B.L. Mooney and Laura Emory
I should be dead. I definitely shouldn’t be chasing the type of killers who ruined my life, but that’s what I do.
My mother was murdered when I was six years old and instead of running for help, I hid in the closet. Until the killer is found, I’m an unfinished job forced to look over my shoulder.
I’m Special Agent Brynn Bennett with the FBI, and I’m damn good at my job. My best friend and partner, Hunter Williams, and I track predators every day. It isn’t a job for little girls who hide in closets, but with Hunter by my side, there’s nothing I can’t face.
What I didn’t see coming was Benjamin Drake. He was next in line for the one-night stand I occasionally allowed myself, except he wants a happily ever after and he thinks I can give it to him.
I can handle death, monsters, and the evils that hide in the shadows, but a nice guy who wants to take care of me? I’m not so sure.
The better question is . . .
Can he handle me?
I take one last look to make sure my makeup is perfect and everything is in place as I hear the knock on the door. I nod to myself in the mirror. “You’ve got this.”
Shaking my head at my pathetic pep talk, I head for the door, but I don’t expect what I see once I open it. Ben is standing there with a couple of bags in his hands, but it’s the outfit that has me speechless. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, too. I can’t decide if he looks better casual or in a suit. They both make me want to rip his clothes off.
He clears his throat on my second trip down his body. “May I come in?”
Embarrassed I got caught looking at him so closely, I put my fingers to my forehead. “I’m sorry.” I look at him again and tilt my head. “I thought we were going out.”
“That was the original plan.” He shrugs and adjusts the bags. “Then I wondered why go out when all I could think about was taking you home.”
I look down his body that’s filling my doorway and back up to those lips I couldn’t get out of my mind the first night I met him. I probably would spend the entire evening trying to get him to take me home. I back up. “Please, come in.”
“I hope you like takeout.”
I shut the door behind him. “Yes, of course. I don’t cook a lot for myself.”
I walk over to the table where he set the bags, but before I’m able to look in them, he grabs me by the waist, pulls me close, and kisses me. Who needs dinner?
He kisses my neck and works his way up to my ear to whisper, “I brought dinner. You supply dessert.”
I’m breathless and can’t find my voice, but manage to whisper back, “Let’s see this dinner first.”
His eyebrows rise slightly, and even though he isn’t fully smiling, I can tell he’s amused by the crinkles next to his eyes. “You doubt my . . . dinner?”
How I find my voice is a mystery to me, but I do. “I’m a prove it kind of girl.”
His smile tells me he has no doubt proving it whenever I want. I want it now.
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