Page 47 of Secret Stalker

He sipped his drink, his gaze never leaving her face. He took both their drinks and set them aside on the brick hearth of the fireplace not far from the doors. Then, very slowly, he leaned down, giving her every chance to turn away, and he kissed her.

She closed her eyes, melting against him, her arms, as if of their own will, sliding up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck. He cupped her head, his other hand caressing her back, his thumb tracing little circles against her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or frantic as many of their kisses had been when they were teens. This kiss was more of an exploration, more of a question, hesitant but confident, if there was such a thing. It was as if he wanted her to give him the green light or tell him to stop. There was heat, but it was carefully banked. A fire ready to burn, but ruthlessly held back. All it did was frustrate her and leave her wanting more.

She broke the kiss and shoved out of his arms. She gave a nervous laugh and retrieved her glass from the hearth.

“Will you have to confess to one of your interns that you kissed me? I’d hate to get in the middle of a happy couple.”

She downed the rest of the drink in one swallow, then had to swipe at her eyes when the burn had them watering.

“I wouldn’t have kissed you if I was still dating someone else.” His tone was clipped, his eyes cold.

She regretted her words as soon as she’d said them. Apparently Marcia’s earlier gibe about Max and interns had struck deeper than Bex had realized. Not that it should matter. Max wasn’t hers, could never be hers again. She needed to remember that.

She moved into the kitchen, separated from the living area by a black granite–topped island. After washing her glass out in the sink, she set it on the drain rack to dry.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he said, his voice quiet but the deep timbre carrying easily through the massive space.

She shrugged and crossed to one of the couches. Worried that he might sit beside her, she chose one of the recliners instead, kicking off her leather loafers and pulling her legs up. “You didn’t need to bring me out here to talk, either. I could have done my talking at the station. All you did was delay the inevitable.”

He set his glass down on the coffee table and sat on the end of the couch closest to her. “What’s inevitable?”

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, even though she wasn’t cold. “The inevitable is that you’ll just have to take me back to the station again.”

“Why? So you can confess to something you didn’t do, just because you think you’re protecting me?”

She shook her head. “No, Max. I would confess to something that I did do, in order to protect you. I’m guilty. I killed Bobby Caldwell.”

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