His eyes do another sweep of the French maid outfit. When they return to mine, for the first time ever, they’re not icy at all. In fact, they’re full of so much heat I’m surprised I don’t catchonfire.
Crap oncroquettes.
I shift my weight from heel to heel, trying like hell to keep my expression blank when he takes a step in my direction. After his protective tone on the phone, I half expect him to say something gentlemanly, or caring, or concerned about the fact that he’s currently springing me from jail at four in the morning. I realize my expectations were more than a little off as his lips tug up in an amused halfsmile.
“Babe.” He shakes his head at me. “You failed to mention theoutfit.”
Thenerve!
Refusing to dignify that comment with a response, I toss my hair over one shoulder in an irked gesture and turn my back to him with a huff. As I spin, the lace petticoats beneath my skirt flounce like butterfly wings, accidentally exposing a fairly large stretch of barethigh.
Oops.
My feet falter at what sounds suspiciously like a tortured groan coming from behind me. Wide-eyed with disbelief, I glance back to see if the sound could’ve possibly come from Luca, but his face is schooled in an unaffected mask. Officer McMakeMeScream looks similarlyimpassive.
Great, now I’m hearingthings.
Clearly, my extensive time behind bars has affected my brain chemistry. That explains why my traitorous cheeks are flushing with heat again. (In my defense, it’s tough to maintain your decorum when your asscheeks are practicallyexposed.)
Officer McDoMe fixes his gaze on Luca with an alertness that sets my teethonedge.
“Wait… you’re Blaze Buchanan!” The officer’s eyes have lost their hostile edge. In fact, he looks downright cheerful now that he’s not focused onme. “Wow! I can’t believe I’m meeting you inperson!”
I tense as Luca steps up beside me, uncomfortably close. I can smell the crisp, clean scent of his aftershave in the air between us; can practically feel the heat coming off his body. I have to lock my knees to prevent myself from leaning away as he extends one hand to shake theofficer’s.
“Good to meet you, too.” Luca’s eyes cut to me again. “Sorry about thecircumstances.”
Officer McFanboy grins. “I saw you fight three months ago in Lowell. Fastest TKO I’ve ever seen — I blinked and almost missed it. Man, I’d love to buy you a beer sometime, it would be anhonor—”
“Don’t I have to sign something?” I cut off the stream of fawning before they can launch into a full discussion of stats and techniques. We’ll be here all night,otherwise.
The officer barely looks away from Luca as he jerks his head in affirmation and points me toward the front desk, where his partner is stationed behind a sliding glass window. I head for it, eager to get out of Luca’s space — and out of this godforsaken place. It’s been pretty much the worst night of my life, and I’d like it to end as soon as humanlypossible.
My back is barely turned when the conversation starts upagain.
“Is it true you’re fighting Jack Forrester again this month? He’s abeast…”
My eyes are still rolling as I reach the desk. An unsmiling officer slides a clipboard of release documents through the window slot, followed by a small plastic baggie containing my meager collection of personal effects. I scan the papers, trying my best to tune out Officer McSuddenlyLessSexy asking Luca details about his nextfight.
By the time I’ve signed the bail agreement and collected the things they confiscated when I was arrested — my house keys, a truly spectacular Ferragamo clutch purse, my favorite stack of silver rings, the white-gold Tiffany watch my parents gave me for my twenty-first birthday — Luca’s given two autographs and posed for a selfie with practically everyone who works at the precinct, from the lieutenant to the night janitor to the Hells Angel in handcuffs slumped in a metal folding chair bythedoor.
I’m not entirely surprised. In the past five months, his star has risen astronomically fast. He’s gone from sparring unofficially in dingy Southie gyms to dominating at every major regional MMA contest… and the hype has only built, as more scouts and promoters have flocked to each of his matches. His following grows each time he steps into the ring. Word on the street is, it’s almost guaranteed that if he wins his next championship in two weeks, he’ll get what every aspiring fighterstrivesfor.
A UFCcontract.
Goodbye cash-only underground fight rings; hello multimillion dollar pay-per-viewmatches.
No wonder they want hisautograph.
I hover awkwardly by the door as they finish their bro-bonding. Fighting the urge to yank my skirt lower over my ass, I wish for the thousandth time tonight that I’d been able to callliterally anyone on planet earthother than the towering redheaded giant occupying entirely too much space in thewaitingroom.
Over the heads of two cops, his eyes find mine again. I become painfully aware of the fact that my hands are curled into fists around the small plastic bag. My grip only tightens further as Luca fist-bumps his cluster of fans goodbye, then crosses toward me with measured steps. Not in any kind of hurry. Never breaking eyecontact.
Gulp.
It takes more effort than I’d like to admit to hold my ground when he comes to a stop a fraction too close for my liking, looming over me despite the four inch heels on my feet. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t; he just stares at me with that same look he’s been giving me for months. The one that seems to say,What the hell is your deal, Sinclair? I can’t figureyouout.
I swallow hard and jerk my chin higher, determined not to shy away. His nearness has no effect on me. I’m totally not uncomfortable with him invading my personal space.Atall.