Page 19 of Wild Tides
He peeked over his hands, gaze lingering on my bare thighs, making me aware of the other thing I’d neglected in my rush to him – pants. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. He didn’t look in the mood. I resisted the urge to point out that together, we almost had a full outfit.
“Nice shirt.”
The baggy cotton was nothing special – just an old SAR shirt from my dad’s days volunteering. The navy cotton was worn so thin in places, you could see through it, but I loved how soft it was. A zillion washes will do that for you.
“Thanks,” I said airily. Like I wasn’t remembering the other thing I left upstairs – my bra. Two more seconds with him, and that’d be painfully apparent.
“I can’t think with you hovering over me.” He patted the bed next to him. “Come, sit.”
If terrible ideas won trophies, this one would take home gold. But sitting near him would make my bra situation less obvious. I ignored the internal voice that whispered going back to bed did a better job of maintaining boundaries. Something about the late hour and his vulnerability called to me.
Lee was too good at keeping up walls. Pretending everything was fine and shutting everyone else out. Did it make me an awful friend that I found his frustration fascinating?
I settled next to him, careful to keep a few inches between my bare hip and his. He smelled faintly of soap from his shower. His shoulder brushed mine. Even that brief contact was enough to make my nipples tighten. This close, I could see the open document and blinking cursor on his screen.
“What’s keeping you up?” I asked, pretty sure I knew the answer.
His mumbled response was too quiet to catch. For one reckless second, I thought it was “you.”
My pulse skittered. Before I could ask him to repeat himself, he slammed his laptop shut with a growl.
“I’m stuck.”
“Oh.” I masked my disappointment. Of course his frustration was about work. “Want to talk it through?”
He speared his fingers through his hair, tufts standing on end. My lip twitched. He looked like a startled cat. “I don’t want to keep you up.”
“Like I said, I wasn’t sleeping. Hit me with it, Murphy. I don’t mind spoilers.”
With a grumble, he started explaining his plot – the trucker serial killer who evaded capture for years before running afoul of his profiler.
“I need a stronger suspense beat at the midpoint. Something with higher stakes than a shootout.”
“I find adding Gran to any situation raises the stakes, whether or not you intended to.”
His rough chuckle caught me off guard. “She’d certainly make things interesting. But that might be what I need – not Gran specifically, but a confidant for my profiler. Right now, he’s a bit of lone wolf.”
I leaned against him, soaking up his warmth for a beat before pulling away. “We don’t knowanyonelike that.” Brow arched, I let my lip hitch up in a half-smile.
He growled softly, turning it into a reluctant smile. “Sometimes it’s easier to go it alone. Less messy.”
I let a low chuckle roll out, trying to imagine my life without mess. “Murphy, you’re involved with the wrong family if you want to escape drama. Especially the petty kind. Fenwicks are born messy.”
His gaze lingered on me, the corner of his mouth hitching. “Maybe that’s why my profiler’s missing something—he’s too neat. Needs someone willing to get their hands dirty.” His fingers grazed my knuckles, warm and intimate. “Some of us are slow learners in figuring out what we really want. Messy makes the story interesting... and I like interesting.”
My pulse skittered, and I was glad the dim light hid the heat crawling up my neck. “But are you willing to get your hands dirty to make it happen?”
He tilted his head, a slow smile curving his mouth. “Are we still talking about my plot?”
“I don’t know, Murphy. Are we?”
The space between us felt suddenly too small.
“Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured, and the low rasp of it followed me all the way back upstairs.
Chapter 11 – Lee
Aweek had passed since our late-night plotting session, and I’d been careful to keep my distance.
