Page 7 of Dolls & Daggers
I don’t blame her.
She and Detective Dick—aka Hunter Remington—have been at each other’s throats since she rejoined the department. And as much as I try to get her to admit it, she refuses to acknowledge it’s because they want to hump like her namesake.
“New guy is going, and I can’t let him try to steal anyone in the office from me.” I glance around thebreak room as I whisper my mission into my phone, ensuring no one overhears. Wrenley has already charmed half the floor—the female half—and it’s only lunchtime. Who knows what will happen by tonight? “He’s definitely playing dirty. I saw him bringing Sharon a coffee and Cecilia a blueberry muffin, and you know that bitch loves her muffins.”
He’s after my job, and I can’t let him win.
Besides, who can do a better job of writing about me than me?
“Is he that hot?” Bunny actually sounds interested.
Even though she can’t see me, I point my yogurt spoon in warning. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, honey. I’m thinking about it foryou. When was the last time you got laid? And a rival? The tension? Swoon.” She croons the last word like a damn romance narrator.
Monotonously, I reply, “You realize how ironic that is, right?”
“I-I… That isn’t… It’s not the same!” I can practically see the blush staining her freckled cheeks as she vehemently denies her attraction to Hunter.
“Uh-huh, sure.” I pop a spoonful of strawberry yogurt in my mouth just as Wren enters the break room. I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him. Whenever we end up in the same space, my body tingles like it has a Spidey sense, hyper-aware of thesongbird cooing at all the little chickadees in the office.
“I have to go. Think about tonight. Please?” I say quietly, tossing the foil top from my yogurt and turning to head back to my office before I have to interact with grumpy Mr. I Wanna Steal Your Job.
Wrenley is painstakingly handsome, I’ll give him that, but his earlier rudeness will surface at some point, and no amount of good looks can make up for the fact that he’s a dickfa?—
“Hello, Dove. I dropped something off for you on your desk. Feel free to go over it before passing it along to the rest of the team.” Wrenley’s smooth, deep voice drips over me like ice cream on a hot summer day.
Sticky. Sugary. Messy.
His presence at my back is suffocating, and I tilt my head up to see him looming over me. He grins at me from upside down. Or is he right side up, and I’m the one bending backward to get a better whiff of his cologne?
What is that? Cinnamon, citrus, and... sunshine?
Sunshine doesn’t have a smell, Dove. Get away from him. Now. Before he fucks up your other senses.
“Holy shit, is that him?” Bunny perks up. “He sounds sexy as hell. Count me in for tonight. I’ll take one for the team.”
My eye twitches, causing Wrenley’s to crinkle withmirth. I spin out from under him, my mask firmly in place as I face him and cheerfully exclaim, “I’m sure it’s riveting, Songbird. I’ll take it home to read before bed. I need something new to help me sleep.”
He tenses at the moniker. It’s what his name means, so I don’t see the issue, especially if it keeps cracking his chiseled armor.
“I look forward to your notes,” he grits out between clenched teeth, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy Alain Dupetit.
I know a cheap suit when I see one.
“Whoa… A hundred bucks says you two fuck by the end of the night,” Bunny laughs, reminding me she’s still on the phone. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll meet you at your place at six.”
“Easiest money I’ll ever make.” I don’t bother saying goodbye, holding Wren’s glare with wide eyes and a saccharine smile as I hang up.
“Betting against me already?” His eyes narrow, and his pouty lips split into a smirk that makes my stomach flutter.
Only for a second.
Once that stupid measure of time passes, my palm twitches with the urge to smack the smarmy grin right off his gorgeous face.
Instead, I smile sweetly and shift my phone to the hand holding my yogurt. Stepping into him, I trail myfree palm from the top of his left lapel to the bottom, relishing the way his eyes darken a fraction and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
“You know what they say about betting, Songbird?” I lay my palm flat against his chest. Or maybe his abs. Either way, he’s rock solid, and I have to fight the urge to fist his shirt and climb him like a tree.
