Page 33 of Dirty (Chicago Underground 5)
I had kissed countless men, endless clients, but never had I lost myself in it. Kissing had always been a messy clash of mouth and teeth and tongue, and never had I gloried in it.
“I want it to be real between us,” Luke had said, but this wasn’t real, just the opposite. Real was flesh and blood, and this was so much more. When Luke k
issed me, I ceased being the sum of my past, and he was no longer the next man in line. I was no longer a body to be used, and he wasn’t a grunting weight to use me. In that moment, I was a woman, and he was a man. We were lovers with no time to bind us, no secrets to thwart us, no enemies to hurt us—but none of that was real at all.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, I woke up with only the ruffles for company. I heard intermittent clicking from outside the bedroom and a low voice I recognized as Luke’s. I padded out and found him seated at the kitchen table with a laptop and a spread of maps and papers.
“No.” He spoke into his cell. “That will take too long. I’m talking hours, not days. He’s weak now. The longer we wait, the more time he has to build back up.” There was a pause. “Okay, let me know what you find. This is it. If we’re ever going to bring him down, it’s right now.”
After setting down the phone, he stood and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. He wore loose-slung jeans and a soft gray T-shirt that gave his green eyes a smoky look. His jaw was silky smooth and smelled of aftershave. It was so domestic, so casual, that I felt my throat tightening.
I turned away. “Is there any coffee?”
“You don’t drink coffee.”
Then I remembered that he had made me tea last night. “How do you know that?”
“I didn’t realize it was a state secret,” he said lightly, reaching over to the stove and pouring me a mug of steaming water. He handed it to me along with a box of assorted teas. “Sorry I don’t have anything better.”
“I’m not a tea snob. Just wondering how you know I don’t drink coffee.”
He rolled his eyes. “I pay attention, okay? All those meetings we had when you were my informant. You drank soda or tea or water, but never coffee.”
“Are you always so observant?” I asked.
“Are you always this suspicious?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a detective. Being observant is part of the job description. Besides, I was into you. By that, I mean hopelessly obsessed and crazy into you. You tend to notice someone’s beverage choices in that state.”
I stared, mouth agape, as he made his casual pronunciation of being into me. What did that even mean? Besides amazing. He had already turned back to his laptop and was squinting at the bright glare.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m not usually so slow on the uptake, but it’s early, and in my defense, we almost died last night. Did you say you were into me?”
He looked up, seeming slightly amused by my confusion. “Sure. I’m pretty sure everyone knew that. Except possibly you.”
“There’s a reason for that. I just can’t think of it right now. Oh, wait. I know. It’s because you refused to touch me or really even look at me the entire time I was your informant, which is almost the entire time you’ve known me.”
“That was to keep from jumping you.”
“Which would have been bad, because…”
“Aforementioned reasons.”
He sounded almost cheerful. Dear God, was he a morning person?
“The age difference. The guilt. The impropriety, considering my position of authority. The impossibility of a long-term relationship while you were an escort and I was a cop.”
I had written off his objections last night, but in the sunny light of morning, they did seem like awfully big hurdles. “And now?”
“It’s a little late for regrets.” He raised his eyebrow. “Do you regret what we did?”
Did I? It terrified me, but I wasn’t sure that counted. It thrilled me, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit that. “As sexual escapades go, it was rather tame.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
