Walking into my rented room a while later, I take them out, laying them flat on the nightstand. Smoothing the see-through panels that run vertical at the hips. Just a peek of skin.
Does that mean she’s a tease in the sack?
Yeah.
Yeah, I bet she’d work me up good before letting me drag these off. Fill her up tight.
What the hell am I doing carrying around her underwear?
These urges Taylor has woken up inside of me in such a short space of time…they’re not typical for me by any means. I’m not the jealous type, but I didn’t like the asshole assistant smiling at her. I’ve never been possessive, but when she was underneath me…I could feel her wanting to be dominated. She liked my hand on her throat. She liked being pinned. And the way she turned to me for reassurance after all of it? I have no experience with soothing women. That idea would have been laughable as recently as this morning. Still, I somehow knew exactly what to do. For Taylor. Like we communicated without saying a word.
Meanwhile I couldn’t even communicate with actual words in my first disastrous marriage? Jesus. Nah, I must have imagined those tugs of intuition with Taylor.
No way I’d be good for her. I’d be in it for the fucking. She’s the kind of woman who emotionally invests in everything. Crying over pandas and shit. Christ. Thinking about her in red lace panties is the last thing I should be doing, because I’m not just fantasizing. Not just thinking of how good the sex would be.
I’m thinking of her…
Smiling up at me.
Telling me how good I’m making it for her.
I’m thinking of her fingers in my hair and all over my back.
I’m thinking of…the trust in her eyes.
“Nope. No, no, no.” I swipe the panties off the nightstand and shove them back into my pocket. “Going to return them. You are giving them back.”
So she can wear them for another man?
Suddenly, my jaw feels like it’s about to snap.
Which is why when my phone rings, I am too distracted to look at the caller ID. I simply thumb the green button and bark, “This is Sumner. What do you want?”
“Hello, Myles Sumner.” Taylor’s exhale in my ear turns a slow crank in my belly. “Shouldn’t a bounty hunter have an intimidating nickname? Like Hellhound or Lone Wolf?”
“Only if they’re an overinflated asshole.” Hearing her voice in the middle of the mental tug-of-war she inspired isn’t doing great things for my patience. But I’m not impatient with her. I’m annoyed at myself for being so damn relieved to hear from her. “Why are you calling me, half pint? I’m busy.”
“Oh.” A long pause ensues. I can hear the ocean in the background. Waves. Louder than they sound from her rental house. Is she on the beach? I don’t know, but the longer the silence stretches, the guiltier I’m feeling for being so abrupt with her. If my guilt isn’t a red flag that this woman has the ability to make me feel shit I don’t want to feel, what is? “Well I don’t want to interrupt whatever you’re doing…”
Thinking of you in red panties.
Thinking of you moaning, telling me my dick is the perfect size.
“I’m working a case, Taylor.”
“Right.” She sighs and another arrow of guilt nails me in the stomach. “So I should just bag the murder weapon myself and bring it to the police?”
My brain snaps into focus like a rubber band. “What?”
“Sorry to bother you—”
“Taylor.”
“Hmm?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m on the beach, maybe a quarter mile from our house?” The wind carries her words away slightly and I don’t like it. I don’t like her standing on a windy beach in front of a gun, especially after the sun has set. Not without me there. “Jude met some surfers today and they invited us over for burgers. They have a really good view of the ocean and it looked so beautiful, so I brought my drink down here. I was just going to get my feet wet, but I started walking. I saw something shiny in the brush. Before you ask me, I haven’t touched it.”
I’m already halfway out the door of my motel room, keys in hand. “Do you know the name of the street you’re on?”
“No. We walked here on the beach. We didn’t drive.”
Why is my skin suddenly layered with clammy sweat underneath my T-shirt? “Call your brother and tell him to come wait with you until I get there, Taylor.”
“Oh no.” Her tone suggests that whole idea is preposterous. “I don’t want to interrupt his good time. He’s finally beginning to relax. Myles, losing Bartholomew has been very hard on him. This would only stress him out again.”