Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(37)

“Good night.” He stepped away, but she caught his arm.

“Wait.”

She kissed him, going up on tiptoes to reach his mouth. She slid her hands up to cup his face, holding him there as he tried to pull back.

Cold panic shot through her.

But then he kissed her back, and every part of her body fired to life. His lips moved against hers, and then his arms were around her, thick and strong and lifting her off her feet. He turned and backed her against the bedroom wall, pinning her there while his tongue delved into her mouth.

It was hot. Explosive. Every nerve inside her was electrified by his firm lips and his hard body and the heavy weight of him leaning against her.

He tasted so good, sharp and male and musky, and she realized she was starved for the flavor. She wanted more. Him. She wanted his mouth and his stubble under her fingertips. She wanted his big hands that were sliding under her T-shirt, searing a path over her skin.

God, he was good. She should have known he would be. He was so capable at everything, so why would kissing be any different? She pressed against him, and his hand gripped her hip.

A faint noise made her pull back. “Erik—”

He cut her off, taking her mouth in another fierce kiss that made her dizzy.

She heard it again—a soft snick. She pressed her hand to his chest. “Someone’s—”

He jerked back before she finished the sentence. Keys jangled as someone unlocked the door and entered the apartment.

“Trent.” Erik looked at her, and the desperation in his eyes mirrored what she was feeling. They stared at each other, breathless.

“He’s early,” she whispered.

Erik stepped back, raking his hand through his hair as Brynn tugged her T-shirt into place.

Erik’s gaze hardened. “Sorry. This won’t happen again.”

Then he turned and walked out, leaving her alone in the dark with her lips numb and her heart racing.





BRYNN OVERSLEPT.

Of course. Because after flailing restlessly for hours, it was just her luck to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep that even her cell-phone alarm couldn’t penetrate.

She awoke with a jolt at 7:45 and spent fifteen minutes throwing on clothes and racing around the apartment, jamming files into her attaché case. She checked her watch as she hurried into the bathroom and surveyed her cosmetics on the counter. She had time for makeup or coffee but not both.

“Shit!”

“Help you with anything?” Hayes called from the hallway.

“No, thanks! Wait, yes.” She opened the bedroom door and poked her head out. “Can you make the coffee?”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Four scoops, eight cups of water.” She closed the door before he could refuse. The man had made it through the FBI Academy. Surely he could figure out a coffeepot.

Brynn did minimal makeup and ran the straightening iron through her hair, trying not to singe it. She gave it a few spritzes of hairspray. She grabbed some earrings—understated gold studs today. Then she slipped her feet into slingbacks and checked the mirror.

“Ready!” she called, rushing into the hallway.

Ross stood at the door, looking dashing and impatient in his navy Hugo Boss suit.

“We’re late, Brynn. What’s the holdup?”

“Nothing, I’m ready.”

She spied her travel mug on the bar beside Hayes.

“Bless you,” she told him, grabbing it on the way out the door. Skyler was already waiting at the elevator with the doors open.

“Wait, my briefcase!” Brynn glanced back at her apartment. “Brynn, seriously.” Ross looked exasperated.

“You guys go. I’m right behind you.”

She hurried back to her place with Hayes at her heels. She retrieved her briefcase and relocked the door.

“Is the car ready?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Meaning Erik was waiting. Brynn’s pulse skittered at the thought of seeing him, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it as they raced for the elevator.

On the ride down, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She felt totally discombobulated starting the morning this way. The elevator slid open, and there was the Tahoe.

Erik stood by the driver’s-side door dressed in a dark suit. He wore his mirrored aviators, and she couldn’t read his expression as Hayes stepped ahead and opened the back door.

“Thank you.”

She climbed inside, and Hayes took the shotgun seat. Erik was driving this morning, no doubt to prevent her from staging another impromptu press conference on the courthouse steps.

“You’re late,” Erik said to Hayes.

“It’s my fault. I overslept.” Brynn glanced at her watch as they got moving. “We’ll be fine.”

Erik pulled into traffic, which was unusually heavy today, of course. Hayes muttered a curse.

They stopped at a red light, and Brynn took out her compact. Despite her makeup efforts, she still had shadows under her eyes. She dug a lipstick from her bag and carefully painted her mouth.

She glanced up, and Erik was watching her in the rearview mirror. He looked freshly showered and shaved and infuriatingly well rested.

This won’t happen again.

She couldn’t believe he’d said that. Why the hell shouldn’t it happen again? And why did he get to decide?