Page 4 of Blind Date With a Cop
I narrow my eyes. “I won’t? And how exactly do you know that?”
“Because I’m going to be the last man you ever date.”
My pulse stutters. “Why? Are you planning to kill me?” I glance at the holstered gun at his hip. “Because that’s the only way I’d never date again.”
His eyes darken, but not with humor. With certainty. “No. Because you’re going to marry me.”
I laugh, but it comes out high and squeaky. “I’mnevergetting married, Officer Donovan. And I’m sure as hell not marryingyou. Now, if you’ll kindly move your cruiser so I can go home, I’d appreciate it.”
He cocks his head, studying me like a puzzle he’s determined to solve. “Babe, I’m not moving my cruiser until you’re sitting in it. Youaregoing on a date with me. I’ll give you one more chance to decide. Pizza or steak. If you don’t want to choose, we’re having steak.”
“This man,” I mutter, throwing my hands up. “Who do you think you are?”
“Pizza or steak,” he repeats, with a maddening calm that makes me want to scream again.
“Pizza,” I blurt. Then slap my hand over my mouth.What the hell iswrongwith me? I’m not eating with him.
His grin is slow and devastating. “Perfect.”
And then he does something even more shocking. He offers me his arm as if we’re characters in some kind of Harlequin romance novel, instead of two strangers standing in a small-town parking lot under flashing police lights.
Somehow—I don’t know if it’s temporary insanity, a stroke, or just sheer exhaustion—I slip my arm through his.
His bicep flexes under my touch, and my brain short-circuits.
He walks me to the cruiser like I’m precious cargo. Opens the door. Waits until I’m seated. Then, with surprising gentleness, he leans in and buckles the seatbelt himself. His fingers brush my hip, leaving sparks in their wake.
When I look up, the book club peanut gallery, Gran, Nan, Clara, Marie, and Tanith, have their faces pressed to the storefront window. Wide grins split their cheeks; wine glassesraised in triumph. Behind them, the rest of the group looks like they’ve just hit the romance jackpot.
“Great,” I mutter. “Just great.”
Blake slides into the driver’s seat, cuts the lights, and pulls away from the curb.
And for some strange, terrifying reason, I know my life is never going to be the same.
Chapter Four
Blake
I’ve always considered myself a direct man with clear boundaries. I always try to say what I mean and do what I say.
But the kind of directness I just laid on Cassie? It was off the charts, even for me.
I’ve been a serial dater for years—young, old, short, tall, curvy, thin; strippers, actresses, waitresses, executives—I’ve dated hundreds of women. There’s been plenty of chemistry, but there’s always been goodbyes. Never once did my pulse stutter or feel butterflies in my stomach.
Until Cassie.
And come hell or high water, I’m not letting her go.
I pull the cruiser into Hometown Slice, finding a spot up front.
“Don’t move, let me get your door for you.”
She’s outside before my boots hit the ground. The girl’s got spunk. I like that too.
I round the hood and rest my palm at the small of her back. She tenses, just for a heartbeat, then keeps pace with me to the door, tolerating the escort even if she hates the man giving it.
“What’s your favorite pizza?” I ask.
