“Were you shot or something?” He was growing more and more appealing by the second, if a little on the moody side. She pictured him dodging bullets and wrestling bad guys to the ground. Chasing a crook with the same single-mindedness with which he had chased her.
Shiver.Why had she never dated in law enforcement before? This was so sexy.
“Tire iron. Took it in the knee.”
“Owww.” Her own knee throbbed in sympathy.
His lip twitched. “That about sums it up.”
Then he sank back into his chair and said, “Sorry. You don’t want to hear all this, I’m sure. But I haven’t been having the best few months. Year. Two years.”
Sex could fix all that. Or at least make him forget. It was perfect. She could sleep with him and have no guilt that she was using him to get this story. In fact, it would be like a public service. Sending a federal agent back into the field relaxed and ready to defend innocent Americans.
And there were no moral snafus because she wanted him. She really, really wanted him.
“Well, if you’re going to have a pity party, I want to join.” Wiping errant blue cheese dressing from the corner of hermouth, she said, “You think your life sucks? Try mine. I’m twenty-six.” She stopped to take a sip of iced tea.
“And how is that supposed to make me feel bad for you?”
“Hold on, I haven’t gotten to the bad part. I’m not old but I’m too old to still be working the crappy job I do. I’m not a real reporter, Knight.”
“You’re a fake one?” he said, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled.
“No, I’m not a fake.” She allowed a pitiful and drawn out sigh to emerge. “I’m a reporter, but I work for a rag paper. Only it’s not even a good rag. We haven’t even been sued for slander. Our circulation and online reach is so small we could print literally anything and no one would care.”
He laughed, a full rich laugh that reminded her she had never bothered to dress, and the only thing separating his hand from her thigh was a layer of terry cloth. Oh, and a table. But it was such a small table.
He shook his head. “I kind of wondered what exactly theNewark Newswas.”
“A pit of despair for young aspiring journalists, whose idealism is ground under the boots of Ralph Greco, managing editor. Ralph is also fond of onion laden sandwiches, which, given the small confines of our office, makes life almost unbearable.”
He said, “My boss would be happy to see me shuffling papers for the rest of my life. He’s demoted me twice and lies in wait for me to screw up so he can gleefully slap me with an infraction.”
So Knight understood a hostile work environment. This was great. She grinned at him. “What did you do? Sleep with his wife?”
Laughter disappeared as he blanched. “Damn, that’s a scary image. No. Let’s just say Mrs. Nordstrom has an excess of opinions on killer bees.”
“Bees?”
“Yes. She’s obsessed with them. Works them into every single conversation. Every one. It’s remarkable, if unsettling.”
Reese snorted.
“No, I just tripped him by accident on a take down. He was supposed to be first man in, and when he moved past me, he tripped.” Grinning, he reached over and picked up a chicken wing. “He was first man in alright. First in on his face.”
Oh, that was good. “So both our jobs suck. I bet I can beat you for crap factor with my personal life.”
His eyebrows raised. “I doubt it.” He took a bite of chicken and leaned forward, a definite gleam in his eye.
Reese bent towards him, sucking the excess sauce off her finger with slow deliberate movements. “Give it your best shot, Knight. You’ve got nothing on me.”
“You want to bet?” His voice was low, hoarse, teasing.
“I do.”
If she were a betting woman, she’d bet that this night was going to get a whole lot more interesting fast.
All she had to lose was the robe on her back. And shedding that was exactly according to plan.