Page 7 of Art of the Hunt
Finally, he said, “So, good night then,” and strode to the door.
“Oh. Of course.” He’d already made it abundantly clear that their relationship was to be strictly professional. In fact, he hadn’t actually acknowledged they were to have any sort of relationship at all.
They’d get there. In time.
Another one of her gifts was persistence.
She headed to the door, pausing to face him. Then she lifted her hand and patted his chest. Out of curiosity, of course.
Yep, there were muscles under that hideous flannel shirt.
She smiled and waggled her fingers and stepped out into the hall but then paused again. “What time tomorrow?”
“What time what tomorrow?”
“What time do we start apprehending bad guys?”
He stabbed at himself with his thumb. “I plan to head into the office around nine. I have no idea what you plan to do. Although I strongly recommend you not attempt to apprehend bad guys. Leave that to the professionals.”
And then he smartly closed the door in her face.
What the detective didn’t seem to understand was, shewasa professional.
Chapter Three
After a five-mile jog followed by breakfast consisting of egg whites mixed with homemade pico de gallo and a protein-rich smoothie on the side, Hunter was ready to fill his traveling mug with black coffee and head into the office.
Artemis had invaded his thoughts only six hundred times since his alarm went off this morning.
He had so many questions. Where had she been hiding that bow? She’d been wearing a skintight catsuit, for Pete’s sake. She couldn’t hide panty lines in that outfit, let alone a bow and quiver of arrows.
How about that bit about her chastity? Unless he was off his mark, she’d basically said she wasn’t chaste. Hell, for a minute, he’d thought she was propositioning him. And for another minute, he’d consider saying yes.
The woman messed with his case, shot a guy with an arrow, and broke into his apartment, all in the course of a single night, and he was seriously attracted to her?
Hunter needed to get out more.
But first, he needed to see if his perp had lawyered up in the few hours since he was hauled off to jail, finish the damn report and send it to the captain, and deal with whatever the hell else was dropped onto his desk.
Bywhatever the hell else, he hadn’t meant a goddess-like woman in black leggings and a form-fitting, bright orange T-shirt. Which complimented her golden eyes.
So it hadn’t been a trick of the light last night. The light he was still confused by because it hadn’t actually been attached to an electrical outlet. Must have been battery operated. And gave off the illusion that it could move.
Her silver hair was once again twisted into a loose braid that draped over her left shoulder and, whether intentional or not, drew his attention to that small sliver of moon inked onto her right temple. He wanted to touch it. Or maybe kiss it.
And maybe he should consider that therapy he often joked about.
She was perched on the edge of his desk, one palm pressed to the worn wooden surface, the other holding a chunk of some sort of jelly-filled donut while she laughed at something one of the plethora of cops surrounding her said.
Hunter stared at the glob of bright red filling leaking from the pastry, hovering precariously, quivering before it—
Was popped into Artemis’s mouth. Her glossy lips closed around the delicacy, breaking one spell and creating another.
Shit. Now he wanted sugar, alcohol, and one sexy as hell and totally delusional woman. Clearly, this job was getting to him. Maybe he needed to burn some of those vacation days he kept ignoring and losing at the end of each year.
Artemis glanced up, caught sight of him, and that polite smile spread into something infinitely more welcoming. He glanced over his shoulder. What or who could have caused such a radiant transformation?
Surely, not that hooker who was sitting on the bench, waiting for her personal belongings to be returned to her.
