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My thought cuts off when his eyes snap up to mine. I haven’t spoken nor moved to sit down next to him. It doesn’t take an educated guess to wonder what’s flipping through my brain, and those eyes beneath dark lashes reveal too much.
“Stop profiling me and sit your ass down.” There’s no bark to his words. It’s not an order, and if it were, I’d do the opposite just to piss him off. Maybe that’s his point. Maybe that’s what he wants me to do so I’ll stop scrutinizing him.
He huffs, leaning back against the couch; dinner momentarily forgotten.
“If there is something you want to ask, then get on with the questioning.” He slides one leg up, propping his elbow on his knee.
I take the opportunity to bring my beer up to my lips, slowly tipping the bottle back. My eyes never waver as the cold liquid slides down my throat, proving I’m right—irritation flares. He doesn’t like my silence. Drago doesn’t know how to handle it.
Is it wrong of me to find a smidgen of happiness in that?
“There’s nothing in particular I want to ask,” I say, throwing him a bone. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
I tip the bottle back again and keep watching as his jaw locks.
“Didn’t we go over this? I’m not into anything illegal.”
“We did.”
I set the bottle in my hand down on the glass table next to the Styrofoam container he’s placed out for me, then I round the table, stepping over him, sitting on his lap with my knees pressed into the floor next to his sides.
“I said I’d take your word and I do. I believe you until you prove otherwise.” I cup his face in both hands as I stare down, firmly and honestly, letting him into my soul. “Just don’t prove otherwise.” I shake my head from side to side.
Drago wraps his hands around my hips as the irritation seeps out of his facial expression. He kisses me on the next move. It’s not frenzied. He’s slow about it and that makes it so much hotter.
Do I think he’s hiding something from me? Yes, I do.
Do I think he’s a bad man? A criminal? An evil person that would harm a child? I don’t. When we’re together, my gut feeling is to believe he is none of those things. Does being in his arms and enjoying our time together cloud my judgment? Most definitely, but it wouldn’t feel this good or this right if Drago didn’t have a pure heart.
It couldn’t.
And God help me if I’m wrong.
No matter what happens, if this goes south, if he’s lying to me, I will do everything within my power to protect the little boy who’s sleeping in the other room. I might give in to pleasure, but I do so with eyes wide open.
If it comes down to it, and I pray it doesn’t, I will choose Gabriel’s safety and wellbeing over anything else. As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s stolen more than just a room in my condo. He’s stolen my heart. And I also know that’s exactly why I haven’t called the chief about him still being in my care. It’s why I haven’t said a word to Mike. If Mike knew I still had him, he would have jumped on it and gotten in touch with Tom’s contact.
But my neighbor is right. Isn’t she? He does need someone to care for him the right way. A child needs more than food in their bellies. More than a warm bed to sleep in at night. They need love.
My eyes open when he pulls away from my lips. I hadn’t even realized they’d closed.
He’s looking right at me, but he’s not present as if he’s deep in thought. The moment he finally reappears, I know he’s going to ask me whatever it is he has on his mind.
“Why are you breaking protocol?” His thick, dark eyebrows almost meet together. “Why did you let me take you home with me that night? Hell, why did you start up something you knew you shouldn’t have?”
“I wish I fucking knew.”
What else am I going to tell him—or myself? Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be in this predicament. Not that it’s unpleasant, but there is an embarrassing aspect to it. I’m risking a lot. I’m risking everything on something that could play out to be just a fling. For the life of me, I don’t know why. There has to be more than an overwhelming amount of attraction between us. There has to be...
“You’re putting your career on the line.” His words are a statement. And one I hadn’t wanted voiced.
I lean back, looking away from him because I hadn’t wanted to voice that out loud. It’s one thing for them to roll around in my head. It’s another for it to be laid out in the open.
“You sure you want to do that?”
“No.”
I’m not. I love my job. I know I’m good at it. It’s not something I’ll ever willingly walk away from. The pay sucks, but the fulfillment I get out of it is worth so much more than money. No—I’ll have to be forced to leave my role in law enforcement.
