Page 35 of Make You Mine

“Notavoiding?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I raise a brow. “Are you asking me?”

You’re playing a dangerous game, Ford. It’s for the best if she doesn’t get close.

“How about some breakfast instead of the early morning interrogation, Detective?” The hope in her voice, how vulnerable she looks, tugs at my heart, and I nod. Give in easily.

“Fair enough.” Crossing the room, I walk past her, hand skimming her upper back as I make my way toward the expresso machine. Ignoring the small shiver that runs through her at my touch or how my fingertips tingle, I stop at the cupboard above the brewer and grab two mugs. I don’t ask her how she likes it or make any other attempt at small talk.

I don’t turn around and pull her close like I want to.

I don’t tell her everything that’s been eating at me for the past two weeks.

That I don’t like the silent treatment. That I find her gorgeous.

How I wish we’d met under different circumstances. Normal ones. Ones where her life isn’t in danger. Instead, I keep it simple and make us a double shot each, then take them back over to the sitting area on the other side of my island. In the fridge, there’s some hazelnut creamer and half and half; I pull that out, too, along with the whole milk. All that’s missing is the sugar, and I notice she’s put the small container between our drinks while my back was to her.

I don’t thank her for the gesture, and after a minute she huffs.Cute.

With a small smile on my face, I begin to make mine—all black with a splash of whole milk and half a spoonful of sweetener. I know she’s watching me as I take the first sip. The second and third are the same, even more so when she plates my food and then places it in front of me.

She’s hyper-aware of me, just like I am of her. Of this fucking pull that’s making me act irrational. I’m not someone to get involved with or take a case personally, but this one is just that.

More than, because this son of bitch slipped through my fingers or the nature of each murder.

I think it’s her. All because of her.

“Okay. I deserve that.” Ava sits beside me. Setting her breakfast down, she reaches for the creamer and pours more than a healthy amount into her coffee. She uses the same spoon to stir hers, not asking if she can, and eyes me while doing so. Daring me to comment. “Truce?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, swallowing hard when she brings the cup to her lips and sips, moaning a tiny bit at the sweet taste. My cock throbs—pushes against the cotton of my sweatpants, but I ignore the ache and focus on her. “You deserve what?”

“You were ignoring me.”

“No, I wasn’t.”Just letting you make the first move. Playing with fire.

“Liar.”

“Per se?” Grabbing a piece of bacon, I take a bite as I take in the apologetic expression on her face. So contrite.

“Touché,” Ava says, her smile bashful while she smiles and holds a hand out. “Can we call it a truce and not bring it up again?”

“Only if you agree to watch a movie with me.” I shake it, loving how small hers is in mine. How soft her skin feels. “I’ll even let you pick.”

“Even if it’s asuper clichéchick flick?” Her lips quirk up into a smirk before pulling her hand from mine and digging into her food. I let her eat for a bit, biting back my rebuttal until there’s a single piece of bacon left on her plate.

“Hit me with your worst,” I say then, a deep yawn escaping that I can’t control.

Her brows furrow. “Have you slept?” She’s looking at me with concern, and I like it. More than I should. “At all?”

“You’re avoiding.” With some egg on my fork, I pause mid-bite. “Or is that your way of saying I look like shit?”

“Jerk.” There’s a roll of her eyes, and she raises her hand as if to hit me, but pulls back at the last second. It’s a bit awkward, and it’s hard to hold in a chuckle when she lifts that same hand to her shoulder to scratch a made-up itch. “So, are you? Sleeping, that is.”

“No. I haven’t.” I swallow my bite and grab my cup of coffee. Bringing it to my lips, I take a large sip. She’s watching me. Wants an explanation, but I’m not telling her about the latest victim. Not yet. I’ll deal with it tomorrow after speaking with Perez, once I have a better idea of just how out of hand everything is. “Now, which movie? I need something good to knock me out, and don’t worry, you’re safe inside my home.”

“I believe you.”

“Good. So, what are we watching?”

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