CHAPTER 6
brYNN
Iwoke up to find a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a hoodie that both fit me well sitting on the chair in the corner of the room, along with toiletries and other essentials.
Burke had obviously done a little shopping while I was asleep.
After a long and luxurious shower, I’m starting to feel normal again.
But still feeling like I’ve got a bit of a hangover.
After drying off, I get dressed. I stand in front of a full-length mirror and pull my hair back, tying it into a loose ponytail and stare at myself.
I gingerly touch my swollen cheek, frowning at the bruise.
It still hurts a bit from where that asshole slapped me.
As I think about what might have happened had Burke not been there, a shudder runs through me.
Why was he there? Was he looking into Cole? Or me? I mean, if he already knows that Cole is involved in trafficking, he was probably investigating him and following him? And I just happened to be there. Wrong place, wrong time. Right?
I’ve never been very confrontational, but this whole situation is freaking me out, and I need to know what he knows. And what exactly is going on?
Dressed and feeling better, I step out of the room and am immediately inundated by the aroma of something delicious.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me it’s been a little while since I’ve eaten, so I follow my nose down the hallway.
I step into the kitchen and see Burke buzzing around in a flurry of activity.
Classical music plays from a soundbar, making me want to stick my fingers into my ears.
“Hey, you’re up,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. But I have to admit, you don’t strike me as a classical music kind of guy.”
“No?”
I take in his hulking frame in a way I never have before.
It’s kind of hard to really look at somebody when you’re dealing with a crowd of customers and they’re across the shop from you.
I never really noticed before that Burke is a ruggedly handsome man.
He’s big and brawny, that much I knew. But the way his black t-shirt hugs the hard angles and planes of his body makes my stomach turn a somersault.
“And what kind of music did you expect me to listen to?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Country, maybe,” she says.
“Can’t stand country.”
“Metal, then,” she says. “Or maybe classic rock?
“I’m okay with some metal. And some classic rock.”
“You definitely don’t fit into any one box.”
“No. I don’t.”
He laughs and shakes his head. I watch as the muscles in his arms ripple and flex as he stirs whatever he’s got cooking in the pot in front of him.
His dark hair is cut close to his scalp, and he’s got a thick but neatly trimmed beard.
His golden-hazel eyes hold mystery in them, and when he turns them on me, my heart joins my stomach in doing some internal acrobatics.
It’s embarrassing for me to admit, but just watching him and holding his gaze warms me from the inside, and I feel myself growing wet.
I try to think of something boring in an attempt to extinguish my hot and rapidly moistening panties. I climb into the seat across from him, keeping the marble-topped center island between us. Given how unexpectedly warm and wet I’m growing, it’s probably the wisest thing I should do.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“Seafood fettuccine,” he says.
“Wow. From scratch?”
“I didn’t make the pasta, but everything else, yeah.”
“A man who can cook. I’m impressed.”
He shrugs. “I enjoy the process.”
“This is a really nice house. Like, really nice. And right on the beach?” I say. “I didn’t realize PIs made enough to afford a nice place like this.”
He chuckles. “Being a PI is my second act.”
I cock my head, intrigued. “What was your first act?”
“I managed a hedge fund.”
I sit back, blown away by the revelation.
Of all the things I would have guessed, a hedge fund manager wouldn’t have cracked the top one hundred.
To afford a house like this, he must have made a pile of money.
But I never would have guessed that. He doesn’t flaunt his wealth, doesn’t wear fancy clothes, or ostentatious watches and jewelry.
“You look surprised,” he says.
“I am. You just seem… normal.”
“Normal?”
“You’re not wearing a Rolex or wearing Armani.”
His smile reveals the deep dimples in his cheeks, which make my heart flutter. And doesn’t help with the drying-up operation down there either. He holds up his wrist and points to the watch.
“Patek. It’s nicer than a Rolex,” he says. “It’s one of the few luxuries I allow myself.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I just don’t like the idea of flaunting my money. I don’t need to wear Gucci suits or drive Maseratis. I’m just a low-key guy.”
“A low-key guy who cooks things that smell delicious.”
He laughs. “After I quit the money game, I was bored and took some cooking classes. Found it helped me relax. Handle stress better.”
I stare at him. “So, you’re stressed.”
“I’m not stressed right now, no,” he replies. “I just thought you might enjoy a nice meal after all you’ve been through.”
A small blush creeps into my cheeks. “Thank you, Burke. I really appreciate that,” I say. “Actually, I appreciate everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I do have some questions, though.”
“I thought you might.”
“How did you know Cole is involved with human trafficking?”
“Because I looked into him,” he answers simply. “And I have a friend who works for the PD, and he let me know that Cole’s been looked at by them and the Bureau as well. They’ve never been able to make a case against him, but he’s been on their radar.”
“And… why were you looking into him?”
“Because I heard him ask you out,” he answers. “And I didn’t like the look of him when he walked in, so I figured I’d dig up what I could and…”
His voice trails off as if he just realized he’d given himself away.
I know I should be pissed. Looking into somebody because he heard them ask me out is pretty invasive.
It’s borderline creepy. I should be furious.
But… I’m not. Maybe it’s because of how the situation played out and the fact that he saved me from some horrible fate, but when I think of it and look him in the eye, all I feel is warmth in my belly and a flutter in my heart.
I raise my eyes to his. “Why were you looking out for me?”
“Like I said, I didn’t like the look of that guy. And in my line of work, you learn to trust your gut,” he says with a shrug. “I didn’t want anything bad happening to you.”
His voice is thick and tight, as if he’s trying to bite back his emotion.
But when I meet his warm, honey-colored gaze, I feel it.
And a small smile touches my lips while the heat between my legs grows ever hotter.
Operation Extinguish Wetness has failed, yet again, as seems to happen whenever I am around Burke.
“Come on,” he says, clearing his throat. “You must be starving. Let’s eat.”
More like salivating, I think to myself. But hey, sure, let’s eat
“Sounds good to me, Mr Burke”