I stand in the empty basement, fingers touching the spot where her lips brushed my skin, and I can’t help but smile.
She said yes to dinner.
She said she wants to know me.
It’s a start.
And for a man who’s spent his entire life learning patience in the field but struggling with it everywhere else, I’ll take it.
Upstairs, I hear Stella laugh at something Alicia said. The sound is warm, unguarded—the sound of a mother and daughter who genuinely like each other. Who feel safe together.
And I realize that’s what I want.
Not just Alicia in my bed, though God knows I want that too.
But this. The laughter. The easy domesticity. The family.
The thought should have me requesting a different assignment.
I grab my tablet and settle back onto the sofa, pulling up security feeds. Work. Something I can control while my heart figures out what the hell it’s doing.
But even as I scan the cameras, check the perimeter, note the quiet street outside, I’m smiling.
Because soon, I’ll take Alicia Morgan to dinner.
And maybe—just maybe—she’ll stop running long enough to see what I’m starting to see.
Chapter
Eighteen
Alicia
Christine answers on the third ring. “Morning, lady!”
She’s chipper and happy, and the flutters in my stomach won’t quit. Hyperawareness, energy, joy—my body doing its best to override reason.
“Are you available for drinks after work?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Why would you assume?—”
“You never call in the morning. You’re a morning news person. So spill.”
I catch a glimpse of the black Chevy SUV three cars back, and heat flushes my skin.
“I may have hooked up with someone.”
A pause. “Ho-hum or hall-of-fame?”
Despite everything, I smile. “Definitely not ho-hum.”
“Age?”
“Thirty-one.”
“The bodyguard!” Her delight is audible. “I don’t see the problem.”