“Will do.”
Luke and Wash shook hands once more.
“Thanks for your help. It really will save us time and, hopefully, bring us closer to the truth about what happened to the victims.”
Wash gripped his briefcase and pulled back my chair as I stood.
“Right. I mean, if it is your guy, then I hope he pays for his crimes. All the same, if someone else did it”—Luke wrung his hands as he walked us to his door—“even if it’s Tyler, then I don’t want an innocent man behind bars. I just hope it isn’t him. He’s sunk so low, but I can’t believe he’d kill anyone.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Thanks again for taking time to speak with us. We’ll get out of your hair.” Wash pushed through the door and ushered me ahead of him.
“No bother at all. Good luck,” Luke called.
The receptionist waved and said “bye” in her sultriest southern drawl as Wash stalked past. He didn’t respond, just maimed the down button on the elevator bank with his index finger.
The doors opened, and he waited for me to get on first. I walked past and backed up to the wall, the rail pressing into the small of my back. Surely he isn’t mad? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything?
The moment the door closed, he whirled and loomed over me, his hands on the elevator wall on either side of my head.
“Wash—”
“You were fucking brilliant in there.” I stared up into his eyes as the descent pushed my heart into my throat. But I knew it wasn’t the elevator making me feel suddenly light-headed, not even close.
He leaned down, his lips only a breath away from mine.
“Thank you.” I wanted to close my eyes and bridge the distance between us. To just taste him one more time.
But then I would be a fool again, chasing after a man who changed faster than a weather vane. I turned my head away, though it took every bit of willpower I had. His lips had a power over me. The rest of him did, too. I was screwed.
He leaned back. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Car—Ms. Montreat.”
He turned away from me and shook his head. I leaned on the rail for support. I needed to snap out of it.
“Let’s just keep this professional, Mr. Granade.” My voice was a sex rasp. I cleared my throat.
His shoulders stiffened as the elevator pinged and the doors opened. He stepped aside so I could exit first. I hurried past him, afraid of my ill-advised desire to remain still, let the doors close again, and jump him.
He walked at my elbow through the parking deck. My heels clicked on the concrete, interspersed with the rumble of cars on the floor above us.
I pressed my key fob and my car woke up, the brake lights shining and reminding me that I actually had parked on this level.
“This is me.” I opened the trunk and put my briefcase inside.
“Listen, about the elevator.” He wrinkled his brow, as if wrestling with a particularly stout thought. It made him look younger, as if he were having a hard time on his contracts exam in law school. “I’m sorry about that.”
I slammed my trunk and sidestepped to the driver’s door, not trusting myself to face him directly. “It’s okay. I just don’t want things to be confused again. That’s all.”
“They won’t be. I won’t kiss you unless you ask. I won’t. I promise.” He followed me between the cars, turned me to him with a hand on my shoulder, and tilted my face up toward his. My breath hitched. “When I promise something, Caroline, I stick to it. And I’m promising you that I won’t kiss your lips again until you ask me.”
“I . . . Okay.” I was already trapped in his gaze, in the intensity he somehow stored up inside each iris.
He licked his lips. The movement sent my skin into a tingling panic, and my nipples were uncomfortably hard against my bra.
“But I need you to know, Caroline. When you do ask me to kiss these perfect lips”—he ran his thumb over my mouth—“I’m going to do a lot more than that. I’m going to take all of you. I’m going to have you screaming my name and begging me to go easy. I won’t, Caroline. I’m going to make you come harder than you ever have in your life. I just need us to be clear on our rules of engagement.”
The throaty growl of his voice started a vicious ache between my legs. And his words . . . his words were enough to poof my panties far enough away that they’d send me a postcard in a couple of weeks.
He leaned down, close enough that anyone watching us would have thought we were kissing. “Do you understand the rules, Ms. Montreat?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but focus on him. I already wanted to ask him, to lose the game.