When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(84)

“You have feelings toward me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a serial killer?”

“I don’t think so. And given that true crime is my hobby, I think I would know.”

“You’ve always wanted to meet me.”

“True.”

“Because you’re a true-crime aficionado, and what true-crime enthusiast wouldn’t want to talk to someone like me?”

“I wanted to meet you. Then I did. And then . . . I want more. Which has nothing to do with your past and everything to do with who you are right now. And how you make me feel right now.”

“Can we take this right now to right now?”

“Most relationships happen that way.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay,” he agrees. Then a moment later. “Do you need to rest, or shower, or eat, or anything at all?”

I shake my head against his shoulder.

“Good. Because the first time, while great, was a bit on the rushed side. Now . . . I think we can do even better.”

My eyes widen slightly. Then he’s moving, shifting his weight above. I gasp. No talking, no thinking, just feeling, as he proves his point: The second time is even better.

Right before I drift off to sleep, I have a realization.

I’m not surviving anymore.

Finally, I’m thriving.



* * *



—

I BOLT AWAKE. I REGISTER a foreign weight on the bed, an intruder in the room. Instinctively, I lash out. Thumbs, elbows, knees. Women might not be as strong as men, but there are ways we can still do damage.

“Shit! Flora, Flora, it’s me!”

A hand grabs my arm. I roll into the hold, inside my attacker’s strike zone, where I can gouge my thumb into eyeballs.

“Flora, wake up!”

I’m naked. He’s naked. Both of his hands clasp my arms. I should, I should . . . Keith. I had sex with Keith. I fell asleep with Keith. I am with Keith. Dear God, what have I done?

As fast as I attacked, now I retreat, yanking my arms free, spinning away.

“Stop!”

A bedside lamp snaps on. Keith’s features emerge. “Flora Dane, don’t move another inch.”

I glare at him. “You sound like my mother.”

“Really? You attack your mother in the middle of the night, too?”

“A couple of times. It’s not safe to wake me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then it’s not safe to sleep with me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t?” Now I scowl. “I was asleep.”

“I know. And you’re ridiculously cute when you sleep. But I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking.”

“You’re always thinking!”

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? Come back. Relax. You promise not to kill me, and I promise to tell you what I’ve been thinking.”

I blink my eyes, unsure. Really, this whole situation is mortifying. Leave it to me not to be awkward the morning after, but homicidal. Yet Keith appears completely unruffled. He sits up against the headboard, then holds out his arm expectantly, wiggling his fingers in silent command.

I ease back toward him. He wiggles his fingers more. I slowly take up position beside him, bare skin to bare skin. He sighs, rather happily, I think.

“For a serial killer, you sure are nice,” I grumble.

“You really think I’m a serial killer?”

“You look like Ted Bundy and you’re obsessed with crime.”

“Oh. When you put it that way . . .”

We both fall silent. “We’re going to have to work on the sleeping arrangement,” he says at last. “One more inch with that knee of yours, and this whole new excellent adventure would’ve been over before we even had a chance.”

“Sorry.”

“In the future, I’d rather you go after my eyes. If you think about it, it’s in your own best interest, as well.”

I close my eyes, mortified again. He strokes my arms. “It’s okay, Flora,” he says softly. “We all have demons. We’ll figure it out. It’s only the first night.”

I don’t say anything, but I turn my head into him, feel my cheek against his shoulder. His skin is very smooth and warm. He smells amazing. I don’t want to think it, but I have to: Keith is nothing like Jacob. He’s not old and fat and disgusting. Keith is exactly the kind of guy, once upon a time, I would’ve taken home with me. And I realize I’m incredibly grateful, if not a little choked up, to finally feel this way, have this moment, again.

“Do you ever sleep?” I ask.

“Not much. I don’t have night terrors like you. But from the time I was young, my mind is always going. I’m restless that way. And I’m a bit of a night owl. It’s when I get my best work done.”

“At least we have that much in common.”

“Do you want to hear about my incredibly brilliant thought or not?”

I roll my eyes. I like being curled up with him. I like his arm around my shoulders. Which is good, because—oh yeah—my not-a-serial-killer almost-boyfriend is pretty damn arrogant.

“Tell me your brilliant thought.”