Bare skin pressed to bare skin. Lips and tongues and fingers moving. Brushing. Caressing.
Savoring.
“Whoa. Exactly what are you thinking of? Or should I say, who are you thinking of?”
She jolted at Karen’s words. Swallowed hard. “Sorry. I guess I’ve had one too many drinks.”
“Uh-huh,” Karen said knowingly.
As Karen paid the check, Nina struggled with what she was feeling. Once again, she tried to get a handle on her feelings for Simon.
At the park, she’d been scared off by the power of her feelings for him. But she hadn’t spent a whole lot of time thinking about what he wanted from her, besides the physical. Was there a chance he wanted more than that from her? That he might want the emotional intimacy that she did? That he’d want a real relationship with her, even after this week was over?
The fact he’d opened up to her earlier in the day was a point in her favor. Despite what he’d said before, he’d obviously grown to like her. He also wanted her. And wanted to protect her. She could almost convince herself that those things meant something significant.
But he still had major issues with what she did for a living. And that meant he had major issues with who she was at her core. He was also still grieving the loss of Lana Hudson. And every time he thought of what Nina did for a living, he’d inevitably think of Lana.
For that reason alone, things could never work out between them.
She couldn’t forget that.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, Simon snapped his cell phone shut and searched for Nina. He’d picked her up at her house that morning and they’d already gone on a couple of calls before stopping to have lunch back at SIG headquarters. Afterward, a victim on one of his cases had called wanting an update.
Nina had been across the room a few moments earlier, laughing with Carrie, but now she was nowhere in sight. He was about to check the break room for her when DeMarco came around the corner, his nose buried in a file, and almost slammed into Simon.
At seeing his friend, Simon immediately switched gears. “Hey. I was just looking for Nina but I wanted to get back to you about—”
“I haven’t seen her,” DeMarco snapped. “Besides, what do I look like? Your personal assistant?”
Simon frowned at DeMarco’s tone. Frowned even deeper at seeing his ramrod-straight spine and the quiver in his tightly clenched jaw. DeMarco’s swarthy good looks were pinched with tension. He looked about ready to blow. “What’s wrong? Did something happen on your date last night?”
“My date—? Oh, right. No. My date was fine.”
Given the way DeMarco averted his gaze, Simon didn’t buy that for a second. “You got something on your chest? Let’s get that drink you were talking about. Or a cup of coffee right now.”
Indecision flashed across DeMarco’s face before he shook his head. “You’re looking for Nina, remember? Besides, I’m fine,” DeMarco said. “I’ll catch you later.” He strode out of the office, leaving Simon to wonder what the hell was going on.
Sure, the stress of the job got to everyone at some point, but was that what this was about? He’d never seen DeMarco quite so on edge. Maybe Nina was right. Maybe DeMarco needed to talk to someone. Not just a friend but a professional...
Just as he had the first time he’d had the thought, Simon backtracked. Unlike before, he wasn’t so sure it was the right thing to do.
What? Now that he had a shrink at his side day in and day out, was he really starting to buy into the whole touchy-feely therapy thing? He wasn’t an idiot. He knew mental health professionals could really help people. Medicine, in particular, could do wonders for those who needed it.
But for someone like him? For someone like DeMarco?
No. They were stronger than that.
DeMarco didn’t need Simon to be all up in his business. He’d make sure they had that drink, but as for the counseling thing? DeMarco was a grown man and could make his own decisions.
He’d just started to look for Nina again when she rounded the corner, a cup of coffee in each hand, and proceeded to hand him one. “Cream, no sugar, right?”
“Uh, right. Thanks.” He gulped down the coffee, ignoring the burn in his throat, and said, “You ready to head out again?”
“Sure. I’m ready whenever—”
His cell phone rang again. “Sorry,” he said. “Let me just get this.”