Cops And...Lovers?. Linda Castillo
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closed her eyes. After surviving the proverbial day from hell, she knew it didn’t get any better than this.
She’d just begun to drift when the doorbell blasted. Erin opened her eyes and blew out a sigh. Who would be at her door when she didn’t know a soul in the entire town aside from Nick and Hector?
The doorbell rang again.
“Just a minute!” Climbing out of the tub, she toweled off quickly, shrugged into her robe and padded barefoot to the front door. She looked through the peephole and felt her heart nose-dive into her stomach. Nick stood on the other side, still in uniform, looking as grim as when she’d left him.
An odd sense of uncertainty jolted her. Turning away, she pressed her hand to her stomach to keep it from jumping. She glanced down at her robe. It was modest enough, but not something she wanted to be seen in by her boss—well, ex-boss in this case—especially since he’d probably stopped by to give her an exit interview she wouldn’t soon forget.
“McNeal, I know you’re in there,” he said through the door. “We need to talk.”
Determined to get through this with as much dignity as possible, she put her hand on the knob. She didn’t give a hoot if the almighty Nick Ryan saw her in her robe. If he had a problem with that, to hell with him.
She took two deep breaths and yanked open the door.
Erin McNeal wrapped in a terry cloth robe and smelling like freshly cut flowers was the last thing Nick expected. He stood frozen, shocked speechless by her transformation from cop to woman. All the while his brain floundered to form a coherent thought that didn’t have to do with soft skin or curves he knew better than to notice. He may as well have been splitting atoms for all the success he had.
She’d pinned her hair on top of her head, and dark, wet wisps clung to the creamy flesh of her neck. His eyes wanted to roam lower, but he quickly stopped the urge. He preferred not to know this woman had the kind of cleavage that could drive a man slowly insane. He held her gaze, vaguely aware of the color rising in her cheeks, feeling that same heat burn the back of his neck. He refused to think about what the sight of all those curves was doing to the rest of his body.
“I didn’t mean to get you out of the tub,” he said.
Her throat quivered when she swallowed. “I thought about not answering the door, but figured we ought to get this over with.”
“If this is a bad time, I can come back.”
She cocked her head. “If the robe bothers you, Chief, I can throw on my jeans. I think the outcome of this meeting will be the same either way.”
Nick didn’t want to think about her in jeans. Not when she was standing before him with water glistening on her flesh and his body humming with interest. After three years, why did it have to be this woman to remind him that he was still a man, with a man’s needs?
“I’ll make this short, then,” he said.
“I’d appreciate that. Do you want to come in?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Look, if you came here to finish firing me, the least you can do is come in.”
“I didn’t come here to fire you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were under the impression that I was a loose cannon and a threat to the inhabitants of Logan Falls and mankind in general.”
Nick couldn’t help smiling. He dropped his gaze, only to find himself staring at her toes. Unfortunately, they were every bit as sexy as the rest of her.
He raised his eyes to hers. “You weren’t the only one who overreacted today.”
“Is that your idea of an apology?”
“Save it, McNeal. I may have overreacted, but you were out of line. I won’t tolerate it.” Hearing movement behind him, Nick turned to see Mrs. Newman, the town gossip, pause outside the adjacent apartment with a bag of groceries in her arms. She gazed at him for a moment, then peered into Erin’s apartment with unconcealed curiosity. Terrific, he thought, this ought to get the tongues wagging.
Erin noticed and moved aside. “Do you want to come in?”
“I can’t stay.” He stepped into her apartment, realizing belatedly it would have been smarter for him to have handled the situation over the phone.
Turning away, Erin walked into the living room. Nick followed, struggling not to feel awkward—failing miserably—and trying in vain not to notice the curve of her backside beneath that robe.
The apartment was small, with high windows and gauzy curtains that ushered in ribbons of yellow sunlight. The furniture was outdated, but functional. Nothing frilly for Erin McNeal. No photographs or mementos. It didn’t surprise him she wasn’t neat. She’d barely unpacked, and already there was a hint of feminine clutter. A towel tossed haphazardly over a box. Her boots lay next to the sofa, where she’d kicked them off. He spotted her holster on the coffee table. Then his gaze stopped on the scrap of lace draped over the sofa arm. Her bra, Nick realized. The same one he’d noticed through her blouse the first time he’d seen her. No, he thought, coming here hadn’t been a good idea at all.
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