Page 2 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

MURPHY

“ G lad NPD could spare you,” Cole says, wrapping an arm around Hannah Grace.

The two people in front of me make me want to argue against my no marriage rule.

And it is more than just the beautiful words they spoke to each other during the ceremony.

It’s the way they are in tune with each other.

The way Hannah Grace reaches for Cole who is always right there.

An awareness as a result of the confidence and love I’ve only ever witnessed before between my parents.

Between my sisters and their significant others.

And sometimes it makes me jealous. But not enough to take the plunge myself.

“They don’t really have a choice.”

“What do you mean?” Sawyer asks, joining us with his wife, Evie, next to him.

“I just accepted a job with the FBI. I’ll be joining one of their task forces in DC.”

“Task force?” Cole perks up and his wife rolls her eyes.

“I thought we weren’t going to talk security at our wedding,” she tells him, drilling her index finger into his side.

“I’m not. I’m talking to Murphy about his new job opportunity.” He squirms away, capturing her finger and bringing it to his lips.

“Come on, Hannah Grace, we’ll go get another glass of champagne,” Evie tells her and the two depart after kissing their spouses.

The two men wait until their wives are gone before turning to me expectantly.

“Task force?” Cole repeats.

I nod, not hiding the smile as I explain.

“I’ll be working with the behavioral analysis division, profiling crimes committed against women. When I was working on my degree a few years ago, I focused on the psychology of violent crimes against women.”

With a mother and two sisters—one of whom had dealt with an ex who wouldn’t leave her alone—my focus had been singular. And with this new job, successful.

“Like Hannah Grace and Laura Leigh?” Cole asks.

“It happened to my sister Riley too. But not like…”

I don’t need to say Zach’s name. There’s a hard edge to Cole that wasn’t there before. But sometimes the crimes against women were worse. Hannah Grace and Laura Leigh had been lucky. Riley had been lucky.

Some women weren’t. I’d worked on those cases as well, and they were the reason why this job was one I couldn’t wait to start.

“Well, fuck,” Cole says.

“What?” I ask.

“I was going to ask you to check in on Laura Leigh this summer. She accepted an internship with the public defender’s office and will be in the city starting in a few weeks.”

My big brother instinct roars to life at the memory of the petite blonde whose blue eyes were unfocused because of what some asshole had done. At the slight tremor of her hand when she had reached out to steady herself on the wall when we spoke.

“My job doesn’t start until September 1 st . I’m happy to keep an eye on her.”

“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.” Cole claps me on the back and he, Sawyer, and I end up talking about some cases they’ve worked on recently.

I’m half focused on them and half focused on how to head out so I can do some research tonight when a blonde walks up to where we stand on the edge of the dance floor.

All of my focus is now homed in on her, on the way the soft lights reflect off the honey-colored highlights in her hair, turning the color to spun gold.

Blue eyes that are a mix of curious and confident catch mine, and it’s the jolt back to reality I need.

Holy fuck.

“Hi,” she says, coming to a stop next to me.

“Murphy, speak of the devil. You remember Hannah Grace’s baby sister, Laura Leigh, right?” Cole asks.

The manners my parents taught me are second nature and the only reason I can nod and reach out to shake her hand while my brain is scrambling to latch on to the little sister thoughts now scattering like leaves in a breeze.

“Laura Leigh.”

She slides her palm into mine, and I attempt to ignore the electric sparks that zip up my arm and then head to an inconvenient part of my body where my blood seems to have gone. Because nope. Women at weddings are off-limits. But little sisters at weddings?

That’s a whole other level of forbidden I’m not entertaining.

“It’s just Leigh. I go by Leigh now,” she explains, shooting a glare at Cole.

Let go of her hand, dumbass .

Belatedly, I realize while I’ve been trying to figure out the exact shade of her blue eyes—more of a Caribbean blue than her sister’s cornflower color—I’ve still been shaking her hand. Letting it go, I stuff my traitorous hand and its partner in my pockets.

“Sorry. You’ll always be Laura Leigh to me. Or Lee Lee.”

“Cole, if you ever use that nickname again, I’ll sic Sydney on you,” she warns.

“Lee Lee?” I ask, unable to help myself.

“A childhood nickname. It really is just Leigh now.” Her tone is soft, husky, the slight drawl pulling me in like the Pied Piper.

What would my name sound like breaking on her lips?

You’re not going to fucking find out. Little sister, remember?

“Leigh,” I say, trying out the name.

She tries to fight a shiver, but doesn’t quite manage it as her eyes clash with mine.

“Cole? The photographer wants to get a few more pictures,” Hannah Grace calls from the other side of the dance floor.

He grimaces, but salutes us before joining his wife.

“Good luck!” I call after him.

He shoots me a look over his shoulder before looking at Hannah Grace again.

“That’s my cue to go find my wife for a dance,” Sawyer says. “Good talking to you, Murphy. Let me know how the new job goes.”

We shake hands and then it’s only Leigh and me.

“Poor Cole. Guess he got the karma he deserved,” Leigh says, the corner of her mouth quirking.

Fuck, she’s cute .

And the mischievous grin draws my attention once more to her lips.

Are they as soft as they look?

Clearing my throat, I turn my focus to her, angling to provide a bit more distance between us.

“Should I go rescue him? Tell him there’s an emergency?” I ask, causing her smile to stretch into a fuller version of the tease it was before.

It’s like the sun coming out from behind storm clouds. Would she taste like the sunshine she reminds me of?

You’re not going to find out. She’s off-limits. She’s only twenty.

No. She was before. The first time I met her. But still, that makes her what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? Regardless of her age, she’s still enshrouded by the little sister label. That label means one thing and one thing only.

Forbidden.

“I think Hannah Grace might actually murder you if you do.”

I bark out a laugh.

“Fair enough.”

We fall into a silence, equal parts comfortable and awkward as my attention shifts to the people milling around the dance floor.

Time to go.

“Well—”

“I… can I buy you a drink?” she asks, slicking her tongue along her bottom lip.

The lights around us reflect off the trail of moisture.

“Are you old enough to drink?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Are you?” she fires back.

Fuck. The spark coming to life in her gaze is attractive. What else would create that burn?

I know I look well over the legal drinking age. If there was any question, the more salt than pepper sprinkled in my goatee when I look in the bathroom mirror should prove it.

“I’m thirty-six years old, Little Bit. Well over the age to enjoy a beer if I want to. Are you really twenty-one?”

“Twenty-two.” She crosses her arms over her chest, the move highlighting her breasts and yanking my attention to the impressive cleavage created by her dress.

Record scratch.

How old did she say she was?

Twenty-two. Twenty-fucking-two. I have no business looking at a twenty-two-year-old like I want to devour her. Even if I want to.

“Fuck, you’re just a wean,” I groan and close my eyes, willing the attraction to disappear before I open them again.

“A what?”

My eyes pop open, and a line carves between her brows as she studies me.

“A wean. A wee one. A kid,” I explain until I land on the phrase she understands.

Her eyes narrow as she glares at me.

“Well, this wean is going to get a glass of champagne. Excuse me.” She tosses the blonde curls not in her updo over her shoulder and steps around me, stumbling slightly as she steps onto the cobblestone path.

My hand snaps out to catch her but she brushes past me and heads for the bar.

“Wait a minute.” I follow her, my fingers wrapping around her bicep to turn her back in my direction.

The silk of her skin under my fingertips combined with her perfume overwhelm my senses. It’s a mix of floral and musk and some sort of berry, and I drag in another lungful while I can.

I should let her go.

But I don’t want to. I don’t want her to be angry with me. And there’s no logical reason for why I feel the way I do.

“What?” she snaps.

“I didn’t say no,” I tell her.

“You didn’t say yes, either.”

Touché.

“Isn’t it an open bar?” I tease, trying to get her to smile again.

She spins around, focusing on me, her mouth open to respond with what I’m sure will be another snarky response. Instead, she snaps it shut, and her glare softens until a smile teases the corner of her lips.

“Nothing to say?” I ask when she doesn’t respond.

“Since when did an open bar stop you from letting a pretty girl buy you a drink?” Her fingers walk up the placket of my buttons, and I cover her hand with mine before she can feel just how hard my heart is pounding in my chest.

Because encouraging her will only lead to something I can’t give her.

But damned if I’m willing to stop talking to her.

There’s something about her that draws me in and makes me want to ask questions. A warmth I feel in my soul.

“By all means.” I nod behind her to the waiting bartender.

She orders a glass of champagne for herself, and I ask for a glass of Jameson.

I’m digging my wallet out for a tip when she fishes two dollars out of the top of her dress and drops them into the tip jar.

I don’t think I’ve ever been envious of dollar bills before, but I am of the two Leigh pulls from the satin stretching across her breasts.