Page 22 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

LEIGH

T he headlights wash onto the pavement of my driveway, the front porch lighting up brighter with the added light before dimming back to the porchlight I left on earlier.

The last game had been finished and I was getting dinner, but anticipation continued to build no matter how many times I tried to remind myself the flirting had been to win the game, not because it was a date.

“Thanks for tonight. I had fun,” I tell him.

The hard planes of his face are dimly lit from the dash lights, but the attraction still buzzes back and forth between us like a live wire connecting him to me.

There’s a flash of white with his teeth as he smiles.

“You had fun because you kicked my ass. I’ll win next time.”

Warmth sizzles through my blood at his words. Next time.

I shouldn’t already be looking forward to it.

“We’ll see. Maybe I took it easy on you,” I tease.

His smile deepens, his eyes glowing with his amusement. Serious Murphy is dangerous enough to my sanity. But this Murphy? The smiling, amused, relaxed one?

Lethal.

“We’ll see about that, Stóirín.”

“You called me that earlier too and I thought you said starry. What does it mean?”

He leans back in his seat, one hand climbing up to rub at the back of his neck as he closes his eyes and blows out a breath.

“It’s Gaelic,” he says after a long pause.

“What does it mean?” I ask again, more hesitant than before since I’m not sure how I should react in light of his response.

“It means sweetheart.” The words are quiet, rushed, like he doesn’t want me to hear or understand them.

“Sweetheart?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level and not let it squeak in the mix of surprise and pleasure creating a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

He glances at me, his gaze finding and connecting with mine as my heart flutters in my chest.

Only friends . Only friends . We’re only friends .

But despite the numerous reminders, it does nothing to stop the way the word sweetheart circles in my brain, drawing the butterflies to it like a moth to a flame.

“I-I don’t know how to respond to that,” I admit.

It’s the truth.

I know the safest thing for my sanity—and my heart—is to walk away. To forget he’s been calling me the Gaelic word for sweetheart all night.

But my body stays frozen where it is, hanging on whatever it is he says next.

“It doesn’t change anything,” he says, even as his hand lifts to my jaw and his thumb skims my lower lip.

“I know.” The words are a resigned whisper, but hope continues to glimmer since his thumb stays where it is.

“I’m trying to do the right thing here,” he says, more to himself than to me.

“I know that too.” My breath stalls in my lungs as I wait.

For what, I’m not sure. But the moment between us continues to stretch, anticipation building with every back-and-forth motion against my lip.

“Fuck it.”

The words only have a heartbeat to register before he leans forward, his mouth claiming mine.

But it’s not an awkward first kiss—second kiss?

—as his tongue glides along the seam of my lips.

I open to his request, his tongue tangling with mine, as we settle against each other.

It’s as if we’ve been kissing for years instead of two kisses spaced almost two months apart.

I moan, my fingers gripping where they can, finding his biceps as he masterfully controls the pace, both driving me crazy and satiating the ache as his lips lay siege.

I surrender.

There’s a click of the seatbelt, and the fabric against my chest loosens.

I shift closer, shrugging free of the confining strap to settle heart to heart against him.

His hands delve into my hair, pulling my mouth from his for his lips to find my jaw and trace the line back to my ear with his tongue.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs, the vibration tickling the sensitive skin beneath my earlobe.

“You’re probably right.” I may say those words, but my fingers tighten against his biceps, a silent request not to stop. His teeth nip at my lobe and his own fingers tighten where they grip my hair.

He must not like the words either because his mouth claims mine again, silencing the words scattering like leaves on the wind in the wake of the chemistry between us.

Holy shit.

If the first kiss between us was explosive, this second creates a nuclear reaction. It would be easy to strip where I am, having my way with him where anyone could see us.

Invite him inside .

Rejection pricks through the fog of lust and desire, and I rip my lips away from his.

“What’s changed?” I ask.

“What?” His eyes open slowly, his gaze unfocused as his lips glisten in the dim lights around us.

“What’s changed? Why now?” My lips tingle, my body aching to forget talking, to use my mouth for a better occupation.

I swallow, trying to stem the lust and focus on his response.

“I…can’t seem to resist you. Whatever this is between us”—his hand moves from him to me, resting against my thigh— “it’s impossible to resist. It just keeps getting stronger.”

My body wholeheartedly agrees, but I’ll be damned if I allow myself to give in to the desire only to be rejected again.

“So the fact that I’m Cole’s sister-in-law? That I’m younger than you are?”

A muscle tics in his jaw, his nostrils flaring with his breath.

“I don’t care. I know I should,” he confesses.

“But?” Anticipation builds in my stomach.

I’m at the beginning of a roller coaster, the climb taking me higher and higher as the butterflies take over my stomach.

“It’s hard to remember why I should when your lips are still swollen with my kisses,” he growls.

God, if my panties didn’t incinerate at the words, they would from the desire burning in his gaze. But by some miracle, I still have a small bit of sanity with the sting of the rejection from the night we shared our first kiss. It’s a good reminder to be sure.

For him to be certain.

I swallow, leaning back against my seat.

“I’m not saying no. But I want you to be sure, Murphy.

I need to know you’re not going to reject me the way you did before.

If all this”—I mimic his gesture with my hand between us— “is a fling, fine. I can agree to that. But I won’t agree just to have you change your mind. Not again. That’s not fair to me.”

He nods. “You’re right.”

“So which is it?” I ask, sounding a whole lot more confident than I feel in the moment.

The silence stretches between us, a song swirling through the car while I wait for his response. I lick my lips, trying to calm my racing heart, and run my hands along my pants.

“I…I need think about it. And doing any thinking when you’re this close to me is proving impossible,” he says, glancing down at his lap at the sizable erection still pressing against the denim of his jeans.

Oh. My. God.

My thighs clench together, the ache in my core anything but soothed, as a smile twitches at my lips with his self-deprecating words.

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours. Tomorrow night. Dinner. And your decision.”

He nods, reaching out a hand to lace his fingers with mine, squeezing gently.

“I can do that.”

“Good night, Murphy.” Leaning over, I brush my lips against the stubble of his cheek.

What would it feel like between my thighs?

That’s a question not leaving anytime soon.

“Good night.”

It takes almost everything in me to pull away, step out of the car, and walk to my front door on unsteady legs.

The heat of his gaze between my shoulder blades is a safety I didn’t realize I needed, but also makes it more difficult to walk away.

He waits until I’m inside and the door is locked behind me before the headlights light up the room when he backs down the driveway.

“Your move, Detective.”

Twelve hours later, I’m second-guessing leaving the ball in his court as I’ve spent every one of those hours wondering which choice he’s going to make.

“I should have put my cards on the table,” I tell Sydney, my cell on speakerphone as I clean up the kitchen.

Murphy had texted earlier and confirmed he would be bringing groceries over and to ask if I was allergic to anything. The texts were so innocuous given the attraction that had strung the moment tight between us last night.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because the texts gave me no insight into what Murphy was thinking.

Sydney yawns into the phone and I hear the crack of a can. In her defense, I had woken her up. In my defense, it was after two in the afternoon her time.

“Eh.” She takes a slurp from whatever energy drink she’s opened before continuing. “The way I see it, your whole date last night was foreplay.”

“It wasn’t a date. Wait. What? Foreplay?” I stop as the rest of her words register, the sponge I had been wiping the counter with skittering into the sink.

“Mmm. The push-pull of the pool games. Proud of you for kicking his ass by the way. The flirting?—”

“That was just to win!”

“Was it?” she asks, sounding more awake than she had a few minutes ago.

“You’re not helping,” I mutter, retrieving the sponge and scrubbing at the already clean counter.

“Just because you don’t like what I’m saying doesn’t mean I’m not helping. I already told you before that the chemistry between you two at the wedding was H-O-T. It’s about time the two of you acted on it.” Her words are accompanied by a door opening and closing. “Hey, Jess.”

“Hi, Jess,” I echo through the phone, saying hi to Sydney’s roommate.

“She said hi back before disappearing into her room. Looks like she’s been crying. Her fucking boyfriend is a royal dick. Bowie. What kind of fucking name is Bowie?”

I open my mouth to respond when a text pops up on my phone.

MURPHY: Dinner in an hour?

“Fuck.”

“What?” I had forgotten Sydney was on speakerphone.

“He’s going to be here in an hour.” I glance down at my athletic shorts and tank. “I need to get ready. I still have to shower.”

The nerves and anticipation I’ve channeled into cleaning the house all day morph into kamikaze butterflies swirling in my stomach.