Page 15 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
But Rory’s eyes were bright with purpose. Plus, the sooner we tracked down these wolves, the sooner this would all be over.
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” Rory announced. “It’s my turn to drive.”
My survival instincts kicked in. I’d seen Rory’s car—a rusted death trap held together with hope and duct tape. And his driving… Christ. The one other time I’d been in a car with him, he’d treated London traffic like a Formula One circuit.
“Absolutely not.”
He grinned at me. “I absolutely insist.”
Resting my head back in the chair, I groaned. “I have to be in bed by eleven.”
“Oh my god, you’re actually eighty years old, aren’t you?” A wicked grin spread across Rory’s face. “Do you wear those old man pyjamas with the stripes? And fuzzy slippers?”
“My slippers are perfectly normal.”
“Boxers or briefs?”
“What?” My head snapped toward him.
“Just gathering intel. For science.”
I started the car, hoping the engine noise would drown him out. No such luck.
“You didn’t answer. Boxers or briefs, Detective Inspector Maxwell?”
My head throbbed as unbidden images flashed through my mind—Rory’s thoughts hitting me like a sledgehammer. First, me in crisp briefs, so white that they practically glowed against my dark skin, standing on display, quads taut. Then the scene shifted, and suddenly I was lounging in loose navy boxers, casual and relaxed.
…bet he’s a briefs man…so uptight…but maybe boxers when he’s off duty…wonder if…
Heat creeping up my neck, I jerked the car into the next lane, earning an angry honk from a taxi. “Stop that!”
“Stop what?” Rory’s voice dripped innocence, but his thoughts betrayed him:
…definitely briefs…
“You know exactly what.” I gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. “You’re doing that deliberately!”
“Oops.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “And your temple’s doing that twitchy thing again. Dead giveaway, you know.”
I forced my hand away from where it had indeed been rubbing my left temple.Damn it.
“Besides,” he continued, “it’s your fault for not answering the question.”
“Neither,” I snapped. “I sleep naked.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Rory’s thoughts exploded into technicolor, and I slammed my shields up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.
“Really?” His voice squeaked.
“No.” I kept my eyes firmly on the road. “And stop imagining it.”
I tugged at my collar, suddenly feeling the car’s temperature rise several degrees.
“Are you blushing, Detective?” he sang, leaning closer with a wolfish grin. “Did I finally crack your Mr. Professional façade?”
“I’m not—” I cranked up the air conditioning. “I’m dropping you at this bus stop. I need a long break from you before tonight.”
Rory chuckled, unbuckling his seatbelt as I pulled in. “Eight o’clock!” he called through the window. “Don’t be late!”
