Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(49)

Austin turned the page of his Chicago Tribune too hard, ripping a corner free. The sound reminded him of how the delicate fabric of his and Polly’s relationship had been torn down the middle by his actions this morning. As soon as his f*cking head had gotten back in the game and he realized he’d abandoned Polly in the bathroom, he’d all but lunged for the dark doorway, intent on—what? Not a sodding clue. He hadn’t been given the chance to find out what spontaneous action he might have taken when Polly emerged from the bathroom, chin lifted as if she were wearing a ball gown made of sewn-together diamonds instead of a towel.

Yes, it was safe to say he’d broken the spell they’d woven together. She’d had her laptop and portable printer out in under thirty seconds, documents spitting out onto the table he’d planned to f*ck her on during round two. Round two so hadn’t happened, to the utter devastation of his cock, which seemed to require Polly around the clock, now that he’d gotten a glimpse of her brand of heaven.

Instead…they’d worked. Briefly. His sexy mastermind had worked the laptop like a master pianist, handily providing the missing piece of his plan, which as it turned out was Henrik. Austin’s observation of the ex-cop had been spot on. It turned out the man was not only good with his fists, but an amateur boxer who might’ve had a career if he hadn’t chosen the police force instead. Those fighting skills and their usefulness were what brought Austin to Arcadia Terrace, waiting for the squad’s newest member, instead of giving head to Polly, where he’d love to be.

That, and the annoying knowledge that Derek had given him a two-day window to accomplish something on the Reitman front.

Austin’s thoughts returned to Polly like a snapped rubber band. Pleasuring her out of her mind wasn’t really an option at the moment, was it? As soon as she’d stacked the documents and placed them in his hand, she’d dressed and blown straight out of the hotel room like it was haunted by a three-headed rottweiler. He might have made a lucrative profession out of charming women until they waved good-bye to their common sense, but it appeared the biggest con of his life lay in convincing Polly he wasn’t a worthless shit bag.

And of course, making her his…girlfriend.

“Girlfriend,” Austin murmured, testing the word on his lips. “Be my girlfriend. I’d like you to be my girlfriend. Keep your hands off my girlfriend. Ah.” He liked that. If he and Polly were exclusive, he only had to state the fact out loud and she became off-limits. Like an invisible net that kept other dicks away.

Henrik turned the corner at the south end of the block, grabbing Austin’s attention. Speaking of other dicks. That giant motherf*cker would be the first to hear the news if Polly forgave his earlier panic attack and agreed to keep seeing him outside of work. As in, every single day and night, no questions asked. An eventuality he would be pulling out all stops to reach, preferably before Henrik attempted to sit beside her at another meeting and Austin lost his very sanity.

Austin lifted an eyebrow when Henrik paused outside the entrance to his building. He turned to scan the street under the guise of checking his cell phone, obviously sensing Austin’s presence. Was Henrik simply a good cop? Or had Austin really had a layer ripped away that morning?

Austin rolled his shoulders in a restless movement. No sense in delaying what he’d come here to accomplish. He tipped his hat back with a quick finger flick and checked for oncoming traffic before crossing the street toward Henrik. The ex-cop turned to watch his approach with a mixture of irritation and curiosity.

“Afternoon, mate,” Austin said, removing his hat completely in a sweeping gesture and executing a mocking bow.

“I’m not your mate.”

No, he wasn’t. And he’d be even less so by the time their visit ended. “I wouldn’t suggest pushing your luck after this morning.”

Henrik rubbed his chin, as if to ponder Austin’s meaning. “This morning?”

Austin tilted his head, smiling through the urge to coldcock the other man. “Do they teach passive-aggressiveness at the police academy?”

“No.” A muscle jumped in Henrik’s cheek. “But they teach us how to spot a bullshit artist, and I was paying extra close attention that day.”

“Bully for you.” Austin nodded toward the entrance. “Are you going to invite me in? Or should we discuss Ailish O’Kelly out here on the curb?”

Henrik turned to stone. Something sharp and unpleasant made itself known in Austin’s gut. Imagine that. For the first time in his illustrious career, he was feeling a definite pang of regret. He didn’t like using another man’s love interest to put him in a corner, but in this case, it was all he and Polly had to work with. On the train ride over, he’d consoled himself with the fact that the O’Kelly girl would never be affected by what took place. She would, however, guarantee Henrik’s cooperation. If the disgraced cop had been willing to end his career to protect her, it stood to reason he wouldn’t change his stripes now.

After a moment of debate, Henrik unlocked the entrance door and shoved it open with enough force for it to bang off the opposite wall. “This better not be about me sitting next to your girlfriend this morning,” Henrik gritted out as Austin passed him on his way into the well-lit hallway.

Austin gestured for Henrik to precede him up the stairs. That’s right, I know which floor you live on. “This isn’t about you sitting beside Polly, but I suggest you drop it. My temper is long, but nasty.” They stopped on the third-floor landing, where Henrik tossed an exasperated glance at him. Austin’s answering smile was forced. “I’ll admit I wanted to slit your throat during the meeting, but I’m feeling benevolent now that you’ve referred to her as my girlfriend.”