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

Drinks in hand, we move to a small cocktail table set up between the bar and the dance floor.

“Cole tells me you’re heading to Nashville next month?”

She takes a sip of champagne and hums in response.

“Yes. I have an internship with the public defender’s office this summer.”

“You want to be a lawyer?” I lift my glass and enjoy the smooth slide of the Jameson as it travels down my chest.

“Yeah. After…everything happened, I decided I wanted to become an attorney. I wanted to make sure guys like Zach went behind bars.”

“I hate to tell you, but the office you’re working for does the opposite.”

She giggles, lifting her glass and tossing back half of the champagne.

“I know. Why I got into law was one thing, but then I found out about all the individuals who get arrested and convicted of crimes they didn’t commit. Did you know anywhere between four and six percent of people in jail are actually innocent?”

“Which means there are more in there for a reason. A good reason.”

“If even one person has lost their freedom because they were wrongfully convicted, that’s too many.”

Color stains her cheeks, that fire I like once more blazing to life in her eyes.

“So you’re going to work for the public defender’s office?”

She shrugs. “Ultimately, I want to work for Project Justice. It’s an organization to help wrongfully convicted individuals file appeals to be exonerated. The application for the project closes at the end of summer, and I thought this would look good on the application.”

“I wish you luck in getting selected then. I’m starting a new job myself. With the FBI.” And for the first time since I accepted the job, regret creates a pang in my stomach.

“You’re leaving Nashville?”

“Not yet. In fact, you’ll probably see me around your office since I have to stop by for a case occasionally.”

“I hope so. I don’t know many people in the city.”

“How many people do you know?”

“Including you?” she asks and lifts her glass again for a smaller sip.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“One.”

She surprises another laugh from me, and her accompanying giggle is infectious.

“Since Hannah Grace moved to California, there’s no one else there I know,” she explains.

“Why Nashville then?” I ask, genuinely curious.

I take another drink of my Jameson and wait for her response.

“It’s where the internship offer came from. And it made sense since Hannah Grace’s house is empty right now.”

“You’re staying at her place?”

She nods, sending a lock of hair free from her partial updo.

“Yeah.”

“How long is the internship for?”

“Are you interrogating me, detective?” She lifts her hands, her fingers playing with the pendant of a necklace where it rests against the smooth skin of her collarbone.

I have to fight not to drop my gaze back down, shaking my head and blinking to avoid the temptation.

“Sorry. My mom says I do the same thing to her and my sisters all the time.”

“Habit of the job, probably. Have you been on the force long?” Her body begins to move to the beat of the song the DJ is playing.

“I did the whole college thing. Studied psychology. Once I was done with school, I joined the force.”

“And now the FBI,” she murmurs.

“Yep. I leave for DC at the end of August.”

“What does your family think of you moving?” she asks.

That’s the only dark spot in the happiness I associate with this new opportunity. I don’t know why, but I hadn’t expected tears when I told Mom, Quinn, and Riley about my impending move. They’d tried talking me out of it. Repeatedly.

And I doubted they were done.

“They don’t want me living so far away.”

That’s an understatement .

“Boy, do I understand that,” she murmurs, her eyes searching the tables.

“Looking for someone?” I ask.

“Just my parents. There.” She points to a table where a man in a tux and a woman in a navy sequined dress stand next to three pink-haired women, and they all wave in our direction.

We wave back. The song changes and the movement of her hips drags my attention to the material wrapping around her curves. The slow movement mesmerizes me.

Just one dance . What can it hurt?

It’s a fast song. Safe enough.

Then I’ll go.

“Come on.” I lace my fingers with hers and turn from the table.

“I’m sorry?” she asks, but still stays with me as I lead us to the dance floor.

“I can tell you want to dance. You haven’t stopped moving since this song came on.”

“You noticed?”

I glance over my shoulder, and a pretty blush pinkens her cheeks.

“It’s part of my job. Noticing,” I tell her.

Yeah, because noticing her is only part of the job .

“Oh.”

We reach the dance floor and she moves to the music in a contagious exuberance. So when the next song comes on, we continue to dance.

The third song is slower, and I’m reaching for her before I can talk myself out of it.

Her arms climb along my chest to drape around my neck, and the brush of her fingertips along the hair at my nape creates a shiver that works its way down my spine.

“You’re a really good dancer,” she murmurs as we pass other swaying couples.

One corner of my mouth kicks up in a smile.

“Thanks. It was something my mom had me learn. Dad knew how to dance, and Mom always said that was what caught her attention first.”

She giggles and my half smile stretches to a full one.

“You’re pretty good yourself,” I say as we rotate around the dance floor.

“All good debutantes know how to dance.”

Fuck, the sass she says those words with is enough to have me struggling to remember there’s a fourteen-year age difference between the two of us.

I chuckle.

“You must have been a good debutante then.”

She laughs. “God, no. I was terrible. I hated wearing all the dresses and going to all the different events. That was more Hannah Grace’s thing than mine. I’m not a fan of rules. Neither are you, judging by this.”

Her fingers trace the ink peeking out from my collar, setting off more of those sparks I’m struggling to ignore.

“It’s allowed. So long as it’s not visible.” And I absolutely push that line.

The song ends and I spin her out and back before dipping her, as her fingers grip my biceps through the thin material of my dress shirt. I relish the sensation, pausing for several heartbeats before I lift her back to a standing position.

“That sounds like a story,” she says breathily.

“Oh it is. A long one.”

“Ah.”

Speaking of pushing boundaries, I’ve flirted enough with the line—and with Leigh—tonight.

There’s no future there. Not even one I would allow with a beautiful woman.

Because Leigh isn’t any other beautiful woman.

And she deserves more than a few weeks of amazing sex before we both move on.

And spending time with her is only going to send the wrong message.

I open my mouth to say goodbye, but that’s not what comes out of my mouth.

“How about I buy you a drink and tell you about it?”

“I thought it was an open bar?” she teases, throwing my own line from earlier back at me.

The smirk I give her has her breath catching audibly, and I put more distance between us and soften my expression to a smile.

“It’s never stopped me from buying a drink for a pretty girl.” We stop at a cocktail table. “Champagne?”

“Yes, please.”

“Wait here,” I demand.

Using the physical separation, I try to remind myself of every reason why I need to keep my distance. Because when I’m next to her, it’s hard to remember any of them.

Because Leigh is the first woman I’ve met in a long time who has me curious to learn more. And I know what people say about curiosity and cats.