single,” she said.
Had he managed to rile her? “Because I treat women chivalrously?” He opened the door for her and stepped aside.
“No.” She fought back a smile as she got into the SUV.
The almost-smile didn’t throw him off. He watched her profile a few seconds before going around to the other side of the SUV. Something about being treated like a woman bothered her. What could that be? Maybe it wasn’t so much how a man treated her that bothered. Maybe it was him doing the treating.
* * *
“I don’t feel like going home.” Jocelyn looked over at Trevor, dreading her quiet condo. “Let’s go grab something to eat.”
Trevor looked surprised. “It’s three o’clock.” And not in the afternoon.
“We haven’t eaten yet. We got that call at seven.” Dinner hadn’t mattered with the issues of the day, but that wasn’t her reason for wanting to eat out.
“Let’s just grab something and go to your place. It’s closer than mine.”
“My place?” Why her place? Had she not imagined his earlier flirtation? No, surely she had.
“We’ve been working together long enough. Come on. It’s late. I don’t want to be in public. I’m tired. And I probably smell by now.” He lifted his arm for a mock sniff.
For such a serious man, he did show signs of a sense of humor. What harm would it be to let him stay? They’d had a long day and night. Besides, she didn’t want to be alone. His crack about her cat kind of drove home that point. She loved her cat, but the animal only needed her for food and shelter.
Entering her two-story condo felt strange with a man, especially Trevor. Tall, dark-haired and lean, he took on a new persona now that they weren’t working. She saw him the way she repressed herself from seeing him—as a great-looking man with intense, smart dark eyes and thick lashes.
Leaving the entry, she led him into her open living room, aware of how he surveyed her big-screen TV across from a gray sofa with yellow-and-white throw pillows. Varying shades of stacked gray rock with a few yellow for accent made up the wall behind the sofa, and a vase of yellow lilies on the coffee table tied the room together. Top-down, bottom-up window coverings were set halfway up for privacy on a row of three tall square windows.
Her black cat meowed, walking leisurely toward her.
“Sigmund, meet Trevor Colton. Trevor, this is Sigmund.”
Sigmund lifted green eyes to her and then Trevor.
“Sigmund, it’s a pleasure.” He crouched as the animal moved toward him. When he began to pet him, Sigmund let him.
Jocelyn dropped her jaw. “Wow. He doesn’t let just anyone pet him. He likes you.” Sigmund had a keen judge of character. She looked up at Trevor as he straightened, amazed and awed, seeing him even more as a man—an attractive man. That disconcerted her a bit. She didn’t mingle with sexy coworkers who didn’t want to get personal with her.
“I had a dog growing up.”
That announcement appealed to her awe, kept it going. “Of course. Boy.” She covered her mouth, widening her eyes in exaggeration, reminding him of their earlier banter.
He chuckled. “Plato. I named him.”
That sobered her. “You were into Plato as a child?”
“No. I thought his name was cool. You were into Sigmund?”
“No way.” She walked toward the kitchen, remodeled with light gray tile, stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.
“Nice place.”
She smiled as she saw him look over her vaulted ceiling open concept living room and kitchen. “Thanks. I did all the work myself.” She’d painted the kitchen cabinet white and installed the brushed chrome hardware.
“I can see the tomboy in you here,” Trevor said.
Astonished, she looked where he had, trying to see what he saw.
“Other than the lilies, there are no personal touches. No pictures. No candles...”
She’d allowed the architecture to provide the ambience. But now that he’d mentioned it, she had to agree. She had no decorative touches, another product of her upbringing, she supposed.
“Do you like Mexican?” She went to her refrigerator.
“I like anything right now.”
“Have a seat.”
He sat at her kitchen island and she went to work reheating a green chili and beef mixture. Moments later, she had steaming burritos ready, depositing the plates on the island.
She went to a wine cooler tucked neatly into her kitchen cabinetry. “I like a glass of wine after nights like tonight. It helps me sleep. Want one?”
“No, go ahead.”
She sat and began eating, too aware of him and glad for the lulling effect of the wine.
“You never talk about your family,” he said.
Why was he curious? Her lack of pictures? Putting her fork down, she contended with the weight of his question.
“I don’t have family anymore. My dad and brother both died in the line of duty.” She hoped he wouldn’t dwell on it.
“Really?” He leaned forward, his forearms on the counter as he looked closer at her. “They were cops?”
She nodded. “Both of them. Narcotics.” She averted her face, the reminder of that time gripping her.
“My God, Jocelyn. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” He reached over and put his hand over hers.
She looked down at his bigger, masculine hand touching her so tenderly and then lifted her gaze to meet genuine sympathy.
“When did that happen?”
“They died two years ago. When I was in college.” She looked away, not wanting to talk about this now. She never liked talking about it. Their faces came to mind as vividly as if they were still here, and the painful knowledge that they never would be again crushed her.
“What was your major?”
She turned back to him. “Hmm?”
“Your major in college? What was it?”
Why did that matter? Maybe it didn’t. Maybe he’d just changed the subject. For her.
Her heart warmed. “It was education. I was going to be a schoolteacher.”
“And then you changed your major.”
“Yes.” She eyed him, wondering why he probed there. Maybe he hadn’t changed the subject.
“Now I understand why you do what you do,” he said.
He’d ruined a nice moment. Snatching her hand out from under his, she snapped, “You say that as if I don’t belong on your team.”
“I didn’t mean that. I think you carry a torch you don’t need to carry.” He breathed an ironic laugh. “I always thought you crusaded more than necessary for the job. I couldn’t put my finger on why or even what struck me as off about you.”
Did he have to be so insulting? “You’re not making this better.”
“Are you going to sit there and tell me this is what you want for the rest of your life?”
How the hell had he gotten to know her so well? They never talked about personal things. Now, all of the sudden, they were.
She stared across her kitchen. Lately she had been thinking her line of work was getting to her. Living alone, working long hours, spending so much time with