I rub my gritty eyes. “The politician under investigation for racketeering?”
“That’d be the one.”
“I’ll have to hold a press conference.” That’s the last activity I want to do today.
“Yep.” Ryder has a matter-of-fact attitude that I appreciate in a crisis. “His passenger was a young, unidentified female who definitely wasn’t his wife.”
“Fantastic.” Talk about a shitstorm.
“I sent you coordinates.”
My phone beeps with a dropped pin. “I’m about forty minutes out. Let me get on the road.”
“Press is already here.” Ryder is one of my best friends, but he’s all business now, considering time is of the essence.
“I’ll get there as soon as I can.” I disconnect and sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I put my elbows on my knees, rubbing a palm over my face. The scent of the woman I did such unspeakable things to clings, and as if she’s a Pavlovian response, my lust stirs.
I blow out a breath and stand. The room is a disaster. Sheets tangled. Bedspread pushed to the side. One of the lamps has tumbled to the floor, shade askew.
I’m not sure why I’m disappointed to find no sign of the sable-haired, blue-eyed siren who sat down beside me yesterday afternoon.
I walk over and flick open the heavy curtains, letting the blinding late-morning sun stream through the window.
Her car is gone.
A pad of cheap motel paper had fallen off the table somewhere in the middle of the best sex I’ve ever had. I pick it up off the floor. It’s blank.
The second she’d sat down next to me, I’d wanted her, despite my shit, broody mood. When she’d been so prickly, I’d been content to admire her from afar. But when she’d been unable to stop engaging, I’d known exactly where we’d end up.
An image of her, sprawled across my chest, both of us panting for breath after I’d exhausted all her chaotic energy, fills my mind. I can still feel the weight of her body on mine. Still feel her skin on the pads of my fingers as I’d stroked her sweat-slicked back.
What the fuck? Why am I having thoughts about the feel of her skin?
So we’d had amazing sex. It didn’t mean anything. We’d gotten what we’d needed, and that was the end of it.
I drag my hand through my hair and vacillate between irritation she skipped out and gratitude she spared me an awkward goodbye. I can’t deny that she would have been hard to let go. That if this were a normal Saturday morning and I’d woken up to her instead of an empty bed, I’d have convinced her to stay.
I’ve never been good at delusion. I’m more of a cold-hard-facts kind of guy. So I can admit that I don’t feel done with her. That she’s still in my system.
A bark of laughter escapes. Guess she’d been right to warn me not to fall in love with her.
Not that love is something I’m capable of, but my night with her did nothing to cool my desire.
At least we’d been smart enough to avoid personal information, because the pull to find her burrows like a thorn in my side. It’s mixed with irritation that I still want her, while she took off without a backward glance.
But I’m smart enough to know that’s an ego thing I’ll get over sooner rather than later.
I step into my pants and run to the car, where I keep a spare uniform for these types of unavoidable occasions. I’m about ten miles outside my county lines, but my house in the small town of Revival, Illinois, is clear on the other side of town, making going home a nonviable option.
At least Ryder is on the scene, and I don’t have to worry about any fuckups before I get there. He’s my second-in-command for a reason. He’s got a knack for calming things down and the patience to see through the rough spots. But considering this is a political situation, I need to get to the accident as soon as possible, leaving me little time to think about the dark-haired witch.
I flick on the bathroom light and step into the room, only to freeze.
On the mirror, in red lipstick, she’s written, You know why. Followed by a heart.
A smile twitches at my lips. What a drama queen.
I run a hand through my hair, the tension in my shoulders easing as I glance back at the note.