Page 115 of The Lies I Told
“Maybe in a minute.”
“Okay.” He passed by and moved to the kitchen, silently setting a pot to brew. “Why was Richards here today?”
“I’ve been put on this planet to irritate the man until my sister’s case is solved or until he retires.”
“He’s not warm and fuzzy, but a good cop.”
“I’ve come to appreciate each of those traits.”
He filled a mug and pushed it toward me. “No cream, but sugar.”
“I’ll take it.”
He pulled a box of sugar from the cabinet and handed it and a spoon to me. I poured in a liberal amount. When I caught him staring, I simply said, “Lunch of champions.”
“So why did you knock on my door?”
“I don’t know.” The spoon clinked against the mug as I stirred. “Trying to stay out of trouble.”
A slight grin tugged at his lips. “I’ve never been described as someone’s safe space.”
“Talking to you is keeping me from seeing someone I shouldn’t.”
His interest sharpened. “Why shouldn’t you be talking to this person?”
I shrugged like an unruly teenager. “I think he might have known my sister but so far has flown under everyone’s radar.”
He didn’t rush to fill the silence. “Who?”
“I probably shouldn’t say until I have proof.”
He raised his cup, stared at me over the rim, again letting the silence fill the air.
“That’s a cop trick, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“The silence.”
He arched a brow, but he didn’t respond.
Now I was smiling, feeling oddly good. It had been years since I’d believed I had the right to speak freely about Clare or had even a fainthope this case might get solved. And the fact that Alan had remembered her didn’t upset me. It was vaguely comforting. Not everyone had forgotten.
This newfound lightness made me want to have a drink. I set my cup down and rose slowly. He didn’t speak as he watched me come around the counter.
Human contact might distract me, and I didn’t think I’d ever had sex totally sober. All my interactions had been lost in a haze of booze and drugs. Sure, there’d been physical pleasure, but never truly an intentional connection.
Leaning in, I kissed him gently on the lips. “Stop me if you think I’m overstepping.”
His hand rested gently on my hip. “Are you sure?”
I kissed him again. “Yes. That a problem?”
“Not yet. Try again.”
I moistened my lips. My heart beat wildly, and my skin tingled. I kissed him again, and this time pressed my breasts against the smooth cotton of his dress shirt. His hand came to the small of my back and pulled me toward him. Not insistent or sloppy, but careful and testing.
When his hand slipped under my T-shirt and slid up my side, I sucked in a breath.
