Moth(35)

I’m a terrible person for enjoying this. I know I’m in the wrong, but when it feels this right I find it difficult to restrain.

“I’m pretty sure I’d still like you. Look, Windy, we all have secrets. I told you before I don’t care about your past. I’m living in the now. Right now I’m here with you, alone, cooking you dinner in your kitchen. If you want me to leave afterwards I will, but if you ask me to stay I’m okay with that too. Let’s go with it.”

“This is a terrible idea,” she says as I come close and pin her where she’s sitting. Our eyes are locked, our faces close. I want to kiss her, not just to earn her trust, because being in the same room with her makes me insane. My palms are sweaty, and I swear my heart rate has increased. This is out of character for me. I don’t get attached to people. I don’t make my cases personal. Why I can’t get it together with this one in particular is stressing me out. I need resolution, but the only way I can figure is to press my lips to hers and get it over with.

“Some things are worth the risk.” I stay in the same position. I want to see if she’ll move toward me. I can’t make all the effort. This is a test and it’s up to her show initiative. “How long has it been since your lips have been kissed?”

“I can’t remember,” she confesses.

“I think we need to get it over with to clear the air. Meet me halfway and I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.”

Slowly she inches her lips toward mine, and I can’t stop myself from experiencing it. I’m selfish and hungry. It shows the moment those tender lips press over mine. I take my fingers and dig them into her hair in order to pull her closer. Her tongue brushes over mine and my dick awakens. I’m already sweating, shaking from restraining for entirely too long. I’m not in denial. I know what this kiss means. It should be about earning her trust. If the guys are watching they’ll assume this is all part of the rouse. They’ll commend me for being fast and efficient.

Right now I don’t give a shit who this chick is. I’m not treating her like a criminal, a victim, or a possible lead. Right now she’s just a beautiful woman I’m dying to f*ck. With each stroke of her tongue I’m being hypnotized. She’s wrapping me around her little finger, and if I’m not careful I might get lost in this. It’s too good. She’s too perfect. Her kisses match mine like we’re old lovers. Her hands caress my arms as if she’s done this a thousand times. The more I try to back away the harder it becomes to even consider it. I’m a fiend. She’s my drug. I want to be addicted, because a single kiss has never felt this good.

The smell of something beginning to burn catches my attention. I finally break our embrace and tend to dinner without saying anything. She sits there silently, probably thinking the same things I am. Where do we go from here? Is this happening for real? I’m supposed to be pretending, but nothing about that kiss was fake. I want more, even when I know it’s dangerous and stupid. When I get the nerve to look at her again she’s smiling back at me. “Okay, Moth.”

“Okay what?” I calmly question.

“You’re right. I like guys with muscles. I like being challenged. It’s nice to have someone to talk to. What else do you want me to say?”

I move the pan away from the burner and slide between her dangling legs again. My hand comes up and reaches in her hair, tugging at the messy bun. Her chin lifts and the nape of her neck is in full view. “You could say you’re starving. Dinner is almost done.”

She’s surprised I’m not trying anything. “I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

I smirk. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Save that conversation for dessert, beautiful.”

One kiss. That’s all it takes for this chick to bring me to my knees. As much as I know I need to run out of there and clear my head, I remain. I don’t care about the backlash I’ll get from the guys. I don’t care about the danger, or her real identity. I’m living a lie because I know it’s the only way I can be close to her. My head is in my ass, and as long as it stays there I can continue carrying on this charade.





Chapter 12


We’re standing in her doorway after enjoying a nice dinner in front of the television. We talked about everyday things, but nothing that will lead me closer to solving this case. If anything, it’s making it harder to focus. I feel like the girl I’m getting to know isn’t the same one I’m after for answers. I don’t understand how I’m able to differentiate them, but it’s happening and I like it. I like her, entirely too much for this to feel comfortable.

I don’t overstay my welcome, even though it’s agony to leave this early. I have to take my time and do this right. I’m already going to regret the day when she discovers this was all a ploy to get to the truth, and that I’m not who I say I am. She’ll hate me. I’ll be the enemy and everything we will share will turn into a lifetime of regret. For now it feels right. It feels as if we could be good together. I want to know her, even if everything she says is a bold-faced lie. I’m not sure who is playing who. It’s a dangerous concoction, and I’m facing it head on with no regard for repercussions. “Thanks for inviting me over.”

“I didn’t invite you, Moth. You invited yourself.” Do I sense disdain in her tone?