In A Fix - Mary Calmes Page 0,37
I would never go for it if you were my guy.”
“There are no other options,” I explained logically, realizing that neither of us had moved at all, still plastered together, the warmth of his body seeping into mine, the mere fact of his presence, calming.
“This is why I hate ops with civilians,” he grumbled. “They never work out. You always end up in the middle of some bullshit cathartic moment.”
I snorted, letting my head fall back, sinking deeper into the lush couch. “This is what makes life interesting, don’t you think?”
His whine was painful, long-suffering, and hysterical. I couldn’t have stifled my chuckling if I tried.
“You’re a dick,” he pronounced as three women joined us.
“Can I sit there?” one of the women asked, pointing between us, smiling seductively.
Beautiful woman, tall, with jet-black hair and fire-engine-red lipstick. Utterly stunning, dressed provocatively, but also elegantly. It wasn’t everyone that could combine the two and pull it off so flawlessly. The way she was looking at Dallas, like he was something she wanted to try, was both predatory and flattering. There was no reason for him to say no.
“No,” he answered belligerently, crossing his arms for emphasis. “We’re good.”
She smiled in return and took hold of her two friends, leading them away, back toward the bar area where the other guys were.
“What in the world are you doing?” I asked, curious as to what was going through his head. “She was gorgeous.”
“I’m working.”
“You could have arranged a play date later.”
His lashes fluttered.
“You’re falling asleep,” I groused. He’d been hungry and tired back at the interrogation room—and then it hit me. “Let me call your wife or––” Yes, I was fishing, and it wasn’t subtle, but I didn’t care either.
“I’m not married,” he said, and it was easy to see he was rankled, edgy, that sort of tired where you couldn’t get comfortable, where you were itchy and it felt like there were ants crawling around under your skin. “Do I look like someone who would be married?”
“What does married look like?” I shot back.
“Content,” he murmured, “peaceful.”
Interesting. “I think you have a skewed perception of what it looks like.”
“How would you know?” He bit out the words. “Are you married?”
“No.”
He let out a breath like he’d been holding it.
“You need someone to take you home.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re falling asleep right here.”
“I’m a hundred percent awake,” he said, his voice deep and croaky.
Such a liar.
“I’m in charge of a joint sting operation with the FBI and DEA,” he informed me with a grunt at the end before laying his head on my shoulder. Like that meant he was too busy and important to be exhausted.
“Don’t do that,” I scolded him, about to get up.
“Stop moving,” he snapped.
When I turned my head to growl at him, I got a face full of his hair. It smelled faintly of oud, of all things, and citrus and green tea. I inhaled deeply.
The noise he made, like he was settling in, almost a guttural purr, sent ripples of electricity through me like a pinball, bouncing off nerve endings and causing an excited tremble that sparked over my skin.
Worst. Timing. Ever.
If I were at home, and found him at a bar, I would have had him in the bathroom pressed up against a stall or bent over the sink. I’d be done and sated and––
“You need to give me ten minutes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just sit still. Can you do that? Sit still?”
Could I—what? “Of course I can sit––”
“Good,” he whispered, the sound rough and raspy. His nose bumped against the side of my neck, the warmth of him, all of it combined was drugging, totally overwhelming my senses and making me pliant and agreeable. I wouldn’t have moved for anything less than a threat to his life. Or Brig’s.
Maybe.
I might leave him for Brig, since I was working after all, but I’d really have to weigh the threat. Like, it would need to be much higher than the Digby Ingram incident.
On the other hand, if someone tried to hurt Dallas…I’d eviscerate them. It was a scary thought. Not the idea of controlling a threat—that was part of my job—but my bristling at the mere thought of Dallas in danger.
I wanted to protect him. What in the world was that about?
“I haven’t slept in…days,” he said with a yawn before his hand on my thigh relaxed and he slouched into me.
Being used for a pillow should not have been sexy, but somehow the action equaled trust in my mind. He