Page 7 of Swerve
“Stay for a minute,” she calls after him.
It would have been the moment to keep walking. He knows it instantly. And he has no idea what makes him turn around. The cleavage. Or the fact that she belongs to the windbag who thought it his place to tell an entire room full of cops how to do their jobs.
Whatever the reason, he does turn around. And walk back. Leans against the wall that offers its view of the city and says, “Smoking’s bad for you.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Why do you keep doing it?”
“I have a very short list of things I like to do that might not be so good for me.”
Knox has a built-in alarm system for risky situations. It’s going off like a sonic boom in his ear. Which in no way explains why he continues with, “Such as?”
“Run with traffic instead of facing it.”
“Check.”
“I have a tendency to fall asleep in the bathtub with a book.”
“Living on the line.”
“Oh, and there’s one more.”
He looks at her then, feeling the physical pull between them. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“I like edgy men.”
He stares at her for several seconds and then, “That the category you’re putting me in?”
She shrugs her narrow shoulders. “I’m guessing I’m right.I noticed you in the conference room. You were sitting at the table across from mine.”
He props an elbow against the wall, looking at her intently now. “And you followed me out here?”
“Does that bother you or impress you?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
She takes a step closer, puts the cigarette out on the wall next to them. “I’d enjoy having the opportunity to help you make up your mind.”
“What if he comes looking for you?” Knox asks, holding her gaze with something closer to curiosity than interest at the moment.
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if he were interested enough in my whereabouts to come looking for me, I wouldn’t be out here trying to seduce you.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” he asks, his eyes falling to the fullness of her lower lip.
“Awkwardly, and obviously not very well, but yes.”
“Maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit.”
They study each other for several long moments before she places her hand over the zipper of his suit pants, and then concedes, “Maybe I don’t.”
There was little point in denying it, so he doesn’t.
“We could leave,” she suggests.
