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Finally cracking, she twines her arm up to wrap around my neck. “You’re a hopeless romantic.”
“Not always.” Pulling back just an inch, I drop the tip of my finger in the V of her shirt and drag it forward so I can get a peek. “In fact, I recall being called fast and loose… by you.”
“I was saying unkind things because I was upset.”
I chuckle low under my breath. “I understand. But you weren’t wrong. Once upon a time, big bad Arch was a big dirty slut.”
“You liked picking up killers in a bar, too.” She turns her face to look back toward the courthouse.
It’s not like she’ll see the woman from here—or at all, considering—but while she does that, I take the opportunity to taste.
In a few hours when we’re done with work, I’ll expand my expedition south and sample so much more.
“You never told me about Kayla Laverne.”
I nip the hollow between her collarbones. “We weren’t together long.”
Laughter bubbles along her throat and comes out on a silly giggle. “You’re such an asshole. Since when do you work undercover?”
“Whenever my lieutenant tells me to. Or whenever a case calls for it. Or hell,” I bite again, “whenever I fucking want to. What have you got going on the rest of the day?”
“Hmm?” She slides her fingers through the hair on the back of my head.To pull me away? To bring me closer?“Uh… paperwork, probably. I dunno. I can’t remember when you’re licking me.”
“Dinner tonight?” I slide my hand along her ribs, down to her hip, and squeeze until her breath comes short. “With me.”
“I was actually hoping Detective Fletcher would ask me out. So…”
I scoff. “Fletch sends his regards from the grave. As does every other guy you might consider dating. And since we’re on the subject, marry me already?”
“Oh my god.” Frustrated, she finds a little of that strength she was searching for and pushes me back, breaking the seal of my lips on her skin. “You can’t marry someone you hardly know, Archer!”
“But, podcasts.” Since she refuses to be my chew-thing, I study her beautiful eyes instead. The golden specks amongst deep, deep brown. The knowledge she holds behind them. And further down her face, the dimples that star in my every sex dream. “And cherry Chapstick. Ticklish elbows. And your favorite song is ‘Popular Monster’ because you’re a fucking psycho.”
She sniggers until a rosy blush fills her cheeks. “It’s a good song.”
“I don’t ‘hardly know’ you, Mayet. I know you a bunch, and I’m searching for more every day.” Flashing a smug grin, my movement draws her attention down. “I’m a detective, after all. The most qualified for the job.”
“I’m not a case for you to investigate.” A soft growl works along her throat. She tries for anger, but in my mind, I see a little kitten trying to be scary.
That’s not to say she’s not terrifying in her own way, as chief M.E. at the George Stanley. And as a fucking killer.
A killer of killers, she says. That’s a can ofwhat the fuckwe’ll unpack over time.
Together.
The homicide detective and the homicidal woman.
But it’s a box we’ll unpack in private. Not in any interview room, courthouse, or anywhere else we can be overheard.
“Well,” she amends quickly, no doubt reading where my mind has gone. “Icanbe a case for you, seeing as how you’re so good at snitching to a judge. But you don’t have to marry me for that.”
“I’m gonna marry you because I want you more than I want the judicial system to know your name. And I’m gonna learn everything about you, not for a case, but because I’m asking you for the thousandth fucking time to marry me.”
“Archer!”
“But we’ll take it slow.” I lean in and take her tongue with mine. It’s a proven tactic to get her to shut up and stop arguing with me. “Dinner tonight?”
“Sure. At my apartment or yours?”
