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And he wasn’t mad. Gone was the perma-scowl and the furrowed brow. If anything, his expression was curious. Soft eyes and lips pursed slightly.
I stood up and turned the water off. The shower stall had suddenly become way too small and way too warm.
He stepped out and handed me a neatly folded towel, which I promptly wrapped around myself. Mainly to hide my extremely excited nipples, but also as an added layer of protection from the vulnerability of the moment.
He grabbed a towel for himself. But instead of using it to dry off, he placed it on the edge of the sink and went to work unbuttoning his shirt. It was soaked and plastered to his skin, but he slowly and methodically worked each button from its hole while I tried to busy myself with my wet hair to avoid staring.
In the mirror, he caught my gaze. I wrapped my towel tighter and watched him in return, not sure how to begin to unpack the vulnerability I was feeling.
He looked at me for an extra moment, raising one eyebrow, then he turned around. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said, his usual curt tone returning. With that, he stepped out of the room and shut the door.
I gave him a few minutes before I slipped out and hightailed it down the hall to my room. Part of me wanted to stay, talk about whatever had happened between us. But nothing good would come from verbalizing what I had just felt.
Because I was a professional. And he was my client. And any fleeting attraction or connection must be avoided at all costs.
Chapter13
Parker
There were more clothes in the pile on my bed than there were left in the closet at this point. I couldn’t decide what to wear. It wasn’t an inauguration or a movie premier. No, I was prepping for a night out at the local dive bar, hilariously called Duck, Duck, Moose. No one could accuse the citizens of Lovewell of lacking a sense of humor.
The Gagnons were headed there tonight, along with most of the locals, and I intended to bring my conversational A game. I was feeling the pressure to make a good impression. The longer I stayed in Lovewell, the deeper I was pulled in, and my insecurities were starting to take hold.
Because someone knew. It wasn’t Paz’s fault. He had been playing the role of doting boyfriend perfectly. I had made a mistake somewhere. A tactical error.
When I left for the gym this morning, I found it. Right on my windshield. A neat manilla envelope tucked behind my wiper.
Inside was a lined piece of notebook paper, the edges jagged from where it had been ripped. Someone had written, in neat block letters,Go home, pig. Stop sticking your snout where it doesn’t belong.
There was nothing else. My car wasn’t vandalized. Nothing was stolen. Only this note.
So someone was on to me. Someone knew. And while I was used to being called every dirty cop word in existence, I hadn’t expected it here. I had no social media, no digital footprint whatsoever. My company website didn’t even have a headshot. I knew how to fly under the radar.
I racked my brain, trying to figure out where I could have blown my cover. I’d worked nonstop this week. Full of interviews and research and a town bonfire. And I was still working to wrap my mind around the various moving pieces while ensuring I didn’t miss any important information. There were levels of complexity to every case, but this was beginning to feel personal. And it worried me. A lot of things were worrying me at the moment.
Especially my outfit. And although it was so unlike me, I wanted to cry. I wasn’t under any delusions about my body. It was imperfect, and I was perfectly okay with that. I took care of it, and it took care of me.
But recently, I had felt more self-conscious than I had since I was in my early twenties. More and more often, I found myself wondering if my pants were unflattering, or if I should put on more makeup.
It was infuriating. I had little time for insecurity. I was thirty-four, and I had been through all that shit in my teens and twenties. These days, I was committed to loving myself.
But Paz’s gaze was so calculating. As if he was making a mental tally of every one of my flaws when he looked at me. And his physical perfection wasn’t helping matters. So my head was fuzzy and confused. And I was suffering through a major bout of imposter syndrome to boot.
I pulled open every drawer of the dresser, hoping to stumble upon something amazing Liv had thrown into my bag when I wasn’t looking. And there it was. The pearly pink lace bra. It was almost translucent and had delicate demi cups that enhanced my cleavage and made me feel like a goddess in the process. I shifted my sports bras out of the way and found the matching panties. Of course Liv had packed them. She was a completist like that.
Robed in my finest lingerie like a knight would equip himself with armor, I found a passable denim skirt and a cute off-the-shoulder top and set to putting on my makeup. I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to knock this town dead.
Because the clock was ticking. I didn’t know how much time I had before my cover was blown and I lost the chance to solve this case.
Though Paz wasn’t one for small talk, he was exceptionally quiet on the ride to the bar. When I’d come downstairs ready to go, he had stared for a moment, biting his bottom lip while his eyes roved down my bare legs to my suede ankle boots and then back up to my face. We stood in silence as featherlight flutters erupted low in my abdomen. After a moment, he grunted and held an arm out toward the door.
Things had been really weird since the moment in the shower the other night. He had been keeping his distance. Coming home late and leaving early and generally avoiding being in my presence. I couldn’t say I was mad, because the time apart was necessary in order to calm the curiosity that had compounded as we dripped water onto the tile floor while assessing each other that evening. But tonight, we’d have to behave like a couple, and we’d have to do it in a way that convinced the nosy townsfolk of Lovewell. And the thought of diving back into that role made my stomach flip.
I spent the fifteen-minute drive dissecting my feelings and working to categorize them in a way that made sense. His attention, when focused on my body, unnerved me, but there was more to it. Usually, when he looked at me, it was with annoyance or pure judgment. But tonight? He’d practically devoured me from across the room with a kind of hunger I had never experienced before. The curtain had been drawn back during those carefree moments we’d shared, and I had gotten a glimpse of what he was like without artifice or pretense.
And I found myself wanting more.
The Moose was a fascinating spot. Clearly, it aspired to be a dive, but the cleanliness and good lighting betrayed those fantasies, rendering it a charming local watering hole with killer waffle fries. One side was set up with booths and high-top tables, while the other was filled with pool tables and a small stage and dance floor. A massive dark wood bar cut through the middle, giving patrons on either side of the establishment equal access to the alcohol.
