PROLOGUE
Dax
Pre-otters, in an Ignite Trilogy far, far away…
“All right, I think that’s everything we need.”
Hitting Save on the file on my computer, I swivel around in my chair and look across my desk at my two good friends, DJ and Phina. They’re holding up pretty well, considering they were almost burned alive earlier tonight when some sick fuck who’s been stalking Phina decided to light an ambulance on fire. The same ambulance DJ and Phina were in the back of at the time.
As their friend, I want to give both of them a high-five for their creative use of a work vehicle to release some sexual tension. But as a police detective, and the one who took their statement, I have to try to be a little professional.
“You sure you guys don’t want to go to the hospital? Get checked out for smoke inhalation?”
DJ turns to look at Phina, and she shakes her head before quickly looking away from him. She’s probably thinking about all the shit that’s happened to her recently and how she’s screwing up DJ’s life by being with him. She has no idea just how much she’s saving him.
Christ. I sound like a goddamn romance novel. What is wrong with me?
The door to my office suddenly opens, and a hot, leggy brunette walks in with a cup of coffee in her hands. I smile at her, giving her the full-on Dax dimples, even though my palms start to sweat at just the sight of her. I know damn well Harley Blake is the reason I’ve been having… feelings and shit lately. A few hours together in a bar a month ago, before either one of us knew who the other was, and it’s turned me into a pussy.
“Harley, these are my friends, DJ and Phina,” I introduce, giving her a wink as she pauses next to Phina’s chair, still gingerly holding the handle of my steaming coffee mug so she doesn’t spill any of it, the sweetheart.
I could tell by the tight clench of her jaw as soon as she walked through the door that she was pissed I called out to my assistant and told her to have Detective Blake make my coffee. It was a ridiculously long coffee request that required her to personally grind the beans, perform a complicated milk steaming process, add three-and-a-half dashes of cinnamon, and a handful of other demands. Being a rookie detective, Harley is well aware of the fact that she can’t say no to anything I ask of her during her training period with the department. Rookies are the reason I never pick up my own dry cleaning, never have to wash my own vehicle, and never go out and get my own lunch. We’re not allowed to call it hazing, but it’s hazing. And it’s all in good fun.
The wink was probably unnecessary, but so are my goddamn sweaty hands.
“Nice to meet you.” Harley smiles at DJ and Phina. “I apologize in advance for my behavior.”
Before I can ask her what the hell she’s talking about, Harley walks right behind my desk and dumps the cup of hot coffee in my lap.
“Motherfucker!” I shout, jumping up from my chair so fast it goes flying backward and slams into the wall.
“Your coffee, sir,” Harley says in an overly sweet voice with a big, fake smile.
Okay, so making her steam the milk for my coffee five times was probably a bad call.
Even though my balls are melting, the sound of her calling me sir makes my dick start gasping for air and trying to resuscitate himself. Harley immediately turns on her heels and stalks toward the door with her head held high, like she didn’t just turn my genitals into lava.
“Oh, I really, really like you.” Phina, the traitor, laughs as Harley walks by her.
I hop around in place, fanning the soaked crotch of my black dress pants, hoping the movement creates enough cold wind that my liquefied penis will become solid again. Harley exits my office, slamming the door behind her so hard the walls rattle. DJ lets out a low whistle from his chair on the other side of my desk, while Phina shakes her head at me in disappointment.
“What did I tell you about banging the women you work with? She didn’t shoot off your balls, but she sure did a nice job with the third-degree burns.” Phina chuckles.
“I didn’t bang her,” I mutter in annoyance, grabbing a handful of napkins leftover from lunch off the top of my desk and gently patting at my crotch.
Last night, I may or may not have told half the guys who work here that she came on to me in that bar a month ago, and it got back to her this morning, but I don’t think I deserved blisters in places one should never have blisters.
Fine, so I’ve been a little annoyed she’s been giving me the cold shoulder for four weeks and pretending we didn’t share some kind of a fucking moment that night at McCallahan’s, before we even knew we worked together. And maybe I embellished the story a little bit after a few too many whiskeys last night with my co-workers. There was possibly a detailed story of her begging me to screw her in the bar bathroom that I “politely declined” that was complete bullshit. Whatever. I’m the one who should be pissed. She denied everything, even the fact that she came on to me. Who the hell denies trying to hook up with Dax Fucking Trevino?
Shit. I deserved this.
With a quick goodbye to my friends, leaving them in my office to show themselves out—after I tell them I’ll do everything in my power to stop this psycho who’s been stalking Phina; I’m not a completely selfish douchebag—I race into the hallway in search of Harley. I find her standing by the copy machine right outside of the break room. She’s got her arms crossed in front of her, one foot tapping in annoyance against the cheap linoleum, and she’s glaring at the copy machine like it personally offended her. This is how Harley looks 90 percent of the time at work, and it just pisses me off even more as I close the distance between us. I am not attracted to women with attitude problems, who think they’re always right, and pretend like I don’t exist.
Sadly, my dick doesn’t agree, even though the woman in question tried to turn him into a puddle of goo in my lap no less than five minutes ago. When Harley mutters a few curses under her breath, pulls her foot back, and kicks the copy machine, he perks right the fuck up.
“So, the copy machine is really the cause for your anger today, I see,” I casually muse as I lean my shoulder against the wall next to the copier and slide my hands into the front pockets of my dress pants. “And here I thought it was the half dash of cinnamon that threw you over the edge. It’s all in the flick of the wrist. That’s how you get a half da—”
“Jesus, do you just like the sound of your own voice or something?” Harley mutters in annoyance, snatching her copies from the tray before turning and walking away.
Jerking my hands out of my pockets, I push away from the wall and jog to catch up with her as she sorts the papers in her hands, moving quickly down the hall.
“Look, I’m sorry about running my mouth last night at McCallahan’s. I crossed the line and said some shit I shouldn’t have said. I’ll tell everyone the truth.”
Harley continues walking into an empty conference room without ever looking up at me. She tosses her papers onto the table and starts sorting through a box of files sitting on top while I stand in the doorway, waiting for her to speak.
She finally looks up from the files a few minutes later with a confused look on her face when she sees me still standing here. “Do you need something else?”