Page 43 of Fatal Deception

Hisdeal.Hisdecision. As if her life was his to determine, when she’d been determiningeverythingfor her entire adult life, if not more.

It was hisjob, sure, and at the end of the day, as ridiculous as he was being, she knew she needed help. She knew whatever was going on was beyond what she knew how to handle or stop.

But she hardly thought that extended to sharing a room, to losing all her privacy and agency. She could tell him all that, but it wouldn’t change anything. If there was anything the past few days had taught her, it was that there was no getting through to him, no winning this. He’d find a way. He had every single time, no matter her objections.

It infuriated her. She usually got aroundeveryonewith a sweet smile and doing what she wanted anyway. She usuallyconvinced everyone she was so fine, so with it, so…goodthat she didn’t need overbearing determinations.

Why was he different?

She went into the closet, pulled out the spare pillow, some clean sheets, perhaps a little unreasonably angry at him for being that different. She tossed everything on the ground, spurred on by fury and, if she was being honest with herself, maybe a little panic that someone had finally gotten through. “There. Enjoy.”

She went back to the closet, grabbed some pajamas. Then tried to stride out the bedroom door, but he was right there. Right behind her the short walk across the hall.

She turned to scowl at him in front of the bathroom door. She gestured at it. “Just the bathroom, warden. I need a shower.”

“I said you’re not out of my sight. I’ll amend that to give you private bathroom privileges, but that’s it.”

Bathroom privileges?How was he possibly serious? She fisted her hands on her hips. “Oh, well since I’m your prisoner did you want to handcuff me while you’re at it? Maybe shower together so I’m never out of sight?”

He studied her, something about the way his eyes changed reminding her of when he’d kissed her. Her cheeks reddened. Because that wasnotwhat she’d meant, but the image…

Jeez, she needed to get a grip. So she turned on a heel and jerked the bathroom door open. She closed it behind her, not with aslam, but with a firmsnap.

She flicked back the shower curtain, wrenched the water on hot, then paused because…it was soweirdthat he was right outside the door, and she was going to take off all her clothes.

And if she called it weird, she wouldn’t have to acknowledge that there was something else fluttering through her as she got undressed and stepped into the hot spray. Like the idea ofsharinga shower. Or that kiss they’d shared. Or mixing it all up into one very inappropriate fantasy.

Yes, it is totally normal to fantasize about sex with a bossy, overbearing detective who is only here because your life is falling apart.

She wanted to groan, maybe beat her head against the wall a few times. Instead she washed up, got out of the shower, dried off and dressed, and then decided she’d handle the rest of the night by not speaking, not thinking, not worrying.

He could sleep on the floor. She’d sleep on her bed. And that was that.

Determined, recalibrated, she gathered up her dirty clothes and opened the door to move out into the hallway.

Copeland was leaning against the wall, looking at his phone. He lifted his gaze when she came out. His eyes moved over her. Not exactly a detached-cop look. No, there was the flicker ofsomethingin their dark depths.

She could convince herself the kiss was a mistake for a lot of reasons, but it was hard to remember those reasons when she was faced with the fact that whatever she felt about him, whatever reactions she had to him, she wasn’t alone. He wasn’t immune to her.

“I’m going to run through myself,” he said. “You can head into your bedroom, but you stay there. We’re leaving both doors open.”

She wanted to have a snarky retort, but she just limped into her room, dropped the dirty clothes in her hamper, turned off the light. She crawled into bed. Her body was fully and wholly exhausted. Her ankle throbbed, so she took the bottle of ibuprofen out of her nightstand and took two with the water from the water bottle she kept next to her bed.

Then she flopped back on her pillow knowing that no matter how exhausted she was, everything plaguing her would keepher awake. And not just because Copeland was currently in her shower. Naked, no doubt. With the door open. She could hear it running. She could hear the occasional creak of his weight shifting the old house.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to fight off that potential image. Didn’t she have bigger problems than an unfortunate and untimely attraction to a man who…

That was the trouble. She wanted him to be like he seemed. Cold and abrupt and cocky. And he was all those things when he wanted to be, but it was clearly an armor put on after a really awful time in his life.

He was here because he wanted to help. No doubt that was why he was in law enforcement. But she also knew, somewhere along the line, whether either of them admitted it to themselves, it had become at least alittlemore. And she didn’t just mean the kissing.

He returned, but didn’t flip on the light. She heard him move, the sheets rustle as he settled himself into his makeshift bed.

On the cold, hard floor. After everything he’d done to help her. She didn’twantto feel guilty. It made her really mad that she felt guilty, because he didn’thaveto sleep on her floor, he didn’thaveto take on this responsibility.

She knew that was rich coming from her.

“I can’t sleep with you lying on the floor,” she muttered, staring at the ceiling in irritation.