“Like tonight?” she murmured when he backed up to find her eyes again. “You heard the distress and you came flying in, huh?” She needed to be serious, but Mr. Cowboy Handsome was standing in her tiny kitchen, which hadn’t been purposefully distressed like on an episode of HGTV, but was actually distressed, in a state of extreme sorrow. And there she was, ready to fan herself like some Southern belle on an episode of Hart of Dixie, the show fresh on her mind since she’d caught a rerun on Netflix a few months back, and of course, her first thought had been about A.J. because the show took place in Alabama. And now the man even had her inner thoughts a rambling mess.
Yeah, she’d done her research on A.J., too. Too many glasses of wine one lonely night when she still lived in Charlotte, and her fingers had hit the keys. She’d been tempted to bypass the rules and check from her work computer, but she’d told herself that’d be stalker-ish. Of course, that was before she’d been offered the position at Headquarters. Before she realized her life would change forever once she moved to D.C.
My assignment, damn it. “I have to work,” she blurted, mostly as a reminder for herself.
A.J. was a distraction, but this specific distraction came to the rescue tonight, and he was in her kitchen, eying her as if he’d had a few fantasies of his own about her.
Ana doubted any of his revolved around him as a naked cowboy.
But what she needed to do was get answers from him about what the hell had gone down tonight. No panic-cleaning. No ogling his denim backside with the most perfect glutes she’d ever seen.
No naked cowboys.
Okay, every girl deserved a naked cowboy in her fantasies, right?
I’ve officially lost my mind.
“The nondescript clothes. Black hat, shirt, and sneakers. You were on a stakeout. In a psychopathic stalker kind of way or a work kind of way?” she asked after finally getting her head back on straight.
His eyes became thin slits. She could see his internal struggle about how much truth to share by the slight twinge of his lips.
A tentative step closer had her only inches away again. “You were at an FBI section chief’s house tonight,” she added when he’d stayed quiet. “So, even though part of me would prefer you were stalking me to find a way into my pants”—did I just admit that?—“I’m assuming you’re here for work.”
A.J.’s brows shot straight up. He made a whistling sound and tugged at the material of his black Under Armor tee. “Shooo. It just might be hotter than holding a firecracker at both ends in here,” he drawled.
“AC repairman comes tomorrow.” It was unusually hot for D.C. Maybe she could blame the heat wave for her brain fritzing out around A.J.?
“And are you trying to distract me to keep from answering my question?” The man was good, she’d give him that. “Your sexy smile and that swagger of yours won’t disarm me.” At least she hoped they wouldn’t, not again.
“So, you think I got a sexy smile and, uh, swagger, huh?”
She hissed and turned toward the counter, unable to maintain a straight face when that was exactly what she should’ve been doing. “Why were you spying on me? I know you weren’t watching Porter. We only just learned he was missing. And you were at that bachelor party and—”
“Come again?” At the touch of his hand on her arm, she slowly faced him. “How do you know where I was? Sounds to me like you may have been doing the spying.”
Her eyes fell to his light grasp on her upper arm. Why didn’t she want him to let go? Why did she want him to pull her against his chest, wrap his strong arms around her, and make everything okay?
She’d never relied on anyone in her life. Not for safety. Or for love.
“Adriana Bennett, the President’s daughter-in-law. We hang out.” She hoped she didn’t get Adriana in trouble. It was the last thing she wanted for one of her only friends in the city.
He immediately released her and stepped back like she was literally too hot to handle. Eyes moved to the floor. Betrayal cutting across his face.
“She didn’t tell Knox. I didn’t want anyone knowing I was in town. Not yet.” She wet her lips, drawing strength to continue, even though there were more pressing matters to deal with. “We bumped into each other when I moved here. I asked her not to tell anyone about me.”
That had his attention. His light green eyes found her face, stopping on her lips before slowly skating over her features. “Why not?” He inched closer, his chest lifting with a deep breath.
“I-I don’t know.” Yes, I do.
“Yes, you do.” So, he was an Avenger and a mind reader. Since when was she so easy to read? “Anastasia.” There it was again. The swarm of butterflies taking flight in her stomach. The way he said her name, allowing each letter to somehow take form, to stand on its own, lust entangled in his tone.
Her hand went to the counter. Now she was the one bracing for impact.
“Why were you following me? Who hired you?” They had no time to talk about anything else.
“Why were you breaking into your section chief’s house?” he countered, then reached for the side of his head and applied light pressure with the heel of his hand over part of his hat and hair. She hadn’t noticed before, but did he get hurt?
She closed the space between them and lifted his hat. His hair was short in the back, a touch longer on the top, and closely cut at the sides. But there was a definite knot in the back of his head. A bump near his temple, too. “What happened to you? Was this from tonight?”
“Nah, the back of my head was much worse on Saturday. But the cocksucker tonight whacked me with the butt of his gun.” He faced her and deftly but gently snatched her wrist. He removed his hat from her hand, set it back on his head, and let go of her. “I don’t normally let a guy get the drop on me, but my balance has been a touch off since I hit my head this weekend.”
“Thought you were at a bachelor party.”
“My kind of party involves guns.” He winked and secured his hat back on. “Even bachelor parties.”
“Of course.”
“I may have gotten a concussion on Saturday. Threw up after hitting my head. That usually happens to me after a concussion, so I don’t know. It’s not important.”
“And how many concussions have you had over the years?”
“Ones that were confirmed?” He smiled. A wicked grin that would’ve had her panties growing wet if she weren’t already so damp from sweat to know the difference.
“Yeah, a tough Teamguy like you probably doesn’t see a doctor unless forced, am I right?”
“You may be right, but I don’t need some doctor blowing sunshine up my ass.”
“You think a doctor would really do that . . . give you good news just so you could operate?”
Oh, sarcasm. Of course, he knew a doctor would yell at him.
She’d worked with veterans during grad school. The psychological effects and post-traumatic stress of war coupled with physical injuries—not a good combination. What if he didn’t wake up one day? Or he began forgetting things? “You should see a doctor.”
“Bottom line, you can’t talk about why you were at that house,” he said, ignoring her worries, “and I can’t talk about it either. So, I’m not sure what we’re even doing standing here right now, sugar.”