Page 43 of Second First Kiss

And now here she was, he thought, as he slowed down to pull into his driveway. Because there standing on his front porch, leaning against the rail like she owned it, with her hip popped out and that smile full of ’tude, was the woman in question.

Then there was her outfit. A fitted black skirt, red top that bordered on the edge of professional and provocative, and black leather boots that went an inch above her knees, the heel high enough to make a man weep. Suddenly the stress of the day vanished, and he felt energized.

Hot damn, his plan had worked better than he’d hoped.

Nolan parked his cruiser. He was counting all the ways this conversation could go and that’s when he saw it. Giant neon letters spanning the length of his garage door. He’d been so focused on Kat when he’d arrived, he hadn’t even noticed the graffiti.

He got a squirrelly feeling in his gut. The same one he had when he found Kat next to her vandalized car and when he was cleaning egg off his property. He immediately went into investigation mode, because what were the odds of these vandalisms happening randomly within the past few days? In his town? Nil.

Locking gazes with her, hand on his service weapon, he stepped out of the car and made his way to the porch, not breaking eye contact until he’d invaded that personal-space bubble she clung so tightly to. And before he knew what he was doing he was gripping her by the shoulders. “What happened? Are you okay?”

She looked at him like he’d lost his head. “I’m fine.”

Needing to see for himself, he ran his hands down her arms and scanned the rest of her body.

She held her arms out to her sides and did a twirl. He was too focused on what could have happened to notice her glorious ass. “Look, I’m fine.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“Nope,” she said, looking not an ounce guilty. “Figured you’d be all the badge we’d need.”

“Was this R. J.? Was he here? Did he threaten you?”

“No, it wasn’t R. J. And no, I wasn’t threatened.”

“But you were here?” he accused, his world tilting all kinds of wrong.

“For part of it.”

He ran a hand down his face. “So you what—just decided to wait around to see if they’d come back?”

“I saw you drive up and didn’t want to head to my shift without making sure you were okay.”

“And who would make sure you were okay? Look at what happened to your car.”

“Different person. I can take care of myself. And why are you yelling at me?”

He stepped in dangerously close. “You should have called me from the safety of your home, behind locked doors.”

“And miss out on this fun moment?” she deadpanned, then turned to walk away. “And what makes you think I didn’t do this?”

He caught her elbow and gently tugged her around. “Did you?”

She cocked a hip and stared him down. Man, he’d gotten her good and mad. “I may have assisted in the final stretch. More of an art director role than the artist himself. Just having a little fun with you. You down for some fun.”

He rested his hands on the railing, one on either side of her, effectively caging her in, and watched as her breath caught. “Is there a question mark at the end of the word?”

She laughed. “You wish.”

“I like it when a woman is direct with what she wants.”

She crossed her arms, as if she needed the barrier between them. “I was pretty clear the other night. You passed.” Her tone was full-on sass, but there was a hint of what sounded a lot like hurt deep beneath that bravado, and that didn’t sit right with him.

“A decision I have come to regret,” he whispered, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You have?” she said just as softly.

“I have.”

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