“No. I’m staying right next door.” His words gave her all sorts of new butterflies. They were going to be only a wall apart. Eeek!
“All clear,” she said, her voice high.
“Yes, it is,” he agreed, suddenly far too close, his body heat seeming to radiate right on up to her and then begin a low-pressure tornado, growing hotter and hotter each time it swirled around her form.
Oh, my, he smelled good. The only men’s cologne she could recall before this night was Jesse’s, and it had made her gag. Whatever Bryson was wearing was spicy and woodsy and pure male.
“I should leave now,” he said, but he leaned just a little closer.
Oh, she wanted the kiss, wanted to close the distance between them more than she wanted her next breath — more than she wanted to wake up the next morning.
What were they talking about again? Misty was at a complete loss. “Yes…it’s…been a…uh…nice night.”
“You are testing every good intention I’ve ever had,” Bryson told her as he cupped her cheek in the palm of his large hand.
She didn’t know what he meant by that and she certainly couldn’t speak and ask him to clarify. They stood motionless for several drawn-out seconds, just looking into each other’s eyes. It was the most intimate moment she’d ever had, and she felt things building inside her that she couldn’t even describe.
“This case needs to end,” he muttered. He released her face and took a step back, then a few more.
Without another word, he walked out through her door, securely shutting it behind him. Misty staggered a couple of steps backward, then sagged onto her bed, thankful it was there to catch her. Seeing the covers beneath her brought to reality how close a bed had been to the two of them while Bryson had been looking deep into her eyes. Would she have protested if he’d leaned in and kissed her, if he had lifted his hands and…?
She doubted it. And that was more frightening than any other thought she’d had the whole evening.
Chapter Ten
A full night in bed did the body good. At least that’s what Bryson was desperately trying to convince himself of. And so what if he’d barely slept? A full day lay ahead of him, and he had a job to do. Today, the job was to get Misty back to her temporary home in California, and then he had a desk full of paperwork that his supervisor had piled on with glee.
With the way things were progressing, the case would be ready for trial soon. Jesse Marcus would be behind bars, and Misty would be truly safe for the first time in…well, maybe since the moment she was left at that fire station.
Once this was all over, the two of them could both go back to their regular lives.
The biggest problem with that was that he couldn’t quit thinking about her — couldn’t stop fantasizing was more like it. He’d been in charge of plenty of witnesses before, several of them beautiful and single, women who had thrown a lot of signals his way.
He’d never been tempted to risk his job over any of them, tempted to risk his own ethics. There was a reason agents didn’t sleep with witnesses. It tainted their testimony. What if they suddenly said the agent was bribing them? What if it ruined their character? No lustful deed ever went unpunished. Besides, it just wasn’t right to have sex with them. Each one was there to be protected, not taken advantage of, even if they were the ones pushing for a romp in the bedroom.
Misty was different, though, he tried to tell himself. But, then again, isn’t that what all the people who crossed the line used as rationalization? She was special. It was meaningful. Gah. He was driving himself insane.
Maybe it was because he felt some alien emotional connection to her. It had to be a need to fix her broken heart. No, he didn’t mean heart. He meant her broken spirit. Yes, that was it; it was just a desire to fix her. Damn! He was now spouting poetry in his own head. This was ridiculous.
Yes, he wanted to protect her, and yes, he wanted to mend her shattered heart, her shattered soul, but it wasn’t because she was just anyone. It wasn’t because she was his job.
The bottom line was that he was just making excuses to himself to feel less guilty when… no…if he took her to bed.
Nonsense. He was a special agent, a professional. He wasn’t tempted at all.
He was also a moron, because of course he was tempted. What he really wanted to do was peel her clothes away, touch her the way a woman should be touched. Not with intent to hurt, not with a desire to overpower, but with compassion and passion — with a need to please.
So tempted.
“Get a clue,” Bryson said to the mirror as he looked at himself in disgust.
“And now I’m talking to myself. Maybe I should see a shrink.”
He shook his head and frowned. He was beginning not even to recognize himself. He’d never before felt so on edge, so out of control.
Walking from the motel room, he leaned up against the railing on the front balcony and waited for Misty to emerge from her room. He was early, but he hadn’t wanted there to be any chance of her having to wait for him. He knew she wouldn’t knock on his door. Besides, he was eager to go home. He had a few things he needed to check on.
There was a lot to do and he’d feel safer once she was tucked back into her place in California. It was guarded — not as heavily as he’d like, but a U.S. marshal went by — and he’d insisted that Axel go in about half an hour before their return to ensure that no malefactor had forced an entry while they were gone.
Axel had laughed at him, telling him that either he was becoming paranoid in his old age, or that he was so far over the edge for this woman that he might as well give it up now and haul her to a preacher.
Axel was wrong. He couldn’t fall for a woman this fast. It was just infatuation. It was like being a child at the candy shop, and really wanting the red sucker, but your mother wouldn’t let you have it. That’s all this was — Misty was the red lollipop. Okay, and he was the sucker.
When her door opened, she stepped out wearing a pair of leggings and tugging at a red sweater. Nothing fancy, but those clothes made his mouth go dry. Because she was in them. It didn’t matter what she wore. She looked astounding in anything, whether it was a skirt and blouse, or jeans and a T-shirt. He wouldn’t mind seeing what she looked like with nothing on at all. Then he could make a more accurate judgment.
No. He couldn’t be thinking that kind of thought right now.
“Morning,” he drawled, taking satisfaction when she jumped and spun around.