Page 63 of Paranoid

She rolled out of bed, threw on last night’s jeans and a long-sleeved T, then made a quick stop in the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Afterward she downed a cup of water and snapped her hair into an unruly ponytail.

Now or never.

She found McVey right where she’d left him, lying on his back, his body half out of the rumpled sheets, his eyes closed, dark lashes lying against bladed cheekbones.

God, she was a fool.

He was naked, of course, his one bare leg exposed, one of his arms folded over his bare chest.

Oh, geez.

What were you thinking?

That was the trouble. She hadn’t been.

“Hey, McVey,” she said, poking his shoulder. “Rise and shine.”

“Wha—?” He blinked his eyes open, stared up at her, and smiled widely, then, as the situation hit him, the grin disappeared. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”

Neither one of them had ever expected they’d wake up in the same bed again. But last night things had changed. She remembered kissing hot and hard, their tongues colliding as they’d fallen onto the couch. Her hands had slipped beneath his shirt to touch rock-hard muscles and she’d let go, wrapping her arms around him, feeling his hands on her buttocks. A zipper had hissed down and then suddenly he’d stopped. He’d wrapped his arms around her, held her close, and whispered into her mussed hair, “I don’t think I can do this, Kay.”

“What?” she’d murmured.

“You’d hate me forever.”

“I already do,” she’d teased and had kissed him again.

“No, that’s the problem. You don’t.”

“So you’re rejecting me?”

“Never.” He’d stared at her a second. “Go to bed, Kayleigh.”

He’d been right. She’d known it then just as she knew it now. Even though the effects of the drinks hadn’t worn off last night, the weight of his words had gotten through. “I don’t care,” she’d said, and she’d meant it then.

He’d groaned, held her tight, and carried her into her small bedroom. They’d tumbled together onto the covers and she’d thrown all caution to the wind, crossing a bridge she’d thought was long broken.

Now, as more light made its way into the room, his gaze locked with hers as he, too, remembered, one big hand rubbing the beard shadow of his jaw. A strong jaw. In a handsome face. That she’d once thought she’d loved. A long, long time ago.

Before Cade.

“What were we thinking?” he asked, raking stiff fingers through his hair.

“Thinking didn’t have much to do with it.”

“Seemed like the right idea last night.”

“Lots of things did.”

“Amen to that.” His eyes, deep set and intelligent, held questions that he didn’t voice. But he obviously noted that she’d pulled on her jeans and shirt and had picked up her jacket, found on a hook near the door. “Looks like you want to get going.”

“Lots to do. Big case.”

“Yeah.” He stood up then and she turned away as she caught a glimpse of his long legs and tight buttocks.

She felt a little catch in her throat. Which was just plain ludicrous. “I’ll be in the living room.” Was that even her voice—so breathy? What the hell was wrong with her?