He went outside and she carried the mugs and marshmallows back to the kitchen. She studied the puzzle box sitting on his kitchen table. What secrets did it hold?
Reese came into the kitchen on a blast of cold air and commented, “I’ll bring that box into your lab in the morning for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Bundle up. It’s getting nippy out there.”
Nippy hardly covered the way the cold hurt to breathe in and made her face feel stiff and numb. Frigid was more like it.
Reese followed her around to the passenger side of his truck and put his hands on her waist to steady her as she climbed in. She loved how his big hands spanned so much of her waist. Huh. Normally, she hated feeling small. But she liked it with him. Maybe because he seemed to like it so much.
He closed the door carefully behind her and then climbed in the driver’s side. He backed out of his garage and turned out into the street, or rather the white sheet of snow roughly where she estimated a street to be.
Snow blew horizontally through the beams of his headlights, like crystalline diamond dust. She was silent, letting him concentrate on his driving. But after he made a left turn where he should have turned right, she piped up. “The Dexter house is in the other direction. That’s where my car is parked.”
“Do you have chains for your tires?”
“No.”
“Exactly. I’m driving you to your house tonight. I’ll pick you up in the morning and take you to your car, then. Assuming the storm has blown through by then and driving conditions have improved.”
“That’s way out of your way. It’s too much trouble—”
He cut her off. “I didn’t ask your permission. I told you what I’m doing.”
“You’re so high-handed!” she exclaimed. “And stubborn! And a know-it-all.”
He shrugged, appearing unconcerned. “Do you have a safer idea?”
Safer? No. More convenient? Absolutely.
He must have taken her silence for consent to his plan because he said, “What time should I pick you up? Is eighty thirty too early? I have a meeting at nine.”
“I—no. I mean yes. You can pick me up at eight thirty.” She added with a huff, “That’s fine.” How did that man always seem to get the best of her? It was infuriating!
He pulled into the driveway of her Cape Cod cottage with its long porch and peaked roof covered in a thick blanket of white. He put the truck in Park but said, “Don’t get out. I’ll come around and help you.”
“Reese. I can walk to my front door all by myself.”
“And yet, I’m going to help you. My boots have cleats, and I can see the sheet of ice on your sidewalk. Last thing I need is for the forensic scientist working on my big murder case to break her leg.”
There he went again, being right. Darn him.
He lifted her out of the truck, set her on her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist. In his big, fleece-lined rancher’s coat, he felt like a bear giving her a hug. She was chagrined when a big gust of wind hit, and her feet did slide out from under her about halfway to her front door. Reese caught her and steadied her until she regained her balance, and they made it up the steps and to the door without further incident.
She unlocked the door and, hand on the knob, turned to thank Reese.
He beat her to the punch, though, and said, “Thanks for tonight. Get some rest and call me if you develop any dizziness, nausea, vomiting or disorientation.”
She recognized a list as warning signs of a concussion. “Will do.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.” He leaned down, gave her one last lingering kiss and then gently pushed her inside.
In the morning, indeed.
She was shocked to realize she was practically floating through her house as she hung up her coat and got ready for bed. Man. She had it bad for him. She even set her alarm a half hour early so she’d have extra time to get up and get ready.
Her bed was icy cold when she climbed under the covers, and she missed the warmth of his embrace as she settled down to sleep and dream of marshmallow kisses.
* * *
The storm was still howling around her house when her alarm jangled, waking her from a delicious dream of a certain hot detective and his amazing kissing skills. Well, fudge. She’d been hoping to wear something cute to work today, but instead, she was going to have to go full Michelin Man.
She pulled on thin wool long johns, jeans, a white turtleneck and a thick sky-blue ski sweater with a ring of snowmen around the yoke. She pulled her dark hair back in a long clip at the back of her head and took extra care with her makeup this morning. She stomped into a pair of thick-soled after-ski boots and laid out her puffy down-filled coat, light blue hat with its jaunty white pom-pom, mittens and a long scarf.
Exactly at eighty thirty, Reese’s big silver truck turned into her driveway. She could set a clock by that guy. Although, truth be told, it was reassuring to know he would always be exactly where he said he would be, when he said he’d be there. She’d dated enough flakes in her life to appreciate a punctual man.
She hurried into her cold weather gear as he walked up her sidewalk and opened the door for him just as he hit the front porch. “Hi there,” she said brightly.
“Good morning. Are you always this chipper first thing?”
“Not usually before a cup of coffee,” she answered, laughing. “I just happen to love a good blizzard. Always have.”
“Were you the type to build a snowman and make a fleet of snow angels?” he asked as he opened the door for her.
“Absolutely. You?”
He climbed into the warm cab of the truck. “I was more the snow fort and piles of snowballs type.”
“You have brothers, don’t you?” she asked.
“Two younger ones. It was usually me in the fort with my brothers tag-teaming me from outside.”
“In our house, snowball fights usually lined up girls against the boys.”
“That doesn’t sound fair,” he protested.
She shrugged. “We girls usually lost, but we also usually got even by dumping snow down the collars of the boys’ coats.”
“Wow. Vicious.”
“The motto of the Colton women is, Don’t Get Mad. Get Even.”
He grinned over at her. “Duly noted.”
They drove a few minutes in silence, and it dawned on her that he wasn’t heading toward the Dexter house and her car this morning, either.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“My nine o’clock interview cancelled. Thought you might like a cup of coffee, or maybe some breakfast, before we go pick up your car.”
“Why Mr. Carpenter,” she teased in a thick southern belle accent, “are you asking me out on a date?”
He glanced over at her, his eyes unaccountably hot. “What if I am?”
“Well, I do declare.” She fanned herself with an imaginary fan.
He grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
They pulled in to the local diner, which was blessedly open and surprisingly busy. Apparently, a number of businesses had either closed or were opening late today, and given the number of children in the joint, schools were obviously closed, too.
A couple got up to leave just as they stepped inside, and the waitress waved her and Reese over to the table as she cleared it. They slid into the booth, and Yvette was abruptly aware of lots of stares, some surreptitious, some open, in their direction.
She murmured, “Why are people looking at us? Do I have mascara running down my face or something?”
“No. You’re perfect. They’re all staring because I’m with the prettiest girl in town.”
She smiled shyly at the warmth in his voice. “Flatterer. Actually, I think it’s because they’re jealous of me being with the most eligible bachelor in Braxville
.”
He snorted. “I think one of your brothers probably holds that title.”
“All my brothers are officially off the market these days. Or hadn’t you heard?”
“That’s what Jordana said. I’m happy for them.”
“Or maybe it’s just the dozens of women you’ve dated before, pitying me for being your next conquest.”
Reese gave a wholly satisfying snort at that notion. “I don’t date local women.”
Really? Now, that surprised her. “Why not?” she asked.
“What if I have to investigate one or arrest one, someday? How awkward would that be?”
“So, you don’t plan to date me, then?” she asked in a small voice.
“You’re different. You’re on the force.”
“Hmm. You strike me as the type who wouldn’t date someone you work with.”
“Yes, but I don’t really work with you. Our paths cross in our individual jobs from time to time, but you’re not in my chain of command, and I’m not in yours.”
“How do you know I won’t commit a felony, someday?”
He tilted his head to study her for long enough that she had to suppress an urge to squirm. “Do you think of yourself as capable of committing a serious crime?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I suppose in the right circumstances. Like if someone I loved was in mortal danger, I might be capable of violence. Or if a child or helpless animal was being hurt, I might go after the abuser.”
“Those would be classed as justifiable crimes. I doubt you’d be prosecuted in either scenario.”
“What about you?” she asked curiously.
“Same. I’ve been known to be protective of my friends and family.” He paused, then added, “Unfortunately, engaging in a certain amount of violence is a potential part of my job. My least favorite part of it, in fact.”
“Have you ever…you know…shot anyone?” She asked the last part in a hush.
“Thankfully, no. But I have to be prepared mentally to do it.”
“Does the idea bother you?” she asked.
“Of course, it does. I hate the idea of taking a life. I would consider it a complete failure on my part if I couldn’t talk a person out of the thing that would force me to shoot them. My job is to prevent violence, not meet violence with violence. That’s the last resort.”
“That’s a progressive view, Detective.”
He shrugged. “It’s the ethical and moral view. Has nothing to do with being progressive.”
“That’s you. Mr. Ethics-and-Morals.”
Darned if his eyes didn’t get that sexy glint in them again. “I’m not always an uptight good guy, you know.”
“Do tell.” She leaned forward with interest to hear this one. “When, exactly, do you set aside your white hat and superhero cape?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“Challenge accepted,” she declared immediately. Their stares met, and sexual lightning crackled back and forth between them. It was a wonder they weren’t blowing this place apart with it.
Sudden awareness of being in a very public locale with half the town looking on burst over her. She broke the stare and looked away hastily.
“How’s the back of your head feeling this morning?” Reese asked neutrally enough.
“Sore where I hit it, but I took a couple of aspirin when I woke up and the headache’s mostly gone.”
“Good. Means you probably didn’t get a concussion. I was worried about you last night. You looked on the verge of puking, there, for a while.”
“I was on the verge. But I was determined not to barf in front of you,” she confessed.
He smiled. “In my line of work, I’ve seen most of the human bodily functions any number of times.”
“Have you ever delivered a baby?” she asked.
“Two. Messy, but totally cool.”
He leaned back and took a sip from his water glass before changing the subject. “How’s your family doing? Y’all have been through a rough time recently, what with the arsenic thing and then the murdered bodies in a building the Colton Construction Firm built.”
“If only that was all we were dealing with,” she sighed.
“Oh, yeah? What’s up?” He sounded genuinely interested, and not just like a nosy neighbor. Maybe that was why she gave him a baldly honest answer. That, and he would just ask Jordana what she was hinting at if she didn’t go ahead and tell him herself.
“My parents aren’t exactly doing great. They’ve had some sort of major falling out, but I’m not sure what it’s about. It seems serious, though. They treat each other like polite strangers these days. Mom’s totally giving Dad the cold shoulder.”
He frowned a little. “Your mom is capable of giving anyone the cold shoulder? No way. She’s one of the warmest, kindest people I know.”
She shrugged. “At least my siblings seem to be happy for the most part. The whole gang seems to have found true love.” She added wistfully, “Except for me, of course.”
“Maybe you’ve already found it and you just don’t know it, yet.”
Her gaze snapped up to Reese’s, and his eyes were shockingly serious. Was he talking about himself? They barely knew each other. They’d made out once over marshmallows. Holy moly.
A friendly looking older woman wearing an apron approached the table. “Hey, Reese. Some weather we’re having, isn’t it? How are the roads?”
“Hey, Lola,” he answered. “It’s bad out there. Forecast calls for it to clear up around noon, though. I expect it’ll take the snow plows a few hours to clear the major roads after that.”
“Great. Maybe by quitting time I’ll be able to get home without risking my neck. What can I get you kids to eat?”
“The special,” Yvette and Reese said simultaneously.
“How do you want your eggs?” the waitress asked, pencil poised over a pad.
“Sunny-side up,” Yvette answered.
“Over hard,” Reese supplied.
“Bacon or sausage?” Lola asked.
“Bacon,” Yvette answered promptly.
“Sausage,” Reese chimed in.
It figured. The two of them never agreed on anything. Yvette mentally rolled her eyes.
“Toast or biscuit?”
“Wheat toast, buttered,” Reese supplied.
“Can I substitute a bagel?” she asked.
“You bet.”
Lola moved over to the pass-through window to the kitchen and shouted out their order.
Yvette smiled ruefully at Reese. “We’re pretty much opposites in every way, aren’t we?”
He shrugged. “We both wanted the special. That’s agreement after a fashion. And, honestly, I like the fact that you’re confident enough to do your own thing without feeling a need to imitate me.”
“Keep that in mind the next time you’re in the lab trying to tell me how to do my job,” she retorted.
He grinned and poured her a cup of coffee from the steaming pot Lola set on their table. “Black?” he tried.
Yvette threw him a withering look. “Cream and sugar, of course. You can pretty much think about what you’d choose, do the opposite, and you’ll get me right.”
He rolled his eyes as he passed her the pitcher of cream and sugar dish. “I should’ve guessed you’d want your caffeine to taste like ice cream after the way you enjoyed those marshmallows last night.”
She smirked knowingly. “The way I liked them best was on you.”
Abruptly, his blue eyes were smoldering, the color of a flame burning super hot. “See? We agree again. I like marshmallows best on your lips, too. Or on the tip of your tongue. Or in the sweet, dark recesses of your mouth. Remind me next time to try out some marshmallow crème on other parts of your anatomy.”
Suddenly it
was her turn to be unaccountably out of breath. “Uhh, sure. That sounds—” she searched for a word. Sticky didn’t convey the romantic vibe she was looking for. “—amazing.”
“It’s a date.”
Wowsers. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d just agreed to have sex, or at least sexy foreplay with the hot detective.
Thankfully, their breakfast arrived before she burned to a cinder where she sat, charred to nothing by the heat in Reese’s eyes. They ate quietly. Maybe he was as disconcerted by the direction of their conversation as she was.
She insisted on paying for the bill, both in thanks for last night’s rescue and in gratitude for the rides he was giving her in his big, safe truck. The looks and side-eyes continued as they left the diner, and she was vividly aware of the light touch of Reese’s hand on the small of her back as they reached the door. Was that just common courtesy, or was he sending a subtle signal to the single men in the room that she was taken? Either way, her heart pitter-pattered at the light, possessive touch.
“What’s on your agenda today?” he asked as they pulled into the parking lot of the police department.
“Getting this rascal open.” She patted last night’s puzzle box resting on the seat between them.
“Shout out if you get stuck,” Reese offered.
“Will do. What about you?” she asked as they walked carefully toward the building. “What are you going to do with yourself now that you don’t have that interview this morning?”
“I’m going to go back and review the whole murder case one more time. See if anything jumps out at me in light of the recent information you provided about the murders happening at different times of year. That, and the fact that Markus Dexter has been paranoid and secretive for a long time.”
“Shout out if you get stuck,” she offered.
“Will do.” He opened the building door and held it for her, saying as she slid past him, “Oh, and Yvette, would you mind dropping by my desk at some point to make a formal report about last night? I already filed a preliminary report, but I’ll need a statement from you to make it official.”
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 31