Page 32 of Date With Danger

Crash and burn.

“Allergic reaction,” she says and sprints away.

Ford shakes his head and looks at me. “Have you got anything on Hawthorne yet?”

“No sir.” I let out a breath, relieved at not having to explain Cruz’s ‘allergic reaction.'

“Boss wants you to nail him down before the Winthrops find out he’s back in the States. They’re known to stick their heads where they don’t belong and if they do, Hawthorne will walk. We don’t want them interfering. Got it?” He then spins on his heel and stalks back toward his office. “Work harder,” he calls over his shoulder.

I slump into my chair. Sure. Easy, work harder. Everything happens with a little more elbow grease, a little more care and devotion. If that had been true, my mom would have lived forever.

Chapter 13

Caleb

I let Cruz park the van while I head up to Amelia’s apartment. I don’t trust the two of them alone together after the way they treated each other in the van the other night.

I rap on the door and exactly two seconds later it swings open to reveal Amelia.

In nothing but a towel.

My throat closes up as my eyes take on a “proceed with caution” attitude.

“Oh hey, come in,” she says, completely unbothered by her wardrobe. Or rather, lack of one.

I tear my eyes off her collarbone because even that is attractive, and swallow. “I can, uh, come back after you’re dressed.”

She grins, and it’s adorable and sexy at the same time. I back up a step. Scratch that, I don’t trust myself here. I should have sent Cruz.

“I’m almost done.” She slips her feet into a pair of heels lying haphazardly by the door.

That’s the best word to describe the state of her apartment. Haphazard. Nothing seems to have a place and there are boxes scattered every few feet throughout the area. Either she moved in recently, or she enjoys living like a teenager.

She gets one shoe on and starts for the other. I’m not an expert on dressing but I’m pretty sure shoes come last. I’m about to mention as much when she reaches for the towel around her chest. “What are you—” I spin away. Then remember I’m in the hallway of her apartment and anyone could walk by at any moment and witness her indecent exposure. I jump back inside her apartment and slam the door closed in front of me.

“Are you trying to get taken advantage of?” I mutter at the door. “I can only protect you from so much.”

She slips up beside me, in my line of vision before I can stop her. And she’s wearing…clothes. Albeit, not many. I’ve never understood the phrase “mini dress” but that’s the only thing that could possibly describe the tiny piece of black fabric that was completely covered up by the towel.

“Relax, you big baby. I didn’t want to risk getting makeup on my dress. Foundation on black? No, thank you.”

My eyes are once again glued to her…collarbone. That’s the only place they are allowed to stray. “That’s not a dress.”

I frantically search the laundry littering every available surface, grabbing something that looks like a blue garbage bag. “Here. This one looks better.” I shove it at her.

She takes it, eyeing it like it’s a bomb. “This is my laundry bag.”

“Clearly it’s not living up to its potential.”

The laughter that explodes out of her is nothing like I’d expect. It’s something so captivating I find myself wanting to join in.

“You’re funny. I like you.” She drops the bag back onto the couch because that’s obviously where it lives and sorts through the mess until she comes up with two items of clothing I can only hope offer more coverage.

“I’ll change.” She tilts her head to the side, elongating her neck and drawing my eyes to her…collarbone again. “Only because I can see what this outfit is doing to you and in case this guy tries to take advantage of me, I’d rather not have my bodyguard distracted.”

I cough. “I’m not your bodyguard. I’m—”

“Yes I know,” she cuts me off. “You’re a big powerful agent. But.” She takes a step closer and I try not to inhale the intoxicating scent that is Amelia Quinn. Rich, deep, provocative, I don’t know what the scent is, but it could drive a man mad. Me. I’m the man going mad because I can’t step away no matter how close she gets. She touches a button on my chest and I go still. I can feel her heat through the tiny piece of plastic. Is it plastic? Who cares? All I see are those blue eyes, tempting me, drawing me closer. “I shall call you Romeo Montague.”