There was no hesitation when she moved to let him in. No question in her mind. Cast under some type of spell or something.
His mouth was set in a tight line. Worry in his green eyes. “I erased the footage from inside the home. And my people are working on wiping the recordings sent to the security company.” He opened his palm to reveal the bullet and shell casing, the remaining evidence that put her inside Porter’s house that night.
She mouthed thank you, a bit shocked she was letting him break the law for her, and that he was so willing to do so.
A.J. closed and locked up behind her, and she went down the hall into her kitchen, almost in a daze, assuming A.J. would follow.
The takeout Kyle had brought over for dinner was still on the kitchen counter, sitting there like a Japanese sushi roll-scented air freshener. The aroma was enhanced by the fact her A/C had stopped working that morning. Good thing she didn’t have a cat, the smell would drive the poor thing crazy.
She began disposing of the food, not sure how to have a conversation with A.J. right now about what happened, and why he was even there.
Hell, she’d never asked A.J. how he’d known where she lived.
She wasn’t listed, but if he’d been outside Porter’s, well, he must have followed her from her rental to her section chief’s home.
Her day, her night, her everything was spinning out of control, and she didn’t deal well with out of control.
She quickly went through her mental SGW—Shit Gone Wrong—list for the evening: a panicked message from her boss, an empty safe, the discharge of her sidearm, and the gorgeous, unforgettable man who had shown up for the (sort of) save. Although, she probably shouldn’t put A.J. on the SGW list.
But despite three of the things on that list closing in on DEFCON 1 status, disposing of the sushi as if it were a dead body was suddenly of paramount importance.
Ana grabbed her spray bottle and paper towels and began scrubbing down her counters where the brown bag had sat for hours.
“Cleaning, huh?” he asked. “Pretty vigorously, I might add.”
She kept scrubbing, the paper towel tearing from her attempt at getting a stain off the counter that’d probably been there since the ’80s. The once-white appliances were now a dingy yellow. And if A.J. stretched his arms open, he’d be able to touch both counters.
It was old. In desperate need of upgrades that she’d never see since it was a rental. But places in the city were expensive, and she was still paying off her ridiculously large student loan debt every month and couldn’t be choosy about her new place to live. Plus, it’d been conveniently located near her boss.
She kept scrubbing, and given the heat, she was beginning to sweat between her boobs. At the feel of a hand on her shoulder, she flinched and faced him, letting go of the paper towel.
He raised both palms in the air in surrender when she pointed the spray bottle at him. “You, um, okay?” His eyes were soft. Thoughtful. The kind of warmth that flowed from a man you might be able to trust with all your heart.
“I panic-clean. One of my many flaws.”
He leaned his hip against the counter and folded his arms, the black fabric taut over his biceps. His legs were encased in dark denim paired with black sneakers.
He was standing close. And he smelled of manly soap and fresh laundry. The scent wafted through the air and hit her nose, knocking out the odor of disinfectant.
Slightly drunk on the essence of all that was A.J., Ana ignored proper etiquette and gave him a thorough once-over. Discreetly, of course. He was broad-shouldered. Fit, but not overly muscular. She spied one tattoo on the inside of his forearm. A Navy SEAL Trident with the script, Earn Your Trident Every Day, beneath. His beard was trimmed. About three to four weeks of growth by her guess. A straight nose. Expressive eyes and brows that helped her read his emotions. She gauged his thoughts as she peered into those light green eyes, the color of the exotic water she’d only dreamed of swimming in.
The man was handsome. Cowboy-handsome. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t a thing. But then again, guys in cowboy hats without a shirt on, showing off a six-pack, a lasso slung over a shoulder, sounded awfully sexy to her.
If she were a judge in a competition, she’d be waving a 10 up in the air, hiding a giddy smile.
And Ana didn’t get giddy.
She read people. Found their flaws. Discovered reasons not to like or trust them.
So far, Adriana Bennett had yet to disappoint her. No deal-breaker traits. Ana also felt at ease with her co-worker Halle. She was classy, sophisticated, and brilliant. Even Dean, with his quirky nicknames, wasn’t all that bad.
When moving to D.C., she’d had high expectations that she’d dislike most people she worked with. Ultimately, they always let you down. People, in general, had a way of doing that.
She’d let herself down, too. Marrying Kyle. Breaking his heart.
“Were you saying something?” She stole her focus from his body and looked up to see his gaze fixed on her, the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes enhanced by what she guessed was concern.
“You were saying you panic-clean,” he reminded her, “and I got too distracted by you to respond.” His hand went flat on the counter as she put aside the spray bottle. Strong hands. Strong forearms, too.
This was not a lip-biting moment, well, not for Ana, at least. She never bit her lip, but damn it, she had to pin her tongue to the roof of her mouth to prevent herself from doing it. She had to do something to rally, to focus, to get her head out of the A.J. zone. To concentrate on the plan. To think through the problem.
The safe was empty, the USB file with classified case evidence gone. But she’d have to keep moving forward. Focus on what she could do and not the SGW list.
She’d finish what she’d set out to do no matter what.
“My mother bakes and cleans when she’s stressed,” A.J. said, drawing her eyes to his once again. “When I was deployed, she single-handedly supplied every bake sale in the state of Alabama.”
“She must still worry about you since you’re clearly in a dangerous line of work.”
“Nah, she thinks I just bodyguard famous people and such. She doesn’t know the truth.” He pulled that sexy, strong hand of his from the counter and stroked his jaw.
“And what kind of truth would that be?” She crossed her arms over her chest as she examined the man that had her disoriented when she should’ve been focusing on how she was going to get to Georgia without her colleagues discovering the plan.
When A.J. leaned in a touch closer, his hand going back to the counter as if bracing for impact, from trying not to fall straight into her, she peered up at him from her height of barely five-five and almost gasped.
What the hell?
She didn’t bite her lip or gasp. Not over a man, at least.
The excitement of catching a criminal, knowing she was close to taking down someone, deserved a nibble on the lip. A deep inhalation of breath.
There’d never been a man who’d elicited that kind of response from her. And yet, A.J. had her flirting and teasing since the moment she’d met him last year. This man almost had her lip wedging between her teeth, too.
“I’m really an Avenger,” he said close to her ear, her stomach tightening at his warm breath. “A bona fide caped crusader who saves people.”