with her. He’d taken off her suit jacket. He couldn’t remember who’d taken off his. Or where it had ended up.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she drugged him. But he’d been the one to prepare breakfast. And she’d been nowhere near his kitchen beforehand.
“I’ve heard it said that women like to talk afterward, but men don’t.”
“You know better than to stereotype, Detective.” His voice sounded unfamiliar. Husky.
“Do you mind if we talk, then?” She was half lying on top of him, her head nestled into the curve of his neck. He held on to her, not ready to let go.
“No, I don’t mind.” He’d prefer conversation to the mental byplay he’d been engaging in.
“You were married before, right?”
Not the conversation he’d been expecting. “Yes.”
“What happened?”
“That’s not something I can sum up in a few words.”
“Try.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. And he didn’t want to move her. He didn’t want to get up.
“It’s just that…you know why I am how I am. My mom and Allie and all. The way I grew up. Why the work I do is so important that I put it first in my life. I want to understand you, too.”
His marriage didn’t have anything to do with who he was or why he did what he did. That was for sure.
“My marriage ended because I was married to the job. She got cold.”
“So whatever drives you happened before that.”
He just figured out another reason he’d never slept with a cop before. Or had more than a professional friendship with one.
But it was Lucy in his arms. And he liked having her there.
“I do what I do because I think I’m good at it and because I think I make a difference.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He was a good cop. But she was probably the better interrogator of the two of them. She knew when to push. And when to wait.
And he knew her well enough to know that once she had questions, she didn’t stop looking for the answers until she had them. All of them.
He didn’t want her looking.
“I’m married to my job because I won’t ever marry again. I won’t have a family.”
“Why not?” He couldn’t see her face, for which he was thankful, not that his view of the ceiling was helping matters much, but the tone of her voice told him that she was concerned. For him.
“Just as I’m good at my job, I’m not good at the family thing. I stick to what I’m good at and that way no one gets hurt.”
“Because one woman wasn’t happy being married to a cop?”
“Marsha has nothing to do with it.”
“Then who does?”
He started to push her away, intending to get up. Lucy rolled on top of him, resting her chin in her hands on his chest, and stared up at him.
