Page 17 of Feel Me

CHAPTER 5

Melissa

I manage to hold onto Rosana and her mother a little longer in my office. But it’s not enough time for Judge Bronson to agree to the search and seizure motion.

Declan raps on my door about an hour later. “Can I come in?”

I put my pen down on my desk, watching him as he shuts the door. “You’re pissed at me, aren’t you?” he asks, his expression clearly that of a man who would expect no less of me.

“I’m not angry at you, Declan,” I begin.

“Didn’t seem that way back in my office,” he interrupts.

Wow. For someone who’s accusing me of being mad, he’s the one acting testy.

“I was trying to help Rosana,” he says continuing. “And I was trying to connect with her.”

“By attempting to be charming?” I ask, crossing my arms.

Something in my face causes him grin. “Believe it or not, most women think I pull it off pretty damn well.”

“I have no doubt. But today you didn’t quite manage.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” he fires back. “I already know what you think of me.”

I gasp. “I wasn’t talking about me either.”

His face reddens, but I don’t wait for him to speak. “Iker was a family friend,” I begin. “He gained Rosana’s trust by paying attention to her, listening intently to everything she said, and making her laugh, in other words,charmingher.”

He lifts his chin, the muscles along his jaw tensing. “She’s a sweet kid, who’s had a really rough life,” I tell him. “That doesn’t make her your sweetie, like you called her. Because if you remember the last man who gave her a pet name, who paid attention to her, and who claimed to want to help her, convinced her to let him into her apartment when her mother was away and assaulted her.”

“I wasn’t trying to remind her of Iker,” he snaps. “That wasn’t my intention?”

He stops as I shake my head. “I know you didn’t mean to come across this way,” I say softly. “And that you were only trying to bond with her. But with a kid like Rosana, who can’t even trust her own mother to help her, you have to earn her trust by being genuine and keeping some distance.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I’m certain that like Rosana, he’ll shut me out. But then he says, “I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in his features and tone is like a tangible force, holding my attention longer than it should and warming my heart in a way he’s not supposed to.

I avert my gaze. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. “I’m not trying to insult you or tell you how to do your job. But all those cases you’ve tried, however challenging, didn’t involve victims like Rosana.”

“I realize that now,” he agrees quietly.

The quiet spreads between us, but it’s not uncomfortable or tense, and maybe something we both need at the moment. The mental exertion of keeping up with the conversation earlier, and the stress from the cases I handled today alone, hits me all at once. Not that it stops me from thinking matters through.

I blamed Declan for the way he came across, but had I met with him ahead of time, we could have discussed how best to approach Rosana. He’s handled a plethora of cases and met with multiple witnesses and victims. But the victims in this unit are a different breed and so very fragile.

“I should have prepared you for the meeting and warned you she was defensive,” I admit. I take him in from his meticulous cut wavy blond hair to shiny expensive shoes, trying not to judge this future politician standing before me. “I just never expected you to be so . . .” I shake my hand at him. “You.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says, the corners of his mouth stretching into a way-too sexy grin that causes his blue eyes to shimmer.

For some reason, I blush. I’m not someone who blushes because she’s shy or easily embarrassed?especially around someone like him who would enjoy it too much.

I shuffle the papers around my desk, trying to hide my face and not cringe when instead of walking out he edges closer. He stops directly in front of my desk, leaning forward so that his elbows rest across the smooth surface. “Are you blushing?”

“I don’t blush,” I assure him, gathering random sheets of paper on my desk and making more of a mess than anything.

He angles his head, trying to peer at my face. “I don’t know,” he says like he’s giving it some thought. “I’ve made plenty of women blush in my life . . .”

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