Page 44 of Lethal Illusion (Six Points Security #8)
Sloane arrived at work the next morning with fifteen minutes to spare, and snagged one of the prized parking spots in front of the building.
Now that she’d uncovered the identity of the person responsible for Sierra Page’s attempted kidnapping, she needed to start catching up on the mountain of work piled up in her queue.
It wasn’t nearly as exciting as her time in the mountains, and that was fine by her.
She still hadn’t heard a peep from Navarre, which left her in a sour mood.
No calls, no emails, and no response to the “Hey, how are you doing?” text she’d sent him the other day.
Not even a chance meeting in the hall. Going back to being “just friends” was hard enough.
Him ghosting her was rude. Fine, whatever…
that was his loss. One way or another, she’d move on with her life and eventually forget he existed.
Shoving the unpleasant thoughts from her mind, she pushed through the front door and was greeted with a blast of ice-cold air.
The guys must have noticed that Nina messed with the thermostat and cranked the temperature back down to hypothermia.
Good thing she had a space heater under her desk, so at least her toes wouldn’t freeze.
She continued down the hall to her office. With a flip of the switch, the room flooded with light, and the first thing she noticed was the plain white bakery box on her desk. An envelope rested on top of it.
That definitely hadn’t been there when she left the office yesterday.
Curious, she crossed to her desk, dropped her purse in a drawer, and slipped on the old purple cardigan she kept on the back of her chair. The cardigan clashed with her chartreuse shirt, but screw it, she’d rather be warm than fashionable.
She opened the box, and the delicious aroma of peaches and cinnamon made her mouth water and reminded her that she’d skipped breakfast. It was a pie, with a homemade crust and everything. Freshly baked, by the look of it.
The pie triggered the memory of a conversation she’d had in North Carolina. Heart racing, she picked up the envelope and took out the handwritten note.
I asked Momma Jackson to bake you a pie, but she told me to make it my own damn self. Don’t worry; she watched me like a hawk while I made it, so it should meet her high standards. I hope you enjoy it.
We need to talk.
The note wasn’t signed, but she knew who wrote it.
He’d made her a pie. From scratch. After avoiding her for days. She wasn’t sure how to interpret the mixed messages.
While she mulled it over, she walked to the break room and fished a dollar from her pocket. If she wanted to put a significant dent in her backload of work, she was going to need a caffeine boost. She fed the money into the soda machine, and it made her think of that little motel where they—
She slammed the door on that memory.
A can of Coke dropped into the delivery receptacle, and she bent to pick it up.
She moved to the small kitchen area, where she hoped to find a plate and utensils so she could eat a slice of pie—maybe two—for breakfast. The pie had peaches, and peaches were fruit, which meant it was practically health food.
That was her story, and she was sticking to it.
Sloane found paper plates and plastic utensils in the cabinet over the sink. As she closed the cabinet door, she heard footsteps behind her, and her body’s enthusiastic leap of excitement let her know exactly who it was.
“Have you tried the pie yet?”
The sound of Navarre’s voice smoothed over her skin like a caress.
For a moment or two, she simply stood there as a flood of emotions washed over her.
Giving in to the need, she turned to face him, and it felt as though a thousand butterflies had taken flight in her stomach.
He still hadn’t shaved, and his beard was in that rough, in-between stage—too long to qualify as stubble, but too short to be considered a full beard.
Dark bristles shadowed his jawline and upper lip, giving him a rugged, slightly unkempt look.
And God help her, she couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel in her most sensitive places.
She dragged her mind out of the gutter and raked her gaze over his outfit. “Do you own any clothes that aren’t black?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “I’m wearing red boxer briefs.”
She did not need that mental image floating around in her brain all day, but she supposed it was better than the one where he was naked. She let out an exaggerated exhale. “We’re not doing this. We’re coworkers. That’s a recipe for disaster, remember?”
His mouth pressed into a hard line. “Yeah, I do.”
“Great, we’re in agreement.” Now she could leave the plate here, go back to her office, and eat the whole damn pie right out of the pan. She picked up her drink and utensils, but when she started to leave, he stood firm in the doorway, blocking her only means of escape.
Spine stiff, she gave her best glare. “I’m not having this conversation at work.”
“Then how about we go outside?” He glanced down at his watch. “Technically, you’re not on the clock for another five minutes.”
She made a frustrated sound. “What is there to talk about? You set the parameters. I’m following them. End of story.”
The muscles along his jaw flexed beneath the beard stubble. “We can’t just pretend nothing happened between us.”
“Why not? People do it every day. It’s part of being an adult.” Granted, being an adult largely sucked, but that was a whole other matter. She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “You do your job, I’ll do mine, and we can blame what happened between us on hormonally induced temporary insanity.”
He shook his head. “I tried. I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can. You did just fine at the motel when the guys showed up.”
“Damn it, that’s not what I—” He faltered, the words dying in his throat. Silence thickened the air between them like a heavy fog. Finally, he spoke again, his voice low and strained. “Sierra came to the office yesterday. She wanted to personally thank me for taking good care of her body double.”
“That was nice of her.” Sloane bit the words out.
“She offered to sleep with me.”
For a moment, the world seemed to tilt. She clenched her teeth so hard it was a wonder her molars didn’t crack. “If you’re telling me this to get some sort of rise out of me—”
“I told her no. Turned her down flat.” He stepped toward her, and she took a step back. “I used to believe she was my be-all, end-all fantasy woman. But now I know better. It’s not her I want…not now, not ever.”
When he moved closer, she stepped back again, her butt bumping into the refrigerator.
His smoldering gaze locked onto hers as he took the soda and utensils from her and set them on the nearby counter.
Then he braced one hand on the freezer door by her head, and the outer edges of her resolve began to fray.
Luther walked into the break room, took one look at the two of them, and walked right back out without saying a word.
Navarre leaned forward, his face inches from hers, and the masculine scent of his skin made her a little light-headed. “You’re the only woman I want. The only woman I need . I’ve never wanted anyone the way that I want you.”
A nervous laugh slipped past her lips. “Well, you know, that could be a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, you could—”
He cut her off with a soul-scorching kiss that fried every synapse in her body. Lost in the moment, she melted against him, one hand gripping a fistful of his shirt, while the other tunneled into his hair, and she thought, God, I missed you .
When they finally came up for air, he touched his forehead to hers.
“You’re smart, and kind, and gorgeous, and funny, and a total badass in the field.
You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning, and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep at night.
I want you in my life, by my side, in my bed.
Does that make my feelings for you clear enough? ”
It took a few seconds for the question to cut through the haze of lust fogging her brain, and then it took a few seconds longer for her to remember how to form words.
“What about work?” she asked. “You said you didn’t think it—”
“I was wrong, okay? I realize that now. We’re adults; I know we can make this work. I’m willing to do whatever it takes and then some. Are you?”
She stared up into the molten depths of his eyes, and she couldn’t stop from smiling. A breathless laugh bubbled up in her throat as she nodded. “So what do we do now?”
“You can start by clearing out of the break room so I can get a bagel and coffee,” Wade’s deep voice ground out, and Sloane nearly jumped out of her skin.
She looked over Navarre’s shoulder to see Wade’s imposing figure a few feet away, an empty mug in his right hand. Mortified, she said, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s about time you two got your shit together.
” What passed for a smile warmed his mouth and twisted the scar on the side of his face, and in that moment, he didn’t look quite so intimidating.
“Congratulations. I’m happy for you both.
Now move out of the way. You’re between me and breakfast.”