When He's Dirty (Walker Security Adrian’s Trilogy #1) - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,16
the cookie.
Heat spikes between us and with good reason. He wants me to think about his fingers in my hair and his mouth on my mouth, and it works. I do. God, how I do. I shift in my seat and ask, “Where do you live now?”
“Walker’s based out of New York City, but I’m hardly ever home. I’m always away on a job. Last year, I spent a few months in Europe, traveling with an heir to the Stradivari empire.”
“Really? Wow. The Stradivari family? As in the famous violin makers?”
“Yes. That was her.”
“That’s amazing. Maybe one day you can actually tell me about it.”
“One day,” he says. “You mean when you’re past seeing me as the bad guy, I will.”
“I don’t see you as the bad guy.”
“Then let me walk you home,” he counters.
“I still don’t know you.”
“Let me rephrase: I’m not letting you walk home alone.”
“I can take an Uber.” I laugh bitterly. “But I guess the Uber driver could be my assassin, too. And at least I know you smell good.”
He smiles. “I smell good.”
“Well, you did the other night. I’m pretty sure you smell the same way I do tonight—essence of coffee beans.”
“Well, here’s my pitch: the good news is that, aside from my alluring coffee bean smell, I have skills. I’ll get you home safely.”
“Unless you’re here to kill me.”
“Without another taste?” he says. “Never.”
He’s flirting and I’m falling under his spell, which is why I say, “I have a gun. I know how to use it.”
His lips quirk. “Good. That’s good. I’ll be sure to ask before I kiss you again.”
“You asked the first time.”
His voice lowers, “And you said yes. Say yes now to me walking you home.”
There is something about this man, something that draws me to him and pulls me under in all the ways a woman wants to be pulled under. The timing might be horrible, but somehow, it’s just right. It’s perfect. It’s what I need. He is that little escape I need.
“Yes,” I say. “Please walk me home.”
Chapter Eight
PRI
Now that I’ve decided to trust Rafael and let him walk me home, I’m relieved for the company, proof that Agent Pitt’s warning is wearing on me. I shut my MacBook and put my work into my briefcase before pulling out my flats from my bag, and holding them up for Rafael to see. “These are so you don’t have to pick me up from the ground.” I replace my heels with my comfy walking slippers and stand up. Rafael does the same, and now we’re both at the end of the table, so close we’re almost touching, every part of me hyperaware of his closeness.
“You’re very tall,” I say, glancing up at him, hiding how affected I am by him with words.
“You’re very short,” he counters.
“Not when I have on my heels.”
His lips quirk. “I did have to lean down a little less last night than I would tonight to kiss you.”
As if I’m a schoolgirl, something about this moment heats my cheeks.
“But I promise not to kiss you tonight,” he says. “I won’t kiss you again until you trust me.” He picks up my bag. “And as proof, I’ll carry this. Your hands will be free, but mine won’t be. You’re safe.”
Safe he says, I think. I’m fairly certain there is nothing safe about this man, at least on a wholly personal level.
“Thank you,” I say, a little disappointed about the kiss, but also charmed by his reasoning.
We head outside, and with August barely behind us, the night is still warm and muggy, in the high seventies. “You said you moved here in the area?” I ask as we fall into step together.
“I am,” he says. “I’m in a house on Plum Street.”
“Oh well, that’s super close to my place, a few blocks at most.”
“How long have you been in the neighborhood?” he asks.
“Since I graduated college and started law school. I wish I could say I bought it on my own, but I didn’t. My house was a gift from my parents.”
He casts me a sideways look. “That’s very generous of them.”
“Not really,” I say. “I mean it was. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to seem like a spoiled brat, but my father does things to get things.”
“And what did he get?”
“Me working for his law firm.”
“Aren’t you with the DA?”
“I am, but I only joined the DA two years ago. I made a lot of money working with my father, but I wasn’t happy.”