Falling for the New Guy. Nicole HelmЧитать онлайн книгу.
pulled her hand away and the way she looked at him, he had to wonder if she felt it, too. The little zing of heat and inappropriate attraction.
She took a full step back, eyebrows drawing together. “Anyway. Hopefully you won’t be put in that position again. It isn’t...normal.”
“It isn’t?”
The vulnerable bafflement on her face immediately changed, blanked. “Enjoy your day off tomorrow, Marc. You earned it.”
“I only did my job.”
She cocked her head. “You did a little more than that, Captain Quiet.”
Before he could argue with the obnoxious moniker again, she stepped inside her apartment and shut the door.
He found himself here far too often, wanting to understand more, with a door shut in his face. When he should feel nothing but relief, he felt the exact opposite.
TESS SCOOTED FARTHER down into the cooling bathwater. It was her day off and she didn’t want to face it. So much so, she’d taken a bath, something she almost never did. Infrequently enough she didn’t even have bubbles. She’d squirted some shower gel in there and now she was lounging in tepid, bubbleless water.
It seemed terribly appropriate.
At least she didn’t have to face Marc. Small mercies. Her embarrassment wasn’t likely to fade anytime soon, but maybe she could get a better handle on it with a day in between sitting in a car with him for eight hours.
Eight long hours knowing he’d seen through her so easily. All the bravado, all the work she’d done to create this persona, and it’d only taken her father threatening someone with a butter knife and her asking Marc to keep people from pressing charges.
Marc saw her for what she was. A scared little girl with daddy issues so wide no submarine could cross.
She thought about the way she’d cried all over his shoulder then commented on the broadness of said shoulders. It was so out of character. At the very least when she flirted with a guy she didn’t do it in the middle of a good cry.
And she did not flirt with cops. Attraction didn’t matter. She’d seen enough to know if she got together with one cop, all the hard work she’d put into building her reputation would be for nothing. It was rare these days someone rolled their eyes at her simply for her gender.
She wasn’t undoing all that work for an impressive chest. Except she’d already done it with tears and Dad.
It was an impressive chest. What was the harm in a little fantasy when he wasn’t here, and she was in the bath, and—
Nope. Whole lotta harm. Because she had to share a damn patrol car with the guy for weeks upon unending weeks, and she did not need actual fantasies in her head.
Which was enough impetus to get her out of the bathtub. The only problem was—now what? She should go see Dad, check his place for signs of drugs, figure out what was going on.
She should. She should. What else might he do if she didn’t?
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
She was over the crying and the hurting. So she’d do the only thing that ever helped that—run her ass off.
She pulled on her running gear and slipped her apartment key in her shoe. She purposefully left her phone on the kitchen counter, strapped her MP3 player to her arm and stepped into the hallway.
There was Marc.
Well, hell.
She mustered her best I-did-not-wipe-snot-on-your-shirt-last-night smile.
“Morning.”
“Um, morning.” He cleared his throat, looking around the hallway at everything but her. “I was, um, going for a run.”
She could see that. Despite the cool March temperatures, he was in shorts. Showing off legs. Long, muscular, powerful, strong legs. A whole lotta adjectives for legs.
She had to stop looking at his legs. “I was, too.” Run till her brain exploded. Hopefully her libido, as well. But not in the fun way.
“Ah.” He nodded, looking at some point behind her on the wall.
“Yeah.” She scratched her head, pointed awkwardly at the stairs. “Um, after you.”
He gave one of those little Marc nods. She could not think of anyone else who could pull off that terse, distanced demeanor and still be something of a marshmallow on the inside.
Marc Santino had hugged her while she’d cried last night even after she’d given him a total out. No getting around that marshmallow move. Which was not something she had a lot of experience with. Which meant she should be wary, not interested.
“I should...get to it.”
Tess nodded. Not interested. Not interested. Not interested. Her eyeballs weren’t getting the message, because they were homed in on his butt as he walked down the stairs in front of her. Granted, in the loose athletic shorts she couldn’t get a good butt vantage point, but she’d seen it plenty in his uniform pants.
And had apparently unwittingly committed to brain space that it seemed very tight and firm and—yikes.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you know any good...running routes?” He was so stiff and uncomfortable, not making any eye contact.
Tess gave up. “Pretending last night didn’t happen is way more awkward than acknowledging it.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he muttered.
“Well, maybe it’s just as awkward, but you’re being too weird. I can’t take it.”
“How am I being weird?”
“You’re staring at a light fixture.”
His frown deepened and he purposefully moved his gaze to her. And, zowie, she needed to stop dwelling in Attraction Land. But his eyes were all light brown and mesmerizing and...
Briefly, his gaze dropped, not to the floor, but more like boobs, floor, then quickly back to her face. Wait. Had he just checked her out?
Oh, they were in some trouble.
Focus on the running thing. Now. “I usually run down the waterfront then up the bluff. There’s a path, pretty secluded without being creepy and a nice view.”
“That’s got to be at least four miles.”
“Run until your legs fall off.” She forced a sassy smirk. “Surely you can handle it?” Because there was no doubt about Marc being in fantastic shape. His T-shirt was loose enough in the stomach area, but around those arms? And the shoulders, perfect for snot crying?
Yeah, she had ample view of his shapes.
She seriously, seriously needed to cool the heck off. “You’re welcome to follow along if you want. Unless four miles is too many for you.”
Again he did the little boob-floor-back-to-face look, and if she wasn’t totally warped, she could swear his cheeks were a pinch pink. As if he was blushing.
Anyone else, she might adjust her sports bra right there and give him something to really blush about. But no cops. Especially not ones with marshmallow centers.
“All right,” he finally said, gesturing toward the door. “After you.”
She forced a sunny smile and sauntered out the door. No, she wasn’t sauntering. She was walking. Like a normal human being.
Swaying those hips like you want him to stare at your ass.
Okay, that, too. She kicked