Page 39 of Suspicion

Tucker

He fell to his knees, moving close enough to reach out and wrap his arms around her. Her body was stiff as he enveloped her, her face turned away to reveal her long and slender neck. Breathing in, the tantalizing scent of her hair goaded his nostrils.

“I want you to be safe and well.” Although he admitted his treatment of her so far hadn’t always demonstrated that.

“It doesn’t feel like it.” She turned toward him, their faces only inches from one another.

“Well, it’s true.” Christ, she was beautiful. More pleasing than any woman he could recall, and once upon a time, there had been a lot of women.

“Let me go then.” Her voice was soft, as though she accepted it would never happen.

“You know I can’t.”

“Won’t.” Her lips looked so tempting.

“Whatever.” He steeled himself. “But I do want to look after you.” To love you. The bizarre thought exploded into his head, although he couldn’t account for it.

He didn’t want to love her. He didn’t love anyone, remember?

“Do you?” Slowly, she inhaled, and for one breathtaking minute, her tongue flicked over her lower lip.

Fuck. His throat dried. Was she doing this on purpose?

“Yes.” He inched forward, teetering on the edge of the caress he yearned to bestow. “If you’ll let me.”

“I do want to be looked after.” Her brow rose as though she, too, couldn’t believe what she was saying.

“Then I promise to look after you.”

As if an unseen person had nudged him forward, his mouth grazed hers, their passion blooming as her lips responded. For one heart-stopping moment, there was only the swelling connection between them—a truce in the midst of war.

“Tucker.”

His name had never sounded better before, although her breathy mewl spoke of desire rather than disgust.

“I know.” He drew away, although it pained him to do so. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I didn’t say that.” Her cheeks were flushed as she eyed him. “I just can’t keep up with your good-cop, bad-cop routine. My head is whirling.”

He was starting to know how she felt.

“I’ll give you some space.” Rising to his feet, he suppressed the urge to groan at the loss of intimacy. She smelled so good. Christ, he wanted to devour her.

“Okay.” She sounded unsure as he walked back to the counter.

“How old are you?” He should have asked before he pressed his mouth to hers, but the constant conflict between them yesterday had made small talk all but impossible. Glancing back at her, the wildcat seemed calmer after his sensual interjection. Hopefully, a meal would improve her mood again.

“Twenty-six.” She crunched her legs tighter toward her body. “You?”

Twenty-six? He blew out a breath. That was younger than he’d been expecting, although her smooth skin suggested she was telling the truth.

“A lot older than you.” He laughed, running his fingertips through his stubble. He rarely used a blade to shave anymore but found his hair stubbornly refused to grow much longer. It meant he constantly looked as though he required shearing while never quite growing a beard.

“That’s not fair.” She tilted her head in his direction. “I told you my age.”

“I’m almost fifty.” Far too old for you. He tensed. So why did I try to kiss you?

He bit back the final line, his confusion growing. First, she was an inconvenience, then an object of desire, and now what? He longed for more? To get to know her? Tucker knew better than to play such dangerous games, especially with a woman almost half his age.

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