Page 119 of Detectives in Love
I clear my throat. “Did you know Ernest ambushed Monica on the street recently?”
Figured the topic of his ever-charming uncle might snap him out of it.
Xavier blinks, then glances over. “Your sister?”
I nod, the tightness in my chest loosening just a little.
“Yeah.” I give him a half-smile. “So you didn’t know?”
He shakes his head, the tension in his shoulders easing, if only slightly.
“As if I ever know what Ernest’s up to. What did he want from her?”
But we don’t get to talk about it.
The elevator dings—second floor—and the doors slide open.
Officer Crowley stands right outside. She starts to step in, then falters for a second when she spots us—mouth curling into that smug little smirk she wears like a badge. Then she walks in.
“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” she says, voice thick with sarcasm as her gaze flicks from Xavier to me.
“Hello, Officer Crowley,” I say, dry as dust.
Xavier doesn’t so much as blink—just stares right past her like she’s invisible, his eyes locked somewhere behind her shoulder.
“We were starting to think we’d have to send a SWAT team to smoke you out of your apartment,” she says as the doors close and the elevator starts moving. Then she plants herself directly in front of us and locks eyes with Xavier, like she’s daring him to bite.
But he doesn’t. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink.
Still, I can see the tension radiating off him, the way he’s holding himself too still—like it’s taking everything he has not to react.
Something twists in my chest.
I hate how he gets cornered the second we walk into this building. And today it’s worse. He’s sick, barely holding himself together, and it’s like she knows it.
When it’s clear he’s not going to take the bait, Crowley turns to me instead, flashing a sweet, venomous smile.
“Your boyfriend’s in big trouble, Mr. Doherty.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I say, offering the least friendly smile I can manage—though my temples throb with anger. I hate that she’s gloating right to our faces.
“Well, at least you’ve stopped pretending you’re not a thing,” Crowley snickers. “Though the timing’s weird—didn’t I read today about you getting engaged to some ex-girlfriend?”
“I can see you’re very invested in my love life,” I say, the fake smile still stuck on my face. I know I’m not nearly good enough to make it look effortless, but I hold it anyway. “That article was crap.”
That’s when, without warning, Xavier steps in front of me, cutting her off with his back. The elevator cabin’s small, and the shift nudges Crowley sideways.
“Hey,” she mutters, annoyed.
Xavier doesn’t even acknowledge her. He stays close—so close our chests brush—and meets my gaze, eyes calm, unreadable.
“So,” he says, low, “what did he want?”
I can feel his breath on my skin. And yeah, it’s suddenly hard to think—because all I can smell is his cologne, and all I can remember is the way he looked this morning, pinning me to the bed.
“Who?” I manage, just as quiet.
God, I want to kiss him. Press him into the wall. Run my hands over his skin. My heart’s already racing, my gut buzzing with arousal.
