But I can’t see how this is connected to Crenshaw. It’s too sloppy for that, but I can’t be sure.
All I can do is sit tight and wait.
Five minutes pass, then all of a sudden, the white door swings open, and a person gets out of the car. Other than a flash of red, my view is obstructed, but when the door shuts, a sable-haired siren I know entirely too well turns in my direction.
It’s…her.
Instead of the shock and horror I should feel that she’s tracked me down, a twisted, anticipatory excitement rushes through me as she heads in my direction.
The tension I’d been carrying since I’d woken up alone in that motel room disappears like a puff of smoke.
I also come face-to-face with the knowledge that under my belief I’d never see her again lay a certainty that I would.
I’m not even alarmed she’s crazy. Women like that always are.
I watch her approach, her hips a hypnotic sway in a slinky red dress that drapes over her body like it was made for her. Her hair is a tumble over one shoulder as she squares up and marches toward me like a woman on a mission.
I’m fucked in the head because all I want to do is lay claim to her. I won’t, because I’m not insane, but I want to. So goddamn bad I can taste it. I can already feel the hard press of my mouth against hers.
I jerk the handle, catapult out of the car, and slam the door.
She throws up her hands. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why won’t you go home?”
I stalk toward her. “What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not fucking crazy, that’s what’s wrong with me.”
“I’m not crazy either,” she screeches. “I can explain.”
In the middle of the street, we barrel toward each other. The closer she gets, the more lust and adrenaline form a powerful cocktail in my blood, making me want to forget being reasonable.
I cannot grab her, drag her behind a building, and punish her for running out on me. I need to focus on her crazy, not how that crazy manifests in bed.
She comes to a halt in front of me, her nude stiletto heels mere inches from mine.
I rake my gaze over her. “Just so you know, red’s not a good color for stalking.”
She jabs a finger in my chest. “I am not stalking, you egotistical maniac.”
“Then explain to me why the fuck you’ve been tailing me for thirty minutes.” I swat her hand away. “By the way, don’t quit your day job. You absolutely suck at it.”
Her dark brows slam together. “I do not suck. I wasn’t trying that hard.”
“Where’s your car?” I’d have recognized the dark gray sedan she’d driven, not because it was distinctive, but because it had been hers.
“I borrowed my sister’s car.”
“And why’s that, other than not wanting me to recognize you?” I cross my arms over my chest and give her my sternest look, the one that makes my greenest deputies shake in fear, but it has little effect on her.
She huffs like I’m an idiot and she can’t believe she’s forced to explain the obvious. “All I was trying to do was to follow you home. But as usual, you won’t cooperate, so here we are.”
My mouth falls open; I cannot believe this woman. She’s insane, and here I am, lusting after her. “Did you or did you not leave me in the middle of the night?”
“I did, but that’s not the point right now.” She holds up a hand. “Just listen. I get how it looks, but I need to talk to you urgently.”
“So, you hunted me down?”
“Yes, but it’s not what you think.”
“Then explain yourself.”