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Colton did mention her being hyperfocused and that Burr’s murder was similar to her sister’s. I think he saw this coming, and no doubt feels helpless. Now I have to determine whether helping her will feed an idea she’s created on her own or believe what she believes and help her find a second murderer that may be killing again.
“Cerberus rarely gets involved with domestic cases,” I inform her.
“I’m not asking Cerberus for help,” she says, locking her eyes with mine. “You probably shouldn’t even mention it to Diego Anderson or any other member of your gang.”
“Club,” I correct. “It’s clear you have some pretty well-formed opinions about me and this place, so why are you even here?”
“Club,” she repeats. “Sorry.”
She chews the inside of her cheek as she waits for my answer, and I’m seriously fucking torn. I have no doubt that going down this rabbit hole with her would be bad for everyone involved if she’s wrong, but if she’s right…
On one hand, I know I should tell her no. Feeding into it wouldn’t be healthy, but on the other hand, I know she isn’t going to let it go, no matter what choice I make.
I shouldn’t feel a thrill of possibility race up my back at the prospect of spending more time with her. Not only did the woman arrest me on very little evidence, she already has me acting differently than any other woman I’ve ever spent time with behind closed doors.
“I’ll help you,” I answer, and I already know I’m in trouble when a wide smile spreads across her face.
Chapter 15
Lennox
“If we’re going to work together, you can’t do that,” he grumbles.
“What?” I ask, the smile falling from my face.
“You can’t look at me like you wish I hadn’t gotten dressed.”
I’m trying to formulate a response when he drops his ass to the bed and pats the spot beside him.
My first instinct is to obey, but then I catch the twitch of his lips when I shift slightly to walk forward.
“I made a mistake. I think this is a bad idea.” I chance a look at the door, thinking walking right back out of it would be best for the both of us.
“You’re sure?” he asks, and his voice has that same silky edge to it that it had that night.
My body reads it the same way it did in the hotel room, and that’s dangerous territory for me. Getting lost in this man would be fun. I’m well aware just how skilled he is at reading my body, and I have no doubt that he’s capable of giving me the things I need, even those things I can’t bring myself to ask for.
“Maybe we can go where there isn’t a bed?” I offer.
His grin is slow, filled with mischievous intent. “Do you think I need a bed for me to fuck you, Lennox?”
I’m not normally a woman known for giving into whimsy. I don’t make rash decisions. Even the night we met at the gym, I spent time watching him as we both worked out. I knew he was circling me as he moved from one machine to the next because I was doing the same. We were both actively orbiting one another, getting a feel for the other person.
Before spending time alone with him, I probably could’ve pulled the plug on hooking up and resisted him, but there’s just something about finally finding a guy that knows what he’s doing in bed.
Most men will brag and talk themselves up. Hell, women have been faking orgasms for so long, they’re part of the problem, letting men think they know what the hell they’re doing, but few exist who honestly do.
There was no faking with Sawyer Maddox. His skills had skills. His confidence is also a big part of it. Right now, he’s just staring at me, begging me to deny it, forcing me to imagine what him not needing a bed looks like.
On some level, I hate him for it, that ability to take over my thoughts and make me want things I shouldn’t.
“Definitely a bad idea. I should’ve asked someone to help who hasn’t seen me naked.”
His eyes drop, scanning me from my legs and back up to my face. It has the power to leave me breathless, my eyes unconsciously dropping to his lap. His condition looks painful, the way he’s straining in his jeans. The ridge of muscles lining his abdomen flex, the sight of it encouraging my mouth to water. I know exactly what that trail of hair there feels like against my tongue. I know his thick, pierced cock hides behind those jeans.
“It’s you,” he says, his voice no more than a whisper.
“Me?” I ask, reluctant to pull my eyes from his body, my mind remembering how his powerful muscles flex and clench when he’s rolling his hips as he thrusts inside of me. How he’d slow down without provocation when I’d get close because he controlled my pleasure.
