With A Twist(45)

I had a pity party one night with two pints of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, drank four beers, then made the mistake of calling my brother Kyle and unloading on him.

In typical Kyle fashion, he told me I was a dumbass. I had told him all about the operation, and while I did not tell him specifically that there was anything sexual between Wyatt and me, I did tell him that I had some feelings involved that felt unresolved.

The most important thing he reminded me of is that I am one badass chick and that I was not one to piss and moan over my fate. He reminded me that yes… while it was sad that David broke off our engagement, I had actually bounced back pretty well. He reminded me that I helped to take down a sex-slave ring. He reminded me that once, while I was in the FBI Academy, I took one of my sparring partners down to the mat, and he outweighed me by almost eighty pounds.

He didn’t need to remind me that I had tackled and brought down a fleeing Simon Keyes, a memory that had me puffing my chest out a bit and demanding my bruised ego to get its act together.

The next morning at work, I asked Dale Lambert if I could have that vacation he had suggested to me a few days prior, and he gladly granted my request.

And so, here I am… sitting on Wyatt’s front porch, waiting for him to get home.

Bad idea, I tell myself again.

And for so many reasons.

First, Wyatt has done nothing to ever lead me to believe he would want to see me again. He flat out refused to come to my room that last night, knowing I was offering sex. Yes, that bruised my ego a bit, but since Kyle bucked me back up, I choose to believe it’s not because I’m not attractive to Wyatt, but rather that he has some misplaced sense of duty or morals that he believed were conflicting.

Fine… good enough reason I should stay away, but another very important reason why this is a bad idea swarms me with unease.

What if Wyatt is involved with someone? I’m sitting on his porch, waiting for him to get home from wherever he is—work, I assume—but the next person to pull into his driveway could be his girlfriend. Or worse yet, his wife.

While my gut tells me that Wyatt isn’t the type of guy that would have made me come with his mouth in the locker room of the Raleigh FBI field office if he was involved with someone, I can’t discount that it’s a slight possibility.

Finally… and probably the best reason of all, is that I’m not even sure what I’m hoping to accomplish by being here. Is he my rebound from David? Is this just sexual tension at its finest that needs to be popped and then we go our separate ways? Or are the feelings and connection I’ve imagined with this man real and need to be explored?

Yes, this is a bad, bad, bad idea and finally, my cowardice breaks through.

I stand up from the wicker chair and take one step away from it when I hear the crunch of car tires on gravel. My eyes raise and I see a champagne-colored Chevrolet Suburban pulling into the driveway. The windows are slightly tinted, but I can see through them clear enough to make out Wyatt’s handsome face semi-covered by his mirrored aviators.

This is it… do or die. No running now.

Wyatt pulls his vehicle up to the base of the long staircase that leads up to his front porch, which sits up high on the stilts that are typical of the beach cottages here on the Atlantic. He puts it in park and the engine shuts off, and for several painfully long moments, he just stares up at me.

I can’t see his eyes, but I feel the weight of his gaze on me behind those sunglasses. Nervously shoving my hands into the side pockets of the pale, blue sundress I’m wearing, I carefully rub them on the material at my thighs because they are nervously sweating.

Wyatt finally opens the driver’s door and steps out. He removes his sunglasses and tosses them on the front seat, now staring up at me with those clear, hazel eyes. I can’t read a damn thing on his face, but then again, he’s always been skilled at masking his emotions. He’s dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a light blue, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He’s more tan than when I saw him last, and he clearly just got off work as he’s still wearing his gun holster over his shoulders and his police badge is pinned to his hip.

So. Fucking. Gorgeous.

My mind starts spinning on what will be the first thing I should say. I can’t believe I’ve been sitting on his freakin’ porch for this long and don’t even have my speech planned out.

Panic flows through me as Wyatt starts walking to the staircase.

No, wait… stalking toward the staircase. Well… more of a prowl.

The minute his foot hits the bottom step, he starts bounding up them two at a time, his eyes pinning me in place.