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“Sorry about that.” I drop my hands, taking a step away from her. “This is Elvis.”
I gesture to my basset hound who’s whimpering for Lori’s attention, and she crouches down to love on him.
“Oh my god,” she coos, rubbing his ears. His tail wags in excitement. “Aren’t you the sweetest little thing.” She eyes me over her shoulder. “Did you really name your hound dog Elvis?”
I shrug. “What can I say, I’ve always been a big Elvis fan.”
“Me too, actually,” she admits, coming to her feet. “He was my first celebrity crush.”
The woman loves dogs, and she’s an Elvis fan. I think I might’ve just fallen in love, and something tells me she’s going to take me on quite a ride.
3
Lori
The clattering of pans and clinking of plates wakes me. The smell of bacon hits me, and for a moment, I feel as if I’ve been transported back in time to my childhood bedroom. Every Sunday, my mother would wake up early to make us breakfast to ensure no one complained about being hungry during church.
My eyes flutter open and begin to roam around the room, and I realize I’m not in my bedroom, or even one I recognize. It’s obvious this is the bedroom of a bachelor. The room lacks a feminine touch. Bare walls, missing curtains, and mismatched furniture. Even the headboard has a masculine feel to it, clearly handmade from old planks of wood. Panic streams through my veins as I sit up and search my foggy brain for answers. I never stay the night with the guys I hook up with. That implies the encounter is about more than sex, and for me, it never is. My interest in relationships was lost a long time ago.
My gaze lands on the police academy plaque, and the previous night’s events quickly unfold. Groaning, I plant my head in the palms of my hands. The handsome officer from the coffee shop hasn’t left my mind since the day I first laid eyes on him. Yet, somehow, I was surprised to see him at the station. Much like the first time we met, I felt completely off my game around him.
When he asked me to dinner, I should’ve flat out declined. He clearly likes to court a woman before taking her to bed. The kind of guy who pulls out your chair, holds open doors, and is always offering you his hand. As if a woman can’t manage to stand on her own.
Those types of men are merely tricksters. Though some are purely lying to themselves rather than the women they pursue, it’s still that—a lie. It’s a carefully weaved deception designed to fool you into believing they’re somehow different or better than other men. If anything, they’re worse. They build your hopes up and raise your standards only to let you down.
And I know better, but I wanted him so badly, I chose to ignore it. After he agreed to take me home with him, I thought he might let go of the façade, that we could skip all the bullshit and move on to the main event.
I was wrong.
He was the perfect gentleman all night, which was so fucking annoying. I threw every trick in the book at him hoping he’d make a move, but nothing worked. When he expressed concerns about me driving home after drinking wine, I even accepted his offer to stay, never believing we’d only be sleeping. I crawled into his bed wearing nothing but my underwear and the t-shirt he’d given me, certain he wouldn’t be able to resist.
He spooned up next to me, wrapping his arm around me. I pressed myself into the curve of his body, sure I’d won. But ten minutes later, he was fast asleep, and I wasn’t too far behind him.
It wasn’t a matter of disinterest, of that I’m sure. That was proven the moment after we arrived here when I caught him off guard and kissed him. That kiss…holy hell. It was the most passionate kiss I’ve ever experienced—lots of exploring hands and deep moans. Elvis better be glad he’s so damn cute. I wasn’t happy about him interrupting my seduction plans. The mere memory of it is enough to get me out of the bed. I’m a woman on a mission, and this time, we aren’t stopping after one kiss.
I make my way toward the master bath, stopping at his dresser to examine the framed pictures on top. There’s a photo of a young boy with a man and a woman. Spencer and his parents, perhaps. The woman’s smile reminds me of his, and the man’s deep brown eyes have the same kind of glow as Spencer’s. The other photograph is a recent one of Spencer in his uniform, standing next to an elderly woman. My stomach tightens as I trace over his form with my finger, reminding me of my task at hand, and I hurry into the bathroom.
I comb my hair, wash my face, and brush my teeth with my finger before following the alluring smell coming from the kitchen. It’s almost impossible to be quiet in this old country house, the wood floors cracking and popping under my feet with each step I take. Not that he would hear it over his singing. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as he easily belts out “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd. The man has a smooth voice, I’ll give him that, but it’s not his vocals I’m interested in.
Spencer
My heart beats a little faster when Lori saunters into the kitchen, looking incredibly sexy in my old police academy shirt. She stops next to me and leans over the island, smirking as the t-shirt rides up, revealing her black underwear. Those mesmerizing blue eyes lock on me as she rests her elbows on the counter, perching her head on her hands.
This woman doesn’t play fucking fair. All night she pulled out all the stops trying to get me to take her to bed. She undoubtedly isn’t accustomed to having to try so hard. Lord knows it’s taken all my strength not to fold. If it weren’t for my suspicion that sleeping with her would mean I’d never see her again, I would’ve given in by now. More than once.
But the longer I was around her and the more we talked, the more I got the impression she uses sex and her body like a weapon. She’s protecting herself by creating an emotional barrier. She doesn’t trust men, or perhaps people in general. Not that I blame her for feeling that way. In my line of work, you see some fucked up shit. The worst sides of humanity tend to shine through. If my grandmother hadn’t taught me to always see the good in people, I might feel the same way.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” I say.
“Good morning. Did Elvis leave the building?”
I chuckle as she gives me a lazy smile, my eyes wandering down her body on their own. “Yeah, he’s outside.” My gaze settles on the curves of her ass, her cheeks peeking out of those black panties, and my dick twitches as I pull my eyes away and hurry over to the other side of the kitchen.
With my back to her, I take a deep breath to regroup, grabbing a coffee mug from the cabinet. “Do you take your coffee black or with cream and sugar?” I call over my shoulder, filling the cup.
“Black. All that other shit only wastes calories and takes up space.”
Nodding in agreement, I turn and place the coffee down in front of her. She picks it up and hums with satisfaction as she brings it to her lips. My eyes begin roaming over her again, and I pull them back up quickly. She eyes me over the brim of her cup, giving me a knowing smile as she places the cup back on the counter.
