[Continued: To start at the beginning click here.]
“Off the clock.”
“But not off duty?”
“What cop is ever off duty?”
She supposed he had a valid point, but she was getting too many mixed signals from him to know what to trust.
“So what brings you and your badge to Love’s tonight?”
“Good food, fine brew, and great friends,” he said, quoting the motto printed on the front window.
“So you’re not looking for anyone?”
“I don’t know. Outlaws.”
“And if I am?” he asked.
She shrugged, glancing at the nearly deserted bar. “Good luck with that?”
A taut pause followed while he snared her gaze and held it prisoner.
“You seem a bit skittish, Roxanne.”
She felt a bit skittish. Excited. Like she’d just raced down a long staircase and found that the last step dropped into nowhere.
She balanced on the edge, hyperaware of him. His size. His intensity. His presence. She didn’t know if she wanted to bolt or move closer. He caught his bottom lip with his teeth and worried it for a moment, while his gaze delivered a message so male that she felt an instinctive, uncontrollable response.
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