I turned away. “Is there any coffee?”
“You don’t drink coffee.”
Then I remembered that he had made me tea last night. “How do you know that?”
“I didn’t realize it was a state secret,” he said lightly, reaching over to the stove and pouring me a mug of steaming water. He handed it to me along with a box of assorted teas. “Sorry I don’t have anything better.”
“I’m not a tea snob. Just wondering how you know I don’t drink coffee.”
He rolled his eyes. “I pay attention, okay? All those meetings we had when you were my informant. You drank soda or tea or water, but never coffee.”
“Are you always so observant?” I asked.
“Are you always this suspicious?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a detective. Being observant is part of the job description. Besides, I was into you. By that, I mean hopelessly obsessed and crazy into you. You tend to notice someone’s beverage choices in that state.”
I stared, mouth agape, as he made his casual pronunciation of being into me. What did that even mean? Besides amazing. He had already turned back to his laptop and was squinting at the bright glare.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m not usually so slow on the uptake, but it’s early, and in my defense, we almost died last night. Did you say you were into me?”
He looked up, seeming slightly amused by my confusion. “Sure. I’m pretty sure everyone knew that. Except possibly you.”
“There’s a reason for that. I just can’t think of it right now. Oh, wait. I know. It’s because you refused to touch me or really even look at me the entire time I was your informant, which is almost the entire time you’ve known me.”
“That was to keep from jumping you.”
“Which would have been bad, because…”
“Aforementioned reasons.”
He sounded almost cheerful. Dear God, was he a morning person?
“The age difference. The guilt. The impropriety, considering my position of authority. The impossibility of a long-term relationship while you were an escort and I was a cop.”
I had written off his objections last night, but in the sunny light of morning, they did seem like awfully big hurdles. “And now?”
“It’s a little late for regrets.” He raised his eyebrow. “Do you regret what we did?”
Did I? It terrified me, but I wasn’t sure that counted. It thrilled me, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit that. “As sexual escapades go, it was rather tame.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“You’re not the first cop I’ve slept with, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It wasn’t.”
I threw up my hands. “Then I don’t know what you want from me.”
He was definitely amused. “It’s the morning after. I declared my feelings for you. Now is generally the time you do the same for me. Unless you don’t have feelings for me.”
There was a protocol for this?
“Is that it, Shelly?”
He stood up and approached me, blocking me against the counter. His green eyes leveled with mine, measuring me, assessing.
“Is that all? Was I nothing more than a quick, meaningless fuck?”
Oh God, he was going to make me say it. And if I didn’t—what then? There were rules, apparently. Maybe he wouldn’t touch me again. “I have feelings,” I admitted sourly.
I waited for him to throw it back in my face, to smirk or boast. Instead he dropped a quick kiss on my lips and said, “Good.” Then he returned to his work, adding, “There’s bread for toast or fruit in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
Leaning on the counter for support, I caught my breath. Could it really be that simple, one declaration, then another? Could there really be hope for us, just two ordinary people caring for each other?
“I need to send an e-mail off. Can I use your computer?”
He hesitated for a moment before standing. He gestured to his laptop. “Go for it. It’s not traceable.”
I pulled up a browser and typed off a quick e-mail to Allie, asking her to check on Ella—and Philip. Trust but verify seemed like a good policy with them, the self-destructive good girl and the honorable bastard.
I believed that Philip would honor the terms of our deal, and Adrian could play nanny with the best of them. Ella was the unknown quantity. A girl with a crush was a dangerous thing.
But leaving her there had been more than convenience; it was a life insurance policy. If I succeeded with Luke, she’d go back to her old life, untouched and intact. If I failed, if I died, then the safest place for her was with Philip. Even if she had to pay rent with her body, at least she’d be alive.