Awake and fulfilling all the fantasies that had relentlessly played in his head for the past few weeks. Even thinking about the things he and Evelyn had done the night before had his cock hard and eager again. Greedy bastard.
After last night, he should be out of commission for a week at least. Not already wanting more. If he’d thought that once he had a taste of Evelyn that would be enough, he’d apparently been wrong. Very, very wrong.
But they were here for the weekend at least. Maybe he could even stretch it out for a whole week. Her boss, Hotchins, had seemed well and intimidated by Luke during their brief conversation in Evelyn’s apartment. Luke had enough connections that were well over Hotchins’s head that he had reason to be worried. He could work to keep Evelyn as his own personal protection for as long as he could.
But after that? After this was all done? She wanted to go back to Texas. She’d been very vocal about that. And it wasn’t as if he wanted anything long term, so he should be happy. A week of great, no-strings-attached sex. That was his dream.
So why was he so pissed at the idea?
“Hey sleepyhead.” Evelyn poked her head in the doorway. “Get your lazy ass up. I made pancakes.”
“You cook? I’m shocked, Agent Price.”
“And for that remark, you can eat the ones I burned. Come on.”
He sat up, pulling the sheet off and rubbing his eyes one last time. “I’m coming.”
“That’s what he said,” she called as she disappeared from the doorway.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he stared at the spot she just vacated. He might be in serious trouble.
He pulled on a pair of jeans, but decided to go shirtless. He knew how much Evelyn liked him without, and at this moment, making Evelyn happy was his priority.
He padded out into the kitchen. The setup was old-fashioned, with white cabinets and appliances in a galley that led to a small eat-in section with a wooden table and four chairs. A large window next to the table overlooked the ocean. There were also tables and chairs on the wraparound porch, but it was too cold to eat outside. Maybe in the afternoon when the sun was high in the sky, he and Evelyn could take a walk along the beach.
Sure, it was corny, but he’d love to see Evelyn against the backdrop of the crashing waves with the wind blowing through her dark curls. Actually, they probably wouldn’t even make it off the property line before he was dragging her back to the bedroom.
He smiled at the thought as he took a seat at the table. A plate of pancakes waited for him. She must’ve been up for a while. She’d found some mismatched plates for the two of them to use. Some butter and syrup was also on the table. She picked up his glass and carried it to the kitchen. “We have water or milk. Any preference?”
“Milk.” He leaned back. “I could get used to you waiting on me.”
“Don’t,” she warned. “This is only fair after you made breakfast yesterday.” She poured him his milk and brought it back to the table, but her normal sultry walk was stunted, replaced with a limp.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Was I too rough last night?” He never even considered her injury. She never mentioned it or complained in all the time he’d known her. But of course her leg would be sensitive. Damn it. He should’ve paid more attention.
“No,” she assured him. “This isn’t you. It’s a low pressure system moving in. Didn’t you know? Getting shot makes you a weatherman.” She set his glass down and took her seat across from him.
He picked up the syrup and doused his pancakes. “I always thought that was an exaggeration.”
“So did I, to be honest. But when it’s about to rain, it tends to hurt a little more than normal.”
“You walk so well on it normally. It’s like it never happened.”
She let out a sad laugh. “I wish. I try really hard to make sure no one can tell. It’s a weakness, and where I come from, weaknesses are exploited.”
“From Texas?”
“From the border.”
He took his first bite of pancakes and moaned. “Damn, these are good.”
“They should taste good. They’re soaked in butter. It’s my secret weapon.”
“Good choice in weapon.” He shoved more into his mouth. After he was done chewing, he washed it down with more milk. “So how did you end up in border work?”
“I wanted to make a difference. To make the bad people pay. I have Hispanic heritage and speak Spanish, so it was easy enough to get my original transfer in.”
“Isn’t Puerto Rican Spanish different from Mexican Spanish?”
“It’s like someone from New York trying to speak to someone in Ireland. The words are mostly the same, but very different dialects.”