to see you’re using the dead bolt now.” He smiled crookedly while Buster dispensed with the formalities and attempted to push his way past her.
She noticed Warren looked over the repairs to the doorframe as he stood on her threshold.
“I figured I didn’t want any more strangers bursting in here with a gun drawn. Come on in.” She stood aside to let both man and dog inside, gesturing toward her assembly of mismatched furniture that was cast in a reddish glow, thanks to a sheer scarf thrown over a table lamp by the window.
Buster hurried right over to the bowl of water she’d left out since his last visit, a sad testament to her cleaning ethic. While the dog slurped briefly and then sniffed his way around her apartment, she closed the door behind them.
“Have a seat.” Her apartment seemed smaller with Warren in it, his presence making her very aware of how much she’d avoided men for the past year.
Maybe she was only attracted to him because she’d been severely orgasm-deprived? Yeah, right. Whatever the man did to keep fit was sure as hell working. He was all lean muscle.
“Tabitha.” He didn’t sit when she did.
“What? Is this about the gun? Did you find out anything?” She rose again, more nervous because of her inappropriate thoughts than because of the conversation about a deadly weapon. How strange was that?
“Not yet.” He came closer now, lowering himself onto the couch as if to make her sit back down, too. “I just wanted to make it clear to you before we got too comfortable that I’m not here on business.”
Oh. Her pulse jumped in response, immediately interested in this new development.
“You’re not?” She dropped back on those couch cushions with no conscious thought, landing too close to the attractive detective who wasn’t paying her a business call.
Oh my.
“No. This is strictly a social call, so feel free to boot us out if you’re busy.” He looked around for Buster, who was already walking in circles near the fireplace as if trying to find that perfect place to sleep.
Would the detective be as quick to make himself comfortable here? Her mouth watered.
“I’m not busy.” The words rushed out of her mouth so fast she probably sounded like exactly what she was—an undersexed divorcée too long deprived.
Why did men have to continue to tempt her after all she’d been through thanks to the penis-bearing half of the species? Damn biology.
“It occurred to me tonight that since there is no official investigation into the bullet through your window—just an incident on file—there was nothing stopping me from asking you to…dinner sometime.”
The way he paused over the invitation made her question what else he had on his mind besides dinner.
Especially since he looked at her for the first time in the man-to-woman way instead of the cop-to-victim way. His eyes lingered, so warm and inviting on her that she had to glance down at herself to be sure she hadn’t accidentally greeted him in her nightie again. But nope. She was respectably dressed in a calf-length plaid skirt and a short white cardigan sweater. Very Park Avenue despite her downtown address.
So it wasn’t her outfit causing any kind of sensation here. Heat unfurled between her hips. She needed to stop this before she did something she regretted.
Like tackle him to the floor and tear his clothes off. It would be fine for a one-night stand, but what if the gunshot incident turned into something more dangerous down the road? She’d hate to compromise her relationship with a man who made her feel far more safe and protected than any of the patrol officers who’d followed up on the call that night.
“Dinner? I hate to be blunt, Detective—”
“Call me Warren.”
“Warren.” She tasted the name on her lips and liked it a little too well.
“And please be blunt. I’m not a man who appreciates false facades.”
The wealth of possible meaning beneath that statement intrigued her. Who had shown Warren a false facade in the past?
“Okay. Warren.” She couldn’t resist the warmth of that name, the intimacy of calling him by it one more time. “Then I’ll be honest with you. I’m not in a good place to consider dinner dates or any kind of normal dating scenario.”
“So that’s a no?” He shifted on the couch, angling slightly closer by turning to face her.
The diamond in his ear caught her eye, making her wonder about the show of sparkle on an otherwise Spartan-looking man. The earring fascinated her, as did the rest of him. Her ex had been all about the dazzle—he probably had more carats than that in the insignia on his money clip, let alone the collection of rings he’d taken to sporting after he’d sealed a deal with a silent partner that moved him into a much higher earning bracket.
And his hair—Manny would have never had the balls to come as close to shaving his head as Warren had. She reached to touch the bristly hair at his temple and caught herself. Stopped herself.
What was she thinking?
“I’m not in a good place in my life for any kind of relationship.” And wasn’t that the God’s honest truth? As much as she’d love to indulge a few fantasies with this man, she wasn’t putting herself in a position to get her heart stomped again. Or her pride. Or any other part of her, damn it.
“So you’re not interested in a relationship. Who says this has to be more than just dinner?” His arm unfolded across the back of the couch until she could feel the heat of his skin close to her shoulders, his hand coming to rest lightly on the back of her head, fingers sifting gently through the ends of her hair until her scalp tingled pleasantly.
And that wasn’t the only tingle.
Her eyelids grew heavy at the hypnotic brush of his fingers through her hair, the solid male presence of him beside her urging her to lean on him, into him, all over him.
Oh, that sounded unwise. And tempting.
“Since when is dinner ever just dinner? I’ve been alone too long to sit through polite small talk.” Since her marriage had fallen apart, she’d given up couching her words in social niceties.
“You think you’ll be bored?” Warren was clearly on another wavelength since that wasn’t at all what she’d been thinking.
She couldn’t help the short bark of laughter that escaped her lips.
“Not likely.” Her gaze locked with his and she felt herself being pulled closer. Willed closer. But she didn’t know who was doing the willing.
“Then what does being alone have to do with you not being able to make it through dinner?” That soft scrub of his fingers shifted from her hair to the back of her neck.
“Besides sending the wrong message about my dating availability?” Maybe she should have taken him up on dinner. “I’m way too impatient to sit through chitchat when all I want—”
She
