6. Chapter 6

six

Athena

“ W ell, Agent Blake, what do you say? Buy me an eight-dollar brunch and I’ll give you what you want.”

I said it with a saucy wink, the double entendre always a fun way to grab attention, and hopped out, slamming the car door behind me before waiting near the hood for him. Hell, if he was nicer to me from the start maybe it wouldn’t have been just a tease. Maybe this would have been a nice breakfast date after an energetic and satisfying evening.

No matter what I implied, the tension in his body, the need to control the world around him, probably would translate into some serious fireworks behind closed doors.

Blake climbed stiffly out of my passenger seat and closed his door much more gently than I had. The wary look in his eyes delighted me. At least I was making him uncomfortable.

“To be clear, this is not a fucking date. Even if I buy you breakfast, I wouldn’t try to date you. ”

It felt like a slap to the face. What the hell was so wrong with me that he had to be so crystal-fricking-clear about it to not even bother displaying some tact? It wasn’t like I wanted to date him either. I didn’t ask for him to follow me around. He was the one who wanted me to talk to him and answer his questions in the first place. But I hadn’t been rude enough to say anything that outright callous.

It looked like there were new rules to the game. No more Ms. Nice Girlie.

I strode past him, opening the door to the little Mom I’d already gotten to the bottom of it all, and my mother would still be alive if it wasn’t for Carlo Morelli. I just needed to figure out how to prove it in a court of law.

“What do you do for a living in Washington?”

“Why do you care? What does my job have to do with your case?”

He cleared his throat. “You’re right. It doesn’t have anything to do with it. I just wanted to get away from the topic of your dead relative.”

“Oh.”

“But in all seriousness, Athena, how do you know the Morellis didn’t call for your hit? How do you know Leo Lombardi isn’t still gunning for you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s highly unlikely. It sounds to me like they all have bigger fish to fry than someone like me. I think it was just a crime of opportunity. Besides. I can take care of myself.”

“I’d feel a lot better if you would let me assign you a security detail for the time being.” He paused and flashed Mary another award-winning smile when she returned with our plates of food. “Thank you. This looks delicious!”

Mary stuttered out her thanks, cheeks red and brain turned to mush as she fluttered back to her husband in the kitchen.

I shook my head in amusement. “You should be more careful. Keep that smile holstered because it can be used as a lethal weapon if you aimed it right. ”

“Oh yeah?” He turned that smirk to me, but I was prepared for it and didn’t blink. “If that were the case you’d be putty in my hands and would do every little thing I told you to.”

He raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his coffee. Was he trying to out-sass me? He was working against a pro and just didn’t know it.

“That won’t work on me right now. I only obey a man’s commands in the bedroom.” He choked on his swallow. “Out in the real world I take charge of the room.”

He stared hard at me for a moment. “I’ll be honest with you, Athena. I have no idea what the hell we were talking about.”

Score one for me.

“Then just eat your food for a few minutes while you get your head back on straight.” I’d hardly gotten a bite in and I hated cold eggs.

Another distraction arose when my phone vibrated inside my purse. I took another longing look at my omelet before reaching in to confirm it was the call I was expecting.

“Who’s MCBNG” Blake asked, leaning over to read my screen.

“Excuse you, invasion of privacy much?” I asked, hiding the screen against my chest. I sent the call to voicemail.

“I’m supposed to be asking you questions,” he smirked.

“Well, then I pass again.” There was no way I wanted to explain that MCBNG stood for Martin the Cheating Bastard Neighbor Guy: my connection to the phone company that helped me track Antonio Conti in the airport yesterday. I was blackmailing him into helping me by threatening to reveal his extracurricular activities to his poor wife who worked long hours as an ER doctor, giving Martin plenty of opportunity to have lady visitors over at all hours.

“Why did you dye your hair?”

“I saw someone on social media had hair like this and I wanted to copy her.”

“It is permanent?”

Why did he care? “No, it should come out in a couple washes.”

“Good. Your other hair looks more natural.”

A stupid, small part of me wondered if my new, temporary hair style was part of the reason he was so insistent this was not a date. I shooed that thought away; I didn’t care why he did or did not want to take me out.

“I don’t need your approval for how I style my hair, thank you very much.”

“I know you don’t need it, but I thought I’d share my opinion anyway.”

“I didn’t ask for it. Don’t want it. Actually, I think I’m done here.”

I didn’t need him to tear down my appearance any more; egg-white omelets with turkey bacon and natural curls were unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but the jabs still bit at my subconscious. I took a ten dollar bill out of my purse and slapped it on the table, knowing my breakfast and coffee came to $6.49 so Mary would have an okay tip.

“I thought I was buying,” Blake said, trying to hand the bill back to me.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m out of here.” I pulled farther away. I didn’t want anything from him, not even a cheap meal .

“Will you at least tell me what the hell I said or did wrong to piss you off now?” This time he grabbed my wrist, trying to force the bill into my hand. I jerked my arm back, but his grip was solid, and he just stepped farther into my personal space to keep a good hold.

“If you don’t know how completely inappropriate you’re being I won’t be the one to tell you.”

He grunted in frustration, but it was the warm breath of air that came with the grunt that surprised me. He was close enough I could feel the heat emanating from his body as well, the skin around my wrist blazing at the contact. Blake wasn’t too tall—maybe an inch or two under six feet—and with my 5' 6" frame and work heels, we were almost the same height.

My eyes were almost level with his, my chin barely tilted upward to look at him, but his face was much too close.

“What would you consider inappropriate, Athena? Tell me where exactly you’d draw the line.”

“Right here,” I said, taking another step back toward the door. Blake stepped with me, like it was a choreographed dance, but his longer legs brought him even closer than before so my chest brushed against his with each breath.

“So I just stepped over the line then?” His smirk was the opposite of charming. It might have been sexy as hell, but the arrogance than accompanied it just made me want to throw him bodily across the room.

“Damn right you did,” I said, but when I took another step back I hit the wall. He stepped with me again, of course, his arm coming up to rest on the wall over my head, framing me as his other hand still gripped my wrist. “I think you should let go of me, or you’re not going to like what’ll happen next.”

To his credit, Blake did release his hold on my wrist. But then the bell hanging over the door jingled two feet to my left, causing me to jump in surprise at the same time Blake shifted forward half an inch to push his arm off the wall. My lips brushed ever-so-briefly against his as I landed back on the balls of my feet and he continued to pull his body away from mine. I put my hands against his chest to push him away faster, annoyed at that ridiculously fit bod that probably resulted from the exact right balance of macros and a very scheduled gym routine.

But my lips tingled.

I chanced a glance at Blake as I shouldered past him to the door. His fists were clenched and his eyes were dark and fiery. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as his eyes met mine, but I was already turning back to the exit, rushing outside to my car.

Only once I’d driven a couple blocks down the street did I let my fingers reach up to my mouth, feeling the impression he left there. It wasn’t a physical mark, it wasn’t intentional, but it impressed me nonetheless.