Page 23 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)
“Well, you could always answer the door in your towel. That’ll definitely get you your answer sooner rather than later,” she jokes.
Heat travels through my body, picturing Murphy responding to me answering the door in just my towel.
His jaw would clench, the muscle ticking as his golden eyes darken and the flames roar to life like they did last night.
He’d storm into the house, slamming the door behind him as he lifts me against the wall and?—
“Leigh! Earth to Leigh!” Sydney’s voice finally registers.
Holy shit. Blinking, I toss the sponge into the sink on purpose this time and head for my room and bathroom. If my imagination has me all hot and bothered, what would the real thing be like?
And will I have the chance to experience it?
“Sorry. Distracted,” I mumble, kicking off my shorts and leaning over to crank the water on in the shower.
“You got this. Whatever his answer, it’s going to be fine. At least tonight you’ll know once and for all.”
“True.”
I had told him tonight we were done playing tug-of-war with my libido in the mix. I want an answer. I want the answer, but am going to settle for one regardless of what it is.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
“What are you going to wear? Because I doubt you’re taking my advice and wearing nothing at all.” The beep of a microwave on her end accompanies her comment.
That was the debate waking me up this morning. Do I dress it up? Play it casual?
“I’m just going to wear jean shorts and a tank top. It’s freaking roasting outside.”
“Mmm. What’s he making for dinner?” she asks, her question muffled by whatever she’s just put into her mouth.
“He said it was a surprise. What are you eating?”
“Leftover Chinese. Jessie and I grabbed it on the way back from the bar last night.”
“Did you break your self-imposed sex-ile?” I hadn’t heard anything from her yet today, so have no idea if she’d had any luck when she and Jessie went out or not.
“Nope, so my plan is to live vicariously through you, so either you need to get some—and share some details—or I’m going to have to go out again in the next few days. My vibrator isn’t cutting it anymore.”
“What if he?—”
“No, no what-ifs. Jesus, I can see your anxiety from here and we’re not even on FaceTime. You’re good with either decision, right? Just friends? Rocking each other’s worlds?”
Am I?
“Well, yeah. I think so,” I tell her.
Because if he says just friends?
I can respect that.
I may not like it. But I can at least understand it. I can ignore my libido until he moves.
“And you’re covered protection-wise?”
“Yeah. I bought some condoms before I left Knoxville. Right after we decided on our hot girl summer.”
Back when I had sworn to avoid Murphy O’Connell like the plague once I got to Nashville.
Look how well that turned out.
“Then you’re all set. Text me. I want details.”
“What if there aren’t any?”
She laughs.
“Oh, I’m sure there will be. Just text me.”
She hangs up sounding way more confident than I feel, but I don’t have time to spiral.
I take the fastest shower in history, taking a few extra minutes to make sure my legs are smooth and hair-free before jumping out.
Rushing from the bathroom back into the bedroom, I dig through my drawer until I find the ice blue matching bra and panties I bought when I first got to Nashville—just in case—before throwing on my frayed denim shorts and a light blue tank top.
I don’t bother with much makeup, just adding gloss to my lips before I blow dry my hair into waves I leave down. After nearly tripping over the towels, I lean down, picking them up to hang them on the rack before giving myself one last glance in the bathroom mirror.
“I guess we’ll see what happens,” I tell my reflection before turning off the light.
The doorbell rings as I’m dabbing on perfume, and my stomach somersaults as the butterflies begin a wild tango.
“Now or never,” I mumble, trying to ignore the light tremor of my hand as I set the perfume bottle down on the dresser.
As much as I want to run at the door, I keep my pace steady, checking the peephole to find Murphy waiting on the stoop, a Gaelic warrior come to life with his thick, corded, inked muscles.
A pair of aviators hides his eyes, and I wish he would take them off.
Something the universe grants as I open the door and he tucks them into the collar of his tan short-sleeve shirt.
It’s the first time I’ve ever had more than a peek at his arm sleeve, and the urge to lift my hand, to trace all the dark symbols up his arm where they curl at the base of his neck is almost overwhelming. He’s more inked than I first thought, his shorts showing off the tattoos on the opposite leg.
Where does the ink cross?
I drop my attention to his waist before I force my focus back to his face.
“Hi.” His lips twitch before blooming into a smile, and my own stretches in response.
“Hi.”
“Can I come in?”
I step to the side to invite him in, and he reaches down and grabs several bags I’ve just noticed by his feet.
The choreography is a mix of polite strangers and something more, but the sexual tension stifles us in an awkward silence I haven’t experienced with him before.
“Kitchen?” he asks, lifting both hands.
I point to the doorway behind the living room and trail him as he carries the bags and sets them on the counter.
“Have you ever had Shepherd’s Pie and soda bread?” he asks, turning toward me.
“Do you have a decision for me?” I ask as soon as his gaze meets mine.
“I asked you first.” He takes a step toward me and I retreat, overwhelmed by his presence.
“What was the question?” Because if I heard it the first time, I’ve already forgotten it.
“Shepherd’s Pie. Soda Bread. Sound good for dinner? They’re my mom’s recipes.” He smirks, taking another step forward.
I step back and bump into the wall, unaware of how close it was while trying not to melt into a puddle of goo on the floor.
But I’m not sure if it’s the way his laser focus heats me up from the core outward or him making his mom’s recipes for me that has my heart melting.
“You’re making your mom’s recipes for me?”
“If that’s okay,” he murmurs. “You still haven’t told me if it sounds good or not.”
He closes the distance between us, his chest teasing my breasts, and I fight the urge to drag him closer while the butterflies swarm in my stomach.
I nod.
“It sounds delicious.” The words come out breathy and his nose drops to my jaw, dragging it down my throat.
“You asked me a question too,” he reminds me, continuing the torturous glide of skin against skin.
“Mm-hmm.” I tilt my head to give him better access, but he doesn’t take it, and I want to groan in frustration.
“What was your question?” he prompts.
“Do you have a decision for me?” I somehow manage to get the words out despite the fact that my entire body feels like it’s about to combust at any moment.
It’s as if every interaction with Murphy has been leading here, to this point, this electrical charge that continues to consume me as he hovers above me, around me. Each heartbeat is a torturous delay, a stretching of the anticipation building since we first met.
He makes a sound, his chest vibrating with it, before he speaks.
“I want you, Leigh. More than any other woman in a long time. Maybe ever, as terrifying as that is for me to admit. And while I think you deserve so much more than me, I’m just selfish enough to stop fighting this magnetic pull you have on me.
So if you tell me you want me right now, you better be prepared, Stóirín.
Because once I have a taste of you, there’s no turning back. Not for me. Not tonight.”
My knees buckle with his barely leashed growl, my senses overwhelmed by citrus and bergamot as his cologne wraps around the two of us. But still he stands there frozen, poised, waiting for me. And I have zero doubt if I told him I had changed my mind, he would back off.
But everything in me—mind, body, and soul—is crying out for more, and I lift my hands, scratching my nails along his nape, the short hairs tickling my fingertips.
“I meant what I said last night. I want you. This. Whatever this is that’s between us. It’s burning me alive, and all I can think about is the way I feel when you kiss me.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Kiss me, Murphy. Please.”