Page 77 of Enemies in Paradise

They all belong to Cassie now. Because I am never planning to finish washing her clothes. She can only wear my jerseys from now on.

And towels.

Jerseys and towels. That’s her new wardrobe.

“I’ll just go put it on.” Cassie pushes herself away from the doorframe, and I get a glimpse of her from the top of the towel on her head that frames her entire face, making her green eyes shine; to her tan shoulders and slender arms; past the towel that hits her mid-thigh; down her legs that go on forever; all the way to her toenail. Which are painted. Red.

“Be right back,” she says before she shuts the door.

And I may never recover.

Chapter 25

Cassie

When a detective worksa case and has a person of interest, sometimes “motivational” tactics are used to get him or her to give up whatever info they may have. The motivation can be positive or negative, such as offering reduced charges or threatening to increase charges. I always prefer positive motivation. Nine times out of ten, I’m the “good” cop to my partner’s “bad” cop act.

Which is why, when I want to confirm my suspicions that Bear still has feelings for me, I choose positive motivation and use the towel trick. This time on purpose.

And do I feel a tiny bit guilty about it? Of course I do. But I’m only human. Sometimes my urges get the best of me, including the urge I’ve had since Monday, to kiss Bear again.

It’s not a premeditated act. The idea comes to me when I step out of the bath and hear him in the kitchen. He only gets a peek this time, not the accidental eyeful that he got earlier. And he’s had enough time to recover from bumping his head, so I can’t chalk it up to his injury when his eyes glaze over.

My conclusion?

Bear is still guilty of being attracted to me, even after our verbal brawls over the last few days.

The case is the most cut-and-dry one I’ve ever worked. There’s no doubt he likes the way I look.

A lot.

I wonder if he’s always looked at me the way he just did. Like I’m crack and he’s the addict. Except without the white lips and twitching.

Bad example.

Bear looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, and he’s using every ounce of self-control not to carry me off into the sunset. The heat of his gaze crosses the distance between us, hitting me with such intensity, I have to back away.

I close the bedroom door and lean against it to catch my breath. My heart pounds, and my whole body trembles. The smell of the chicken drifts from the kitchen, evidence of what he’s willing to do for me.

There was a time—maybe even five days ago—when Bear’s physical attraction to me would have been enough. But I don’t think that’s true now.

What I underestimated were my own feelings.

His eyes traveled over me with more than want. I’ve seen that in plenty of guys’ faces. I’ve seen it in Bear. Ifwantwas all he felt for me, he wouldn’t have hesitated to cross the room and pick up where we left off the other day.

But what I saw in his eyes waslonging. Not just for my body, but for all of me. I saw it in the way he held back coming to me,his breath staggering while he blanketed me with the warmth of his gaze.

When I can finally move, I push away from the door and grab his jersey from the bed. I slip it over my head, and once again, his smell washes over me.

I wrap my arms around my waist and breathe deeply. It’s silly, I know.

I swim in his jersey, which only reminds me of his size. I shouldn’t be as happy as I am that I have nothing else to put on. If I did, I’d have an excuse to take off his jersey. I really don’t want to do that, even though I know I’m playing with fire.

After slipping on my sweats and pulling my hair back, I walk barefoot into the kitchen.

I slide onto the tall stool at the counter, right next to Bear. His food is untouched, he’s covered mine in foil and poured a glass of wine for each of us.

“Hi.” He clears his throat and pulls the foil off my plate. “I thought you might need a drink, too.”

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