be safe. She could go back to her white-collar cases at the WFO and he could go back to pretending he didn’t miss her.
But as she leaned forward again, and he took a deep breath of strawberry—his new favorite scent—Scott revised that thought. Hopefully Connors would stay on the run long enough for Scott to change Chelsie’s mind about giving him another chance.
* * *
THE SAFE HOUSE looked a lot like Scott’s cozy little bungalow.
As soon as Chelsie stepped through the door, she halted, making Scott walk into her. He gripped her arm quickly, before she stumbled, and the feel of his strong fingers wrapped around her elbow sent goose bumps running up her arm. The heat of his body against her back made her want to lean into him and hook her arms around his neck. Instead she jerked forward out of his grasp, and put some distance between them.
Not glancing back, she stepped farther into the house, and tried to cool down. It had been a year! And they’d only spent one night together. An incredible night, but still... How could he still affect her like this?
It was ridiculous. He wasn’t her type at all. She didn’t go for the too-handsome, too-charming playboy types. She dated accountants and engineers, decent looking but not so attractive that every woman in the room stared. They were safe and serious. She picked the ones who didn’t feel threatened by her job because they believed her when she said she sat behind a desk. Guys who wanted more than a little fun and a little fling.
“I’m going to catch a nap.” Andre’s voice broke into her thoughts and she turned to face him. “Scott and I were called in for a case about—” he checked his watch “—eighteen hours ago.”
“Sure, okay,” she said, and silently cursed at how nervous she sounded. Hopefully Andre would think it was just the situation, and not the thought of being alone with Scott.
Scott’s partner nodded at her, his dark brown eyes unreadable as he moved past her toward one of the bedrooms, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a tactical bag hanging from his other hand. He was undeniably attractive, probably in his early thirties and about her height, with smooth, dark skin, and biceps that strained his T-shirt.
As Andre disappeared into the room at the end of the hall, closing the door with a soft thud, Chelsie glanced back to find Scott watching her. He, too, had a duffel bag over one shoulder, and a tactical bag over the other. And, she realized, a small blue duffel bag tucked beside the tactical bag. Her belongings.
She held out a hand for it. “Sorry. I can take that.”
Scott gave her the bag, his fingers brushing hers...on purpose? The same sensitivity rushed up her skin, the feeling of him lingering after he’d stepped back.
“Why don’t you go ahead and settle in?” He tossed the car keys on the table and put his bags down. “I’m going to make a quick phone call and then I want to review the case file.”
Chelsie nodded mutely as her stomach churned. After her testimony at Connors’s trial had concluded, she’d hoped she’d never have to see anything from that horrible day again. Even thinking about the case made the memories rush back, the metallic scent of blood floating on the wind, the heat of the sun beating down on her shoulders, the bang of the rifle as another man fell and nothing she said made any difference.
She turned away from Scott, hoping he wouldn’t see the emotions on her face, and walked down the hallway to another bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned against it, glancing around as her heart rate slowed. The shades were drawn on the room’s sole window, and she’d keep them that way. The room was simple: a single bed, a nightstand and a dresser, all mismatched. A dusty treadmill sat in the corner with an ancient radio propped on top of it.
She set her duffel on the bed, not bothering to see what the cop had packed for her, and sank down beside it. The springs on the bed sagged too far under her weight as she stared at the blank walls.
The bones of the house really were a lot like Scott’s little bungalow. But Scott’s house had been full of charm and personality. For a guy with a reputation with the women, she’d expected a true bachelor’s pad: leather couches, a big-screen TV and a black bedspread on a king-size bed. Instead, she’d discovered his taste in decorating ran to blues and greens. He had artwork on his walls, family pictures on his tables and his bedroom could only be described as cozy.
She’d been in his house just once. And most of those hours had been spent in his bed. So why could she picture it better than some of her friends’ houses that she’d been to dozens of times?
“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Scott’s voice suddenly carried into her room, loud enough for her to overhear.
He must have gone into the third bedroom, had to be on the phone. With a girlfriend? Was Scott Delacorte actually dating someone seriously enough that she might miss him if he was away for a few days? Heck, for all she knew, he was living with someone.
Chelsie pushed the thought out of her mind. It was none of her business.
Still, she couldn’t help straining to listen as he added, “Keep an eye on her, okay?” He sounded stressed, as though whoever needed looking after was someone he didn’t want to leave alone. As though he wanted to be the one watching over her.
Did he resent being sent to a safe house to watch over Chelsie instead?
Stop it, Chelsie told herself. Scott had given her plenty of opportunities to be with him. She’d been the one to say no. She had no right to be jealous of whoever had his attention now.
But as she heard Scott say goodbye to whoever he’d called, she knew it didn’t matter what she told herself to feel. The truth was, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Scott in the past year. But he wasn’t a real option, just a momentary distraction, and she needed to deal with it. She stood, squared her shoulders, and went to the door, yanking it open.
Scott was standing on the other side, his hand raised as though he’d been about to knock. He slowly lowered his arm as she stared up at him.
And then, before she could move, he’d taken a step forward, until he was standing so close to her that she could see his eyes darken and his pupils expand. And then his head lowered toward hers.
He moved slowly, giving her time to step away, but she couldn’t seem to break his spell. And then she was the one moving toward him, pushing herself up on her tiptoes and threading her fingers in his hair.
His mouth came down hard on hers, his lips urgent and so familiar. She sighed in the back of her throat as she pulled him closer. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her again and again, until she felt as if she had been transported backward a year.
As if the massacre had never happened. As if she’d gone home with him from Shields—the only truly spontaneous, irresponsible thing she’d ever done—and just stayed. As if this was the beginning of something, instead of long past the end.
The thought brought her abruptly back to reality. She untangled her hands from Scott’s hair and pushed against his chest as he was walking her backward, toward that single bed. She pushed a little harder and his lips left hers.
His gaze was intense, but as he stared at her, all trace of emotion disappeared. He stepped back abruptly, making her stumble, and his lips hooked up at the corner derisively. “Still playing games with me, Chelsie?” His voice seemed
