Page 4 of Fugitive Flirtation

I clap him on the shoulder and shrug. “Yep, she’s serious about nutrition and shit like that.”

We say goodbye, and as I head toward the building, I spot a grocery delivery truck pulling up. On a hunch, I intercept the driver as he’s unloading a bag.

“Hey there,” I call out, pulling out a crisp twenty from my pocket. “Those for unit203?”

The driver frowns like he’s going to send me packing and then notices the cash. Twenty is all it takes for his scruples to fly away. He nods, eyeing the money. I press the bill into his hand and offer an explanation:

“I’m her boyfriend. Wanted to surprise her with breakfast in bed. Mind if I take those off your hands?”

“Sure, man. Knock yourself out.”

I grab the bags and head into the building. Adrenaline starts to kick in. I’m so close. Just a few more steps and I’ll have her. On the second floor, I find her door and pause a minute, listening for any signs of movement inside. Nothing. Okay, so Frank said she runs early every morning. She could still be out, or she could be in the shower, or she could be back in bed…

Since I’ve decided this is my lucky day, I decide to take a chance. I set the bag down and pull out my lock-picking kit. It takes me less than thirty seconds to get the door open. I learned to do that way before I joined the police academy, but when anyone asks, I lie and say it’s one of the perks of being an ex-cop.

I slip inside, leaving the door ajar and the bag behind me. The one-bedroom is small but tidy. Right away, I spot a backpack on the table and, next to it, a laptop charging. I’m about to take a look at the screen when I hear a shout in the adjacent room.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Stupid, stupid bed!”

Oops. I smile and sympathize. Yep, I’m really good at kicking innocent furniture, especially in the morning before I have my coffee… and every single time the furniture wins.

But right now is not the time to suggest she ice whatever part of her body she’s hit. That’s not what I came here for.

I just have time to run out and close the front door behind me before she enters the living room.

4

Hobbling into the living room and cursing under my breath, I make my way to the fridge. I grab a plastic bag, empty an ice tray into it, and collapse onto the sofa to press the cold pack against my throbbing toe.

I force myself to take deep breaths, but just as I’m starting to relax, a loud knock on the door almost gives me a heart attack.

“Grocery delivery!” a deep, masculine voice calls out.

I frown, thinking it’s not the same guy that came yesterday or the day before. I drag myself to the door, pull it open, and take a painful step back. I’m about to ask him to drop the bags on the kitchen counter when I forget how to speak.

Wow, this is the most striking man I’ve ever seen. Tall, piercing blue eyes and rugged, handsome face… built like a god. Hermes maybe? If I remember well, he was in charge of deliveries. I want to climb him like a tree. What’s the matter with me?

Still holding my grocery bag, he flashes a charming smile. “Where do you want these?” His voice matches his appearance, smooth and confident. That man’s way too… handsome, charming, confident… to be just a delivery guy.

A small alarm rings in the back of my mind, but my tingling lady bits silence it immediately.

“Uh, on the counter, please,” I manage to say, painfully stepping aside to let him in.

As he makes his way to the kitchen, I admire his athletic build and wonder what it is about him that makes my heart race and my palms sweat. Pheromones? It’s a thing with animals, and no matter how much we try to deny it, we’re just mammals. Possibly evolved mammals, but when it comes to reproduction, our evolution is not all that it’s cracked up to be.

My delivery god sets the bags down on the counter and turns to face me, his eyes locking with mine. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I swallow hard, my mind suddenly filled with all sorts of inappropriate thoughts. Crazy, stupid thoughts like what would our babies look like? Okay, something’s really wrong with me. I’m usually very picky about men. I’m also a snob. I only date sophisticated men. I’m not the type to swoon over a random delivery guy, no matter how devastatingly handsome he might be.

“No, that’s all. Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He nods, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he heads back toward the door. As he passes by, I catch a whiff of his scent—a mix of leather, sandalwood, and something uniquely him. It’s intoxicating, and I find myself fighting the urge to lean closer.

I can’t believe how strongly I react to his presence. And now is not the time to get distracted by a pair of stunning blue eyes and a chiseled jawline. I need to focus on clearing my name.

But maybe a little distraction is good… for a minute I forgot all about my toe. But now the pain is back with a vengeance and I need to ice my foot again.

I settle back on the couch without looking at him and start cursing again as soon as the door slams shut. I close my eyes and wait for the cold to work its magic when I get startled again.

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