Trena Moretti blinked her eyes open and listened to the soft muffled snore drifting from the man beside her. His back was turned, offering an impressive view of well-defined shoulders and dark, gleaming skin. Softly, so as not to wake him, she trailed a finger down the length of his spine and sighed. She had no business being there. She’d broken her own rule with barely a thought. Still, there was no denying James was a beautiful sight to behold.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, reviewing the night in her head. On the drive home from Ojai, James had sent her a text asking if she wanted to go out for a bite. Originally she’d planned to meet with @LuckyHearts16—the person who’d sent her the video of Madison leaving her earring at the memorial. Not wanting to look overeager, she delayed the meeting and accepted James’s offer instead.
But now, with the morning sun slipping through the crack between the curtains, she was no longer sure she’d made the right choice.
It had started innocently enough, with the two of them sharing a pizza at Pizzeria Mozza, where she’d effectively broken her strict no-carb rule. A couple of glasses of wine later, Trena found herself inviting him back to her place and doing the sort of things that, despite the lingering shadow of regret, still managed to bring a smile to her face.
Quietly, she swung her feet to the floor and was about to stand, when James rolled over, grasped her by the wrist, and pulled her back to him.
“You sure you want to do that?” His dark eyes were heavy with sleep, but something about his tone struck her as vaguely menacing.
“You mean take a shower and get on with my day?” She kept her tone playful and light, but when she tried to pull away again, he held tight.
Was he playing? Or should she be worried? With James, it was never easy to determine.
She shot him an uncertain look, unable to relax until he released his grip.
“Sorry.” He propped an arm under his head and drew a slow, leisurely gaze down the length of her body. “Can’t blame a guy for wanting a repeat. Especially when he’s lucky enough to wake up next to you.”
She frowned and pushed away.
“What’d I do now?”
It was a good question. One she wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. “What’re you doing here?” She faced him.
He cocked his head and sharpened his gaze.
“I mean, what exactly are you doing here—with me?”
He tried for a grin but only made it halfway. “Is this the relationship talk? The ‘what are we doing, where are we going, what does it all mean’ talk?”
Something about his exaggerated grimace made her laugh and ease up. “No, nothing like that. It’s just—we seem a bit incongruous, don’t you think?”
“Because I’m just a bouncer and you’re an important news lady?”
She studied him for a long moment. “But you’re not just a bouncer, are you?”
It was a question she’d been meaning to ask but kept putting off. Now that it was out there, she became acutely aware of the sheer awkwardness of waiting for his reply while she stood naked before him.
“What’re you getting at?” His posture was that of a man at ease, but the way his jaw tensed gave him away.
“What exactly do you do for Ira? What exactly did you do for Madison, for that matter?”
To her surprise, in one swift movement, he was up, out of bed, and pulling on his pants. “So that’s what this is about?” He buttoned his jeans and tugged on his shirt.
Trena stayed silent. She recognized a trap when she saw one.
“This was never really about you being into me. I’m just another potential source.”
“That’s not—” She didn’t bother to finish. The accusation was only partially true, but still true.
He straightened the front of his shirt and went in search of his shoes. Was he hurt? It seemed impossible, and yet the tinge of regret on his face left her unsure.
“That’s not how it works,” she said, her voice quiet.
“What’s that?” He moved closer, till they were mere inches apart.
“That’s not . . . you weren’t . . .” Shit. There was something about him that was just so annoyingly irresistible. And when he laid those dark eyes on hers, she could no longer remember why she ever thought resisting him was a good idea.
Closing the space between them, he clinched her hard at the waist and kissed her so thoroughly it left her breathless, longing for more.
Without warning, he withdrew, placed a hand on each of her shoulders, and said, “I’m into you. If you feel the same, we can see where it leads. If not, then it’s probably better for both of us to walk away.”
She swallowed hard. She couldn’t date him. It was impossible, ridiculous to even consider. And not because he was a bouncer and she was an important news lady as he’d said, but because she couldn’t afford the distraction. Now that she knew Madison was alive and out there, somewhere, she needed to focus all her attention on solving that case.
James was complicated, unknowable, and possibly dangerous. Trena had just gotten rid of a fiancé with similar qualities. Last thing she needed was to take on another. It was time to break the pattern, not continue to build on it.
She reached for a silk robe draped over a chair and pulled it snugly around her. It was all the answer he needed.
Slipping his feet into his shoes, he said, “No hard feelings.” The look that followed was deeper and more reflective than she’d expected from him.
Maybe he really was into her.
Maybe she was using Madison as an excuse to not get her heart broken again.
Maybe she was making a colossal mistake.
She returned the look, wondering if it was too late to take it all back.
“A word of caution,” he said, breaking the spell. “Be careful where you tread.”
She followed him to the door. He couldn’t leave like that—she had no idea what he meant.
“Your girl’s not all that she seems.”
“Which girl—who’re you talking about? I need you to explain.”
He was halfway out the door when he said, “Thought I already did.”
At first, she wasn’t sure what he was referring to. But then she remembered the night at the studio, when she’d received the text with Madison’s birth certificate. She could’ve sworn she’d heard the telltale swoosh of someone sending a message just seconds before she’d received it. Had James sent it?
She yanked the sash of her robe, pulling it tighter, and raced for the elevator bank. “Was it you?”
James regarded her as though he had no idea what she was talking about.
The doors began to slide shut, so she thrust her hand between them to keep them from closing. “That text—the birth certificate—was it you? Are you the one who sent it?”
Their gazes held. Trena watched the corner of his lips twitch as he uncurled her fingers from the doors and let them slide shut.