The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,73

red leather thong. “This was in Jake’s desk?”

“Apparently he had several private collections, not just voyeur footage. I’m thinking if we ask around, lots of Beau Elan tenants will report missing lingerie.”

Trey put the scrap of underwear back in the box. He seemed at a loss for what to do next.

“I am certain this is why Jake was sent packing,” I said. “And I am equally certain no one will be pleased that I got my hands on it first.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m not asking you to cover for me or get me off the hook. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No. It was the fault of the woman who released this to you without checking with me or Landon first. But I’ll still get in trouble.”

He stood up and made his way to the kitchen where he pulled a familiar green bottle from the refrigerator. He unscrewed it slowly, then took a deliberate mindful sip. I waited while he finished. It took three minutes and he didn’t say one word the entire time. But when he was done, he placed the empty bottle on the counter and retrieved a second one. This one he brought to me.

“Are you mad?” I said.

“No.”

I put the bottle on the coffee table. “Why not?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps we’re a team now, as you said. That comes with different rules.”

I managed a laugh. “I’m not so good with rules, you know.”

“I know. But you always have a good reason for breaking them. I don’t always understand the reason, but you seem to, so I trust you.”

The thought warmed me. “You do?”

“Of course. That’s how partners operate. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one, but I remember that much.”

He was standing too close again—I had to tilt my head way back to look into his face. I thought of the MRI scans, the puzzle pieces of his identity. I’d seen his cognitive blueprint, and he was still unknown to me, perhaps unknowable. I thought again of bridges, and I decided the hardest part of building one must be deciding where to start.

So before I could analyze my actions, much less stop myself, I stood up and put my hand to his face. And then I pulled his mouth to mine and kissed him.

His mouth was warm and soft, and he responded with easy abandon. And it was good, soooo good, but in the back of my head, I was thinking panicked thoughts—oh, God, I started this, what am I doing, I’m too stupid for words, gotta stop—but the kiss was so lovely and so mind-blowing that I just surrendered to it like an addict.

He pulled away suddenly, his expression deeply curious. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

I laughed. “Yes, I think I am.”

Without a word of warning, he put his hands on my waist and steered me backwards, then lifted me gently and settled me on his desk. And then he moved closer, and I looked him right in the eye. Something new burned beneath the cool detachment, and it made me feel powerful and reckless. I wanted him so much at that moment, wanted to lose myself in him, just for one moment. I reached for the top button on his shirt…

And his phone rang.

He didn’t even look at it, didn’t even blink.

I sighed. “You have to get it, you know you do.”

He hesitated.

“Trey.”

He fished the phone out of his jacket pocket and put it to his ear. “Seaver here.”

His voice was calm. I, however, felt like crying.

“Yes,” he said. “I can do that. Give me twenty, no, thirty minutes.”

He slipped the phone back in his pocket. Then he put his hand to the side of my face and ran his thumb along my jaw line. I closed my eyes, waiting for his mouth, but nothing happened. I opened my eyes.

He was reading me. Like I’d lie to him, like I’d even try it. But still he watched my mouth, once again remote, once again the calculating machine.

“What do you want?” he said.

“I swear I don’t know, Trey. I really don’t.”

He nodded. And then he abruptly pulled away and straightened his jacket, heading for the bathroom. His absence was a vacuum. The inevitable retreat, I thought, and I wasn’t expecting it.

But then I thought, oh, sure I was. I’d been expecting it all along.

I pulled myself together and slid down from the desk, knocking over his pencil cup as I did. It created a spot of chaos in the otherwise unbroken neatness, the kind of precise