down next to him. “I figured you might want some company.”
“Two minutes ago you thought I was sleeping.” The light filtering in from the bedroom cast shadows across his face, making the angle of his jaw seem even sharper and more devastating.
“But you’re not. So we can talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Men never want to talk. But I can talk at you until you talk back.” She grinned at his exasperated sigh.
“You always get what you want, don’t you?”
The answer to that question used to be a resounding no, since all she’d wanted growing up was a normal life with a normal family. She wanted parents who loved her and loved one another. But she’d never got that, and eventually she’d realized that love and trust were about as real as Santa Claus.
Then she’d focused on wanting sex and her nos changed to yeses.
“I always go after what I want,” she said carefully. “And right now I want to talk to you. Or is that not in your job description?”
He paused and a hint of a smile passed over his lips, but he shifted on the couch and made space for her.
“Why did you come to New York?” she asked, watching his face carefully.
“Next question.”
“That was supposed to be my easy lead-in question.”
He grimaced. “Unfortunately it doesn’t have an easy answer. Let’s just say I’m here for work.”
Tension radiated from him. Once more his lips were set in a hard line, his gaze focused on something she couldn’t see. Something she didn’t want to see from the pain that flashed across his eyes.
“What do you do for fun? I know I asked that one before, but you didn’t answer me.”
“I run.”
“Exercise isn’t fun. Everybody knows that.” She rolled her eyes and gave him a light shove. His biceps were rock-hard and the playful touch felt illicit.
“And what do you do for fun, Rose?”
“I watch movies,” she said. “Action movies specifically. Guns, explosions. Vintage Arnie.”
He turned to her, his brow raised. “I would never have taken you for an action-movie fan.”
“Why? Because I’m a girl?” She rolled her eyes. “I drink whiskey, too. Are you shocked?”
“I pegged you for a thriller or mystery buff.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You seem like the type who’d prefer to figure out the solution to a problem than watch the good guy save the world.”
His assessment made her smile, so she didn’t give him a hard time about it. “I like playing cards, too,” she added.
“I used to play cards with my father,” Max replied.
“I thought you didn’t gamble.”
“We didn’t, not really.” For a moment his eyes drifted, a far-off look softening his features. “My mother had a box of old one-and two-cent coins that we’d use to buy-in. Winner got their choice of dessert.”
“Do you miss your parents?”
“Yes.”
Something about his tone stopped her from pressing further. Perhaps it was because she empathized with missing family. Though for her it was more that she missed the family she’d had before her parents had grown to hate one another.
“Did you really come out here to ask me about my family?”
“No.” She tilted her head and fiddled with the belt of her robe. “But I get the impression that you don’t have many people to talk to.”
“Why? Because I’m a man?”
“Touché.” A soft laugh escaped her lips. “You’re running away from something in Australia. You got all sad when you mentioned your family, and you haven’t exactly called anyone here to let them know you’re not coming home tonight.”
He swallowed, the bob of his Adam’s apple catching her attention. He pushed a hand through his hair, thrusting the overlong strands back and rubbing at the nape of his neck. She wanted those hands on her, wanted to know if they were as strong and skilled as she suspected.
“And you didn’t call anyone to reassure her that spending the night in a hotel with a woman is strictly business.”
“It is strictly business,” he said, looking into the black depths of the hotel room.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“I should recommend that Cobalt & Dane hire you,” he joked. “You’re quite the investigator.”
“Just observant.” She shrugged. “I learned to read people early on. It’s kind of a necessity when you’re around bad-tempered people.”
He frowned. “Who had a bad temper?”
“My dad.” She squared her jaw, refusing to let him see her sadness. “I learned to pick up the signs if he’d had a bad day at work. Then I steered clear.”
“Smart girl.”
* * *
A STRANGE FEELING clutched at Max’s chest as Rose sat there, her face ethereal in the light pouring in from the bedroom. He’d judged her this morning, labeled her. He’d been happy to stereotype her and move on.
That wasn’t like him at all. At one point he’d been an advocate for treating people fairly, without presumption. Now he was just as bad as those jaded cops he hated, the ones who gave all officers a bad name. Max swallowed, guilt seeping through him like a toxin.
“No one’s ever called me smart before,” she said grudgingly.
Without makeup she looked younger, more vulnerable. The bruise had deepened on her cheek, marring her otherwise perfect skin. The intruder had been able to hurt her because Max hadn’t kept her in his line of sight. He vowed then to never let that happen again.
“I’m not trying to win your sympathy,” she continued, narrowing her eyes at him as if warning him not to be kind to her. “It’s a fact.”
“I believe you.”
“I think we’re more alike than you first assumed.” She shifted on the couch and moved closer to him.
Her robe loosened, revealing a triangle of pale skin across her décolletage. The fluffy white fabric hugged the slope of her breasts, revealing the barest hint of creamy cleavage. The delicate bumps of her collar bone were exaggerated by the angle of the light; the slender length of her neck was exposed beneath her short hair.
“Do
