Page 15 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

LEIGH

“ C an I get an iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot and extra caramel, please?” I ask the person at the coffee counter in the courthouse first thing Monday morning, stifling a yawn.

She’s the one I see all the time when I’m here. Probably the person I see the most often.

Libby.

Is she the owner?

I’m just about to ask her when another voice interrupts.

“I’ve got it.” The rich baritone is accompanied by an inked wrist I know well, as a credit card exchanges hands without my participation.

Spinning around, I nearly plow into the impressive chest of Murphy O’Connell. He’s wearing a green button-down shirt, a tie loose around his neck.

Why is he here?

“You don’t have to,” I tell him and try to ignore the flutter in my body being this close to him creates.

Traitorous body. It’s not like I’ve heard from him since last week. I shouldn’t still be attracted to him.

But you are .

As if to prove my point, the corner of his lips twitches and lifts, a cross between a smile and a smirk. Damn him. I doubt he realizes just what that look does for my panties.

“I know. I want to. Consider it a peace offering.”

“Peace offering?”

But I already know why he’s making the offer. The anger is residual, a sticky residue left behind since so many days have passed.

He had warned me away from Charlie Vanderweel.

Who wasn’t dangerous. Even if I did get the sensation of being watched off and on throughout the weekend.

It was only when I was at the grocery store and running other errands, other people all around me.

I made sure to keep other people around me, staying inside the house with the doors locked when I was home.

I was relieved when the sensation hadn’t followed me to the courthouse this morning.

“I almost called you this weekend,” he says to me before turning to the barista. “Dark roast, please?”

His smile has the same impact on her it initially did on me—he dazzles her. But she manages to ring up his coffee and grab it before working on my order.

“Why?” I ask, slightly grumpy at being ignored while the barista makes eyes at Murphy.

How obvious could she be?

Can you blame her?

“I wanted to apologize.” He continues to stay focused on me, ignoring the coffee worker, despite her attention staying focused on him.

“Apologize for what?” I ask. Sighing, I shift my weight from foot to foot, already regretting the high heels for today’s court appearance for one of Lindsay’s clients.

“You already know. I realize it too. I overstepped. I don’t have any control over who you choose to spend time with.

” His tone may be full of resignation, but the way his jaw clenches tells me what he really thinks about the idea—he doesn’t like it.

His gaze focuses on the board next to the coffee counter listing the drink options instead of meeting mine.

“No, you don’t. I’m curious, though, what made you realize that?”

I get my drink and blow on the lid before gingerly taking a sip.

He shrugs, the move nonchalant enough I want to stomp my foot against the polished marble floor.

“My sisters.”

The comment I had locked and loaded to fire at him for his indifference scatters.

“Your sisters?” I ask, taking a big swallow of my drink and nearly burning myself on the hot liquid.

He gestures toward the exit, but I point in the direction of one of the courtrooms and he falls into step beside me.

“I realized if I did to them what I tried to do to you, I’d have likely been on the receiving end of a fist to the gut or a knee to the groin. Or both, knowing Riley.”

I like his sisters already.

“Oh, really?”

He hums his agreement and takes a drink from his cup before responding.

“I may not like it and I can give you my reasons why?—”

“You don’t have to like it. But you will respect it.”

“You’re right. In the grand scheme of things, it is your choice.”

His gaze collides with mine, the hazel depths holding genuine contrition and something more. I can’t quite name the emotion, but it makes me feel like he sees me. The real me. Not the young girl I was when I met him. But like I’m an equal. Like he does actually respect me.

It’s a heady sensation, a warm buzz fizzing through my blood that isn’t the result of my sweet coffee.

“So you came to the courthouse to tell me all this? You couldn’t just call me up this weekend?”

“Serendipity. I had planned on calling you later today. I was supposed to testify today. But the perp took a plea deal from the DA.”

“Is that what this is for?” I ask, reaching out and tugging on the loose tie.

A fire glows deep in his gaze, and my lips go dry at the somewhat hidden expression. On my next blink, the desire I know I saw is gone, replaced by one of resignation.

“When we testify, they like us to look professional,” he explains, making air quotes around the word professional.

The light green of his dress shirt covers up more of his tattoos than others, as does the fact that it’s buttoned all the way up. His khaki-colored dress pants do little to hide muscular thighs. In short, he looks like sex on a stick. Exactly like he has every other time I’ve seen him.

How is it fair?

“What are you doing here?” he asks, interrupting my ogling.

“Lindsay has a prelim hearing this morning. She wants me to get some exposure to the courtroom side of things.”

A shiver works its way down my spine and I hold it off, taking another sip of my coffee as I glance around, the sensation of being watched having returned. For a moment, I consider telling Murphy about it. About how it’s come and gone all weekend.

But I have no proof. Just a rock sitting in my stomach. I move closer, basking in the warmth he exudes. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“What’d they do?”

“Who?” I ask, taking another sip and doing another covert sweep of the coffee area and lobby. Nodding in the direction of the courtroom, I start to walk away, trying to keep my gait slow when I want to rush away.

“The perp. The one?—”

“Perp sounds terrible. Like you already know they’re guilty,” I say, not hiding my frown as I stare at my cup.

“What would you call them?” His question is tentative, almost a whisper.

Like he doesn’t want to disrupt whatever truce we’ve established over a few sips of coffee and a short walk from the coffee shop to the courtroom.

“By their name. Or… they’re clients, I guess.” I shrug the shoulder not weighed down by my large bag that doubles as both a purse and a briefcase.

He makes a noncommittal sound.

“We just see things from different perspectives. For example, I could see you as my enemy.” He says the words so matter-of-factly, I nearly drop my coffee.

“What? Why?” I knew relationships between attorneys and police officers were contentious, but enemies?

“You help free the people we arrest.”

“But sometimes those people are innocent,” I argue, meeting his gaze again. “Life isn’t always as black and white as you want it to be. Sometimes there are reasons things happen, situations spiraling out of control. Not every crime deserves the same consequence.”

“You’re right,” he says.

His admission surprises me.

“The world is full of gray. Sometimes people are innocent. Sometimes there is more to the story. But the odds of that are rare, Little Bit.”

Gone is the sensation of being watched, anger and frustration blocking everything else out.

“I hate that nickname,” I grind out between my teeth.

He barks out a surprised laugh that echoes off the hallway around us.

“All of that and that’s what you focus on? My nickname for you.”

Heat climbs into my cheeks.

“I heard everything else too. But the nickname is terrible.”

“I didn’t realize how badly you disliked it.”

“It makes me stabby,” I admit.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” he asks, still smiling.

“You could call me Leigh,” I offer.

“I like having my own name for you. Everyone calls you Leigh.” The words are innocent enough, but the intense way he studies me, the fire banked within his golden gaze, creates a responding heat in my body that has nothing to do with embarrassment.

Danger! This line of thinking did not do you any favors before.

Memories of the rejected kiss pop up.

I groan, as much to dispel the memories as in response to his statement.

“Not everyone. Most people still call me Laura Leigh. Like my sister. And Cole. My parents. Everyone except who I work with. They call me Leigh. So does Sydney.”

“So your friends call you Leigh?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Am I your friend, Leigh?” I try to ignore the way his lips wrap around my name.

Try and fail.

My breath stalls in my lungs. I want him to say it again.

Are we friends?

“I…I’m not sure. Do you think we are?” I turn the question back around on him, wondering what he’ll say.

The smile he had moments ago was nice. This one? This one is devastating to my sanity.

“I want to be your friend.” He says the words slowly, testing them out.

Like I told Charlie the other day, I don’t have many in Nashville. When Sydney and I had talked about me moving to Nashville, we had talked about me going out more, experiencing the city. I had thought I would have other interns to go out with. Maybe form some friendships there.

But the office is more cutthroat than I anticipated, and not one of the interns seems interested in anything more than office politics and getting a leg up for more internships or even associate opportunities.

I had been spending more and more time bingeing Searching for Love on my couch. Maybe with a friend I would have something else to do. I could have someone to check out the city with. And what better person than one from Nashville?

But what about how hot you find him?

Maybe it’s the wrong choice, maybe it isn’t. But I want to be friends with Murphy. Attraction and all.

“I could use a friend,” I say, as much to myself as to Murphy.

The embarrassment of the rejected kiss, the desire I still feel for him? I can shove those to the side. No, not can. Will. I will shove those away.