"I wanted to apologise. Properly. About last night."
He smells so damn good, it’s hard to concentrate. I’m struck by the thought that I want to smell like that again too, with his manly scent all over my body. On my tongue. In my mouth.
I clear my throat and blink rapidly to drag my thoughts out of the gutter and focus. I need to choose my words carefully.
"Apologise for what, exactly?" He still hasn't looked up, one strand of dark hair falling across his forehead as he carefullyscans the papers to make sure he didn’t miss any questions. "Accusing me of using you? Suggesting I must be a criminal because of my last name? Or just generally being a bit of a bitch?"
Ouch. I’d love to argue, but I deserve that.
"I may have overreacted," I say quietly. He doesn’t argue with me. "Beau, I…"
"I'm working, Detective." He signs the bottom of the form with a vicious flourish and straightens, finally turning to face me but staring at a spot over my shoulder instead of meeting my eye.
I’m struck by a longing so strong it nearly takes the legs out from under me.
"You’ve apologised. So, if there’s nothing else, are we done here?"
No.
The panicky word echoes around inside my skull. I don’t want it to be done. And yet, I know it has to be. This is just prolonging the agony.
"You have to understand how it would look for me." The defensive words spill out before I can stop them as I take a step closer, desperate to be near him.
“Do I?" Now he does meet my gaze, but his eyes are so cold, so wrong, it stops me dead. "Go on. Tell me why I have to understand why I’m not good enough for you to be seen with."
I can't. My mouth opens and nothing comes out even though that’s not what I think at all.
"That's what I thought."
Martins returns to the desk, and Beau folds the paperwork, sliding the top copy to Martins before tucking the rest into his back pocket. "See you around, Detective."
Martins gives him a salute with the paperwork and disappears back inside, casting an odd glance between the two of us standing there awkwardly. Before the door shuts behind mycolleague, Beau has already turned and walked away, again, but something twists in my chest, sharp and frantic. I haven't made it right. Not even close.
He’s just stepped outside when I catch up to him, reaching out to grab his arm.
"Beau, wait. Will you juststop?—"
He turns so fast, I gasp and stumble back, my ass hitting the wall hard with his hand braced on the now closed door beside my head, his big body looming over me.
I'm pinned between his intoxicating smell and the cold, painted concrete behind me, with maybe three inches of air between us.
"What do youwant, Detective?"
He's not touching me, but he’s close enough that I can feel his breath against my temple, and an all-consuming desire for him hits me all over again. His other hand comes up to brace on the wall on the other side of my head, caging me in completely now against the back of the station.
"What do you want?" he asks again, softer this time, and I know he’s not just referring to right here, right now.
I open my mouth, ready to tell him exactly what I want. Him. But nothing comes out.
He tilts his head and inhales against my hair, eyes closed. Slow and deep, he pulls the scent of me into his lungs, and a sound I don't recognise as my own slips out of my throat.
His voice has dropped to something low and rough. "Tell me something, Red."
"What?" The word comes out embarrassingly breathy as I nod eagerly.
"You liked me last night. And I can tell you like this version of me, too, the one with another man's blood on his knuckles."
Heat floods my cheeks, and my pussy throbs. I more than like it.