Page 53 of Slow Burn
“Don’t open for hours yet. Just—come inside, Jocelyn. I wanna talk.”
She studied him a beat longer before killing the engine. Purse in hand, she followed him in.
Cole flipped on the low lights, and led her upstairs. What hit him inside his apartment was something he wasn’t prepared for. It was the sight of her in his own space. She wandered, gaze touching details and taking in everything like she was cataloging evidence. When her eyes slid back to him, softer now, it damn near knocked the air out of his lungs.
For a second, he wanted nothing more than to cross the room, drag her close, and kiss her until the world burned out.
Her head tilted when she caught his expression, a puzzled look dancing across her face. “What?”
Cole grunted, tearing his eyes away. “Nothin’. Gimme five minutes.”
He ducked into the bathroom before he lost all his sense, showering quick and cold, yanking on clean clothes as quick as his damp skin allowed.
When he came back out, he found her standing over by the island that separated the dining area from the kitchen, runninglong, slender fingers over the counter top. It was another slab of cedar, the twin to the bar top downstairs.
Awe was painted across her face as sunlight blazed in, caressing her cheek and setting her hair on fire, pulling out the red. He wanted to release it from the braid she’d pulled it into, watch it drag across the counter top as she leaned down to inspect the swirling grain in the wood. He wanted to tangle his fingers in it, brush it back over her shoulders, let it fan out around her as he laid her down on his bed.
No.
With effort, he shook the image from his mind and stalked into the kitchen.
“What’d you wanna talk about?” she asked, voice as unsteady as he felt.
Cole busied himself with the ritual of pouring coffee, taking comfort in the familiarity. He lifted the pot to offer her some.
She shook her head. “I had some at my uncle’s.”
That raised his brows as he replaced the pot. “Your uncle’s.”
He heard her smile and turned to drink it in. There was disbelief in the layers of her expression, buried under all the history that belonged to her and not him. He’d heard just enough from gossip to have an inkling, but the details were out of his reach.
The craving to be invited there, to know itall, was as strong as the one he fought daily for movement and busyness.
“I went out to Joe’s last night, after…” She shifted and cleared her throat. “I couldn’t believe it.” She gave him a hard look. “Did you know?”
He leaned back against the counter. “Knew he got sober a while back. Wasn’t until recently that I saw how he did it.”
She shook her head. “It’s incredible. I wish Nan could see it.”
“Why can’t she?”
Jocelyn snorted. “A lot of people have let her down, and Joe was the last in a very long line. Old age and experience have robbed her of a forgiving heart.”
“Hm.”
She squinted at him. “You keep distracting me.”
Same, he thought wryly.
“So?”
He cleared his throat. “I wanna help with your investigation.”
Her fingers tightened on the edges of the island. “You want to help.” Those words—flat, dangerous—warned him of the risk he was taking.
“Yeah,” he said, standing his ground. “You already shared some of it with me. Why not go one step more? Figure having somebody local, you might have some better luck.”
Her eyes flashed. “You think I can’t handle it alone. That I’m too much of an outsider.”
