Wrapped Up in You (Heartbreaker Bay, #8)(39)

She removed the cowboy hat and set it on his head. “How about that for your spoils?”

He shook his head. “I won more than the hat,” he said, and bought her another drink. They sat thigh-to-thigh watching the dance floor, talking easily, laughing, and seeing her relax with him was a gift he hadn’t realized he wanted. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her. “Want to dance?” he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. “You dance?”

“I grew up in a tiny town in Idaho. We had to dance for PE during snowy winter days in the auditorium.”

She laughed.

“It’s true.”

She eyed him more closely. “Like the salsa and the cha-cha kind of dancing?”

“All kinds,” he said.

“Do you do the silly white boy boogie, where you just sort of rock back on your feet and look like you might be having a seizure?”

He smiled. “Want to double down on our wager?”

She laughed. “Hell, yes, I’ll take that challenge.”

“Okay,” he said. “But if I win again, we change the terms of what you owe me.”

“How?”

“The ‘within reason’ clause gets eradicated.”

She stared at his mouth and nibbled on her lower lip like the idea excited her, a lot, and the temperature in the bar seemed to spike about a hundred degrees. He led her to the dance floor just as “Thriller” came on, and when he began to make the moves with pinpoint accuracy, she started laughing. “Okay,” she conceded, “you really can move on the dance floor.”

“I’m even better off the dance floor,” he promised.

She laughed some more and moved in closer, until they were up against each other, writhing to the beat. And damn, she could move too, and feeling all her sweet curves rock to his was driving him crazy in the very best of ways.

They danced until Ivy had to take off her shoes. Then they ate bad bar food and laughed and talked some more. It was midnight when he drove her home.

Still in the truck outside her building, he turned to her. “That was the best date I’ve ever been on.”

She stared at him. “It was?”

“By far.”

She squirmed a bit and then removed her seatbelt. “Thanks for tonight,” she said softly. “It’s late, and I’ve got to be up in a few hours, so—”

Leaning in, he took a nip at her bottom lip. “You’re worried I’m going to claim my spoils tonight.”

“No.”

“Liar.” He laughed when she narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’m not collecting my prize tonight.”

“You’re not?” She sounded a little breathless, and . . . disappointed. He got out of the truck and came around for her.

On the sidewalk, Ivy called out a greeting to both Jasmine and Martina, who were huddled in their blankets. “Ladies,” she said, and handed them over her bar leftovers. Waffle fries.

“Your breakfast tacos were real good this morning,” Jasmine said. “I like the new seasonings.”

Ivy smiled. “Thanks, I’ve been changing some things up.”

“You should try a pinch of cocoa powder,” Martina said. “My mama used to use it as her secret ingredient.”

“I will,” Ivy promised.

He and Ivy took the stairs and when they got to the top landing, she glanced up at him. “Kel?”

He looked into her pretty blue eyes and smiled. “Yeah?”

“It was my best date ever too,” she said very quietly and she turned toward her front door.

And then froze, stopping short so fast, he nearly plowed into her back. He took one look at her pale face and immediately went on high alert. “What is it?”

She sucked in a breath and squatted low to stare at the door handle.

He crouched next to her. “What are we looking at?”

“After the truck break in, I got paranoid,” she said softly. “I put a piece of tape on here from the handle to the wood of the door every time I leave so I can tell if someone’s tried to get in.”

The implication being that if someone had so much as tried to turn the handle, the tape would break off.

The tape was broken off.

Rising to his full height he pulled her up with him. The lock didn’t appear broken or tampered with, but it was a cheap lock, one that anyone could pick with relative ease.

She tried the handle and it opened. “Shit.”

Pulling his gun, he nudged her back and entered first. He walked through the entire place, checking behind doors, her closet, under her bed, the window ledge—which didn’t take more than thirty seconds.

While he did this, Ivy stood in the middle of her apartment, hands on hips, expression carefully blank as she stared at him. “I know most women would disagree with me, but I like your cowboy costume better than the cop costume.”

“It’s not a costume,” he said, slipping the gun away. “It’s who I am. What’s missing?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think anything’s missing.”

He moved toward her until they were toe-to-toe, and gently tilted her face to his. Her eyes weren’t soft and warm now. They were iced. “Ivy—”