Page 31 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

LEIGH

“ W hat are you doing? Why are you picking Sarah? She’s a fucking drama-loving psycho,” Murphy mutters in my ear as the two of us watch a season of Searching for Love .

One arm tightens around me while he reaches with his other hand for the popcorn balanced in my lap.

A smile stretches my cheeks. He’s been like that most of the season we’re bingeing on our day off. Making comments at the TV, debating when he and I disagreed between two of the men who were fighting for Sophie during her season.

“You’re very…passionate,” I tease, reaching for a handful of popcorn for myself.

“It’s so obvious,” he says around the mouthful he’s just eaten.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“I’ll do you one better and show you instead.” His fingers dance along my ribcage and I squirm against him, popcorn going everywhere as I try to evade the ticklish sensation while laughing.

“Okay, okay, I give. Make all the comments you want.” I manage to pant the words.

Watching Searching for Love with Murphy has been a journey in entertainment.

“Thank you,” he says before tugging me back into position against him.

My phone chimes with a text, and I reach over with my free hand, grabbing it from the table while he picks up spilled popcorn off the couch and me and puts it back into the bowl.

CHARLIE

Here are the details I mentioned yesterday.

Crap. My body flushes hot and cold as I read through the texts.

I had forgotten.

Several other texts come through with the location, time, and offers to pick me up as well as the second offer to pay for my dress. I’m not sure whether to drop my phone like a hot potato or ignore it. It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong.

Except you didn’t tell him about the invitation.

I was going to. But after everything yesterday, I had forgotten. And now my time is up. The sound on the TV stops as Murphy pauses it.

“Everything okay?” he asks from behind me.

Not quite looking over my shoulder, but is he close enough to see what’s on my phone?

Double crap.

Had he read my texts?

“Umm…”

His hands move to my shoulders, his thumbs dragging along the tension on either side of my spine.

“Your headache is going to come back. Your shoulders just went up around your ears. Is it work?”

Aside from an email earlier this morning from Lindsay acknowledging mine, I hadn’t heard from anyone at work.

“No.” Anxiety rolls through my stomach, and I set the popcorn bowl on the table.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

“I…I need to tell you something,” I say and turn around until I can face him.

What is he going to say? How is he going to respond when I tell him about the invitation? I still haven’t accepted it—a small saving grace—but I intend to. The opportunity to meet the executives with Project Justice is too good to pass up.

But what does that mean for us?

“Okay.” But he says the word slowly, hesitant, and I have zero doubt his response is based on my own behavior.

Because you are being weird about it.

“I forgot with everything that happened yesterday. I got a phone call at work. There’s a charity event on Saturday night and I got an invitation.

It’s to announce Nashville’s Wrongful Conviction Fund, and several individuals from Project Justice are going to be there too.

” I’m leaving out some information—namely a critical piece of information as to who invited me.

I should know better given his job.

“I take it the invitation wasn’t from your office,” he says, starting to connect the dots.

“What makes you say that?”

Quit stalling. Rip it off, like a Band-Aid.

“You won’t stop messing with your cuticle and you won’t look up from what you’re doing.”

Sure enough, I am picking at a cuticle, my attention focused on my finger.

But I’m not a kid asking a parent’s permission.

I’m a woman doing something for my career.

By telling her boyfriend she’s going on a date with another man .

Murphy isn’t my boyfriend though.

Lifting my gaze, I find his steady one waiting for me.

I shift my fingers from my abused cuticle and take a deep breath, releasing it as my hands rest against my legs.

“You’re right. I didn’t get the invitation from work. It…it came from Charlie Vanderweel.”

A muscle tics in his jaw, his expression moving from curious and concerned to anger.

At me?

Would you be angry at him if the roles were reversed?

“Leigh—”

“I know you don’t like him,” I rush to say.

“It’s more than that. It doesn’t matter whether I like him or not. He’s dangerous. You and I have both had enough excitement for the week.” He’s not telling me no, so I can’t use the response I already have cued up for an outright no.

“He’s not dangerous,” I say, focusing on the other piece he’s shared.

I know that as much as I know that about Murphy. Neither man presents a danger.

Except to my heart. And Murphy is the most dangerous to that.

“Then how come he was the one we arrested for his fiancée’s murder?” he asks.

“The conviction was overturned,” I point out.

“Fuck,” he mumbles.

Standing from the couch, he paces the room.

“We agreed to disagree before. About Charlie,” I remind him, thinking back to the last time we had debated Charlie’s innocence.

“And I’m not really asking. I’m informing.

My plan is to attend the charity event on Saturday.

I figured as the man I’m…involved with…I should tell you.

This is a really good opportunity for me.

One that means I don’t have to rely on Creepy Kenneth for a recommendation at the end of the summer. ”

He stops, his eyes closing while his lips move without sound for several heartbeats. When he opens his eyes again, his jaw relaxes.

“Is there anything I can say to convince you not to go?” he asks as he walks back toward the couch and drops to his haunches in front of me.

“Why don’t you want me to go?” I ask.

Studying him this close, concern still furrows a line between his brows. But there’s something else too. A softening of the fire there. One tugging on my heart.

“I already said why. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s not. Even if you don’t want to trust that, trust me. But that’s not it. Or at least not totally.”

Will he put a name to the emotion that’s barely discernible?

My breath backs up in my lungs, a tingle forming on my skin. It’s like the moment in a storm just before a close lightning strike. Waiting for him.

“Why don’t you want me to go?” I repeat my earlier question after the moment stretches between us.

“I… yesterday was the second hardest day of my life, Stóirín. Hearing that call on the radio, I got this feeling. Here”—his hand drops to his stomach—“and I just knew. It fucking scared the shit out of me. Not knowing how badly you were hurt. Not able to get to you right away. That feeling came only second to the day I watched my mother crumple at the door when my dad’s best friend came to tell her he had passed away. ”

My heart melts—a combination of grief for the young man who lost his dad too young and euphoria at his confession. I shift to the edge of the couch, and his hands drop to my knees.

“I’m so sorry, Murphy,” I tell him, covering his hands with mine.

“It’s why I promised myself I would never get married.

I didn’t want anyone to go through that pain because of me.

But no one warned me how it would feel knowing something happened to you.

Scared shitless if something worse were to happen,” he whispers and worry fills his eyes, turning the light in them soft and golden.

Warmth flows through my body.

“I’m catching feelings for you, Leigh. I didn’t plan on it. In fact, I planned the exact opposite. But it’s impossible to fight. And there may be a thousand reasons for us not to be together, but none of them change how badly I want you. How fiercely I need you.”

Holy shit.

The bliss that lands on my skin at his words like a butterfly’s wings is reality. And overwhelming.

A few weeks ago, this was the man who could only promise a few weeks of fiery sheets and wasn’t even willing to give me that. But maybe whatever is happening between us did impact him like it has me. I can’t imagine my life without him.

Leaning over, I thread my fingers through his hair as my lips find his. He takes possession of the kiss and slides his hands along my thighs until he can grip my hips, tugging me off the couch and closer to him.

Maybe I should feel powerless in light of all his strength, but the careful way he holds me, the leashed control, makes me feel powerful.

“Is this… are you okay?” He rips his mouth away from mine to ask.

Eyes the color of honey study me, filled with an emotion neither of us has put a name to. If I wasn’t falling before, I damn sure am now.

I nod.

“I’m good. Better than good.”

Leaning up, I capture his mouth with mine again, moaning as his tongue tangles with mine, and he leans back, lying on the floor while I straddle him.

The sweatpants he lent me provide no barrier, and his hands slide under the waistband, palming my ass and rubbing me back and forth against him. My nipples pebble against the shirt, teased through the layers of cotton between him and me. I whimper, fireworks building behind my eyes with every pass.

“Not here,” he growls against my lips.

I’m confused but only for a moment before he stands, still holding me to him to head for his bedroom.

The bed is unmade, the dark blue sheets beckoning.

He releases me slowly to slide down his body and pushes the too-big sweats to fall to the floor.

His T-shirt may as well be a dress since it comes down almost to my knees. He reaches for it and I shake my head.

“You first.”