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Sean contained his surprise by facing the sink. Nobody ever noticed that scar. If they did, they didn’t bring it up. “Nah,” he said. “I got that falling off my bike when I was a kid.”
After he’d finished with the plates and utensils, Sean began handing over the dishes in the sink, and they methodically loaded the dishwasher like an old married couple. “I see,” she said. “Did falling off your bike come with anything lasting? Like, I have a bad habit of driving down the middle of lonely roads, instead of the edges, because of IEDs. It’s reflexive at this point and I’ve been pulled over a few times because of it. From, you know—” she took a long time accepting a bowl he’d offered, forcing him to look at her “—falling off my bike.”
They were quiet for a minute, nothing but the clinking of dishes and soft rush of water from the faucet as Sean rinsed everything he passed over. “I saw the guy who tried to kill me. That’s the clearest memory I have of that moment. Someone yelled ‘sniper.’ I scanned. Saw the insurgent through the window of a building. He was wearing blue. Then there was just this blinding white light. My helmet is the only reason I’m not dead.”
Delaney’s movements slowed. Her gaze went to the vicinity of Sean’s scar.
“I get dizzy sometimes and I’m not a very deep sleeper, but it used to be a lot worse. It’s a part of who I am, but it doesn’t run my life.”
Delaney slid bowls and glasses inside the dishwasher, arranging them much neater than Sean ever would.
“Red’s massages help a lot,” he admitted. “Though I’ve never told her about it. Santos might have, though. After I’ve had a massage I sleep so good that night. The effect lasts for about a week.”
“I’ll sleep like a baby tonight,” Delaney said. “I can feel that massage, settling in my bones. I’ll sleep and I won’t think about the bike or the dog. I won’t smell sand and motor oil in my dreams, either.”
Sean grunted, followed by the hiss of water.
After a long round of quiet Delaney steered the conversation back to running. “I ran the Marine Corps Marathon, too. At Camp Leatherneck. The route is Leatherneck, Bastion and the flight line.”
Sean stuck his fingers in the faucet and flicked water in her face, making her blink, both from the water and in surprise. “Why do you always have to one-up me?”
She grinned and swiped her face with her palm. Sean handed her the wok and she gave him theAre you serious?face so he put it back on the counter.
“I bet training for that was fun.”
Delaney groaned. “It’s insane. Not just because of the heat. You’re at three thousand feet above sea level, the roads are either gravel or moon dust, and you’re sucking in sand and smoke and fumes for miles. Add to that a high op tempo and it gets tough. But.” She shrugged. “At least we got to run. It’s a much less crowded race than the one in DC, that’s for sure. You’re never elbowing a guy in a superhero costume or gagging on the perfume of the chick across from you.”
“Silver linings.” Sean went to hand her the chef’s knife he’d used to chop the broccoli and again Delaney shook her head.
“You don’t put good knives in the dishwasher.” She caught his wrist and peeked at the knife. “This is a Wüsthof. Which you probably just bought. And you’re trying to put it in the dishwasher. Were you raised in a barn?”
“No.” He stared down at her. “Butyouprobably were. Omaha.”
She smiled and squeezed his wrist tight. Sean smiled back. He didn’t even try to pull away. A quiet moment passed as they both realized the space that had closed between them had happened too quickly to notice. He glanced down and saw the light glinting off the Wüsthof, her slender fingers looking delicate against his forearm. It was no surprise to Sean that when he finally got close to the wildcat with whiskey-colored eyes there was an eight-inch knife in the mix.
Delaney slid her hand from his wrist to the knife, which she slipped from his fingers. She set it on the counter, then edged a little closer, officially eliminating any space between them. Sean’s body had an immediate physical reaction to her thighs brushing against his and her fingertips softly tracing the inside of his palm where the knife once was. Not only had it been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman, he’d been thinking about being this close to this woman ever since he’d laid eyes on her, so the intensity was a double blow. Blood rushed everywhere.
“Tell me something, Detective.” Delaney’s voice was low and soft, matching the simmering heat Sean could feel coming from the parts of her body that touched his. “The flowers. Why did you buy them?”
“I thought you’d think they were pretty,” he mumbled. At least, that’s what he thought he said. Ask him tomorrow, he might remember something else. Right now he was too busy trying to keep his hands to himself. When it came to women, Sean was always the one to make the first move. But like the other night in Delaney’s apartment, the last thing he wanted to do was repeat his past mistakes, come on too strong and mess everything up.
“They are pretty,” she agreed, even as she ran both of her hands up his arms, to his shoulders, where her palms flattened out and fingers spread. She pressed in tighter until Sean’s back was flush against the counter. “But why did you buythoseflowers?”
“They were pink and green,” Sean said, unaware he was going to admit that until the words left his mouth. “Those are your favorite colors, right?” There was a chance that he was wrong. That he’d interpreted the quilt on her couch all wrong. Watch. It was probably some old thing she’d used as cushion to pack boxes during all her years of moving and had just never gotten rid of.
Her grip on his shoulders tightened. “They are my favorite colors. Not by themselves, so much. The combination of them. There’s just something about them when they’re together.” She cocked her head to the side. “How did you know that?”
Sean shrugged. “I guessed. The quilt on your couch is pink and green.”
She smiled, then leaned in close, her breasts now against his chest. If he hadn’t been stupid before, Sean was about to get really stupid now. Not a sane thought entered his head as Delaney leaned in and trailed her lips over his, not really touching so much as grazing, like a teasing invitation. She smelled like the wind, her motorcycle shop, freshly washed hair. He wasn’t exactly sure from which direction she was coming—if she’d just given him a really sexy hug or a sweet little kiss. The edges were all blurred and soft, like her body and her personality.
Sean went with his instincts. He could only hold back so long. He slid one hand to the back of her neck, the other resting against her rib cage. He ran his thumb along her jaw, pulled her tighter. Whether she’d wanted this to be a real kiss or not, whether he was working on her case or not, Sean was not about to lose the opportunity to finally get a taste of the woman he’d fantasized about for many lonely nights.
Delaney made a little noise of surprise, had just pressed closer, as though egging him on, when a sudden, loud noise from the countertop made her jolt in his embrace. Delaney squeezed her arms tight around him and froze. After a couple of seconds she pulled back as Sean looked over her shoulder.
The brand-new wok, still unwashed, was on the floor, along with a few stray vegetables that had been knocked free, and a smattering of oil over the linoleum. Above, perched proudly on the counter, her tail flicking as she looked down on her handiwork, was Callie.
Delaney’s body slackened. She broke away, leaving Sean feeling cold and frustrated as her blurred edges parted from his. “Your cat is mad,” she said, her voice raspy. “She just threw your new wok on the floor.”
