To keep her mother’s reputation from destroying her, Ashley Dix Gibson had to learn at an early age to persevere and tune out the lies, gossip, and the bullies. Detective Michael DeMarco has no desire to team up with a woman with ties to the underbelly of the porn industry but if he wants to solve his case, he has no other options. When Ashley and DeMarco combine their resources to find a brutal killer, sparks of distrust turn into the fires of passion.
I must have been feeling weak, because instead of rushing out to confront a few of those I wanted to talk to, I invited DeMarco in. He’d left Braden in charge of the scene and didn’t appear to be in a rush to start the reports he’d have to do. That thought made me smile. For once I wasn’t chained to a desk for seventy-five percent of the investigation. I could get used to being out of the Army and doing things my own way.
“Glad to see the smile. I know this has been extremely hard on you,” DeMarco said. “Want to share?”
“I was thinking about Jillie, wanting me to come home. She kept trying to talk me into the leaving the military. It took her death to accomplish that.” Hot, wet tears started streaming down my face. Appalled, I turned away from DeMarco and stumbled toward the bedroom. He didn’t say anything or try to stop me, but he did follow me. When I didn’t collapse on the bed, he put his arms around me, gave a gently hug and helped me to sit on the mattress.
Damn. This was awkward. The harder I tried to stop crying, the more I leaked tears. I don’t cry. I don’t show emotion, especially to guys. I didn’t want to feel the warmth of his touch and long to put my head on his shoulder. But I did. Before I knew what was happening his lips were on mine and I was holding him. Desperate to keep from drowning.
He pushed back, looking into my eyes. Reading me like the clichéd open book.
“Glad to see the smile. I know this has been extremely hard on you,” DeMarco said. “Want to share?”
“I was thinking about Jillie, wanting me to come home. She kept trying to talk me into the leaving the military. It took her death to accomplish that.” Hot, wet tears started streaming down my face. Appalled, I turned away from DeMarco and stumbled toward the bedroom. He didn’t say anything or try to stop me, but he did follow me. When I didn’t collapse on the bed, he put his arms around me, gave a gently hug and helped me to sit on the mattress.
Damn. This was awkward. The harder I tried to stop crying, the more I leaked tears. I don’t cry. I don’t show emotion, especially to guys. I didn’t want to feel the warmth of his touch and long to put my head on his shoulder. But I did. Before I knew what was happening his lips were on mine and I was holding him. Desperate to keep from drowning.
He pushed back, looking into my eyes. Reading me like the clichéd open book.
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