The exact opposite of Lucas.
But the truth was, no one had ever really invested in her, and she wasn’t sure Lucas was the investing type either. In fact, she was fairly positive he wasn’t, but it still felt a little bit like he was chasing her and she wasn’t at all certain what to do with that.
“Tell me about our night,” he said. “You know you want to.”
“Actually, it was over so fast, I can’t really remember.”
He gave a low, rather triumphant laugh and turned her to face him. “You haven’t yet once managed to look me in the eyes and tell me how bad I was. Here’s your chance, Molly. Give it to me.”
See, that was the thing. She did want to give it to him, quite badly. Naked . . . Gah. She really hadn’t seen this coming, but she deserved fun like anyone else, right? She looked at his mouth, desperately wanting it on hers. And then her body somehow mistook the fantasy for reality because she went up on tiptoes and . . . kissed him. Just a soft brush of her lips across his, gently and a little hesitant, but it was most definitely a kiss.
He froze, and she didn’t know if it was horror or shock. Maybe both. To find out, she pulled back slightly and stared at him.
His eyes were closed, but they opened now, the deep brown holding hers prisoner as she held her breath. Beneath the hand she’d set on his chest she could feel his heart steady and sure. And maybe a little too fast.
“Molly,” he breathed and shifted so that his forehead rested against hers. Sliding his hands into her hair, his fingertips against her scalp, he held her in place. “Do that again,” he demanded, his voice soft steel.
Letting out a breath of relief, she leaned back in, but he beat her to it, closing the distance, his mouth taking hers in another heart-stopping kiss that released something wild in her, something she’d kept locked deep inside. But suddenly she couldn’t get close enough to him or enough skin contact.
But he pulled back, one hand still cupping the back of her neck, the other under her long sweater, so low on her spine that he had a palm full of her ass as he stared down at her with a look she couldn’t quite read.
“What?” she whispered.
He gave a single, slow shake of his head. “We didn’t sleep together.”
She blinked. “How do you know?”
“Because I could never have forgotten this.”
Chapter 8
#SharingIsCaring
Lucas had never been so sure of anything in his life as he stared down into Molly’s slightly dazed face, waiting for her response, his heart still thundering in his chest.
Because holy shit. That kiss.
If it’d been anyone else, he’d have had them both naked and halfway to satisfaction by now. But it wasn’t just anyone else, it was Molly. Joe’s threats had been pretty effective, but sleeping with his good friend’s baby sister wasn’t the mental holdup. Neither was her being a coworker. Or the fact that she was someone he instinctively knew he couldn’t have just once and walk away—which was his current MO these days. Yeah, all of those things added up to a Hands-Off situation, but the truth was none of it was stopping him.
What did was that she thought he was on her side. That he was helping her because she’d asked-slash-blackmailed, when the truth was he was helping her because it was literally his job to do so. But even more importantly, he was helping her because he was worried about her being out there on her own, when even he and the guys were never on their own. They always worked as a team, that was the only way to do this job.
But Molly wouldn’t care about any of that. She’d care only that he was—as she’d see it—babysitting her, and that he hadn’t told her about it up front. It’d piss her off in a large way and he fully understood that, but he still couldn’t tell her or she’d get herself yanked off this case. Lucas figured he at least owed it to her to see it through.
Given how complicated it all was, he wouldn’t further complicate that with . . . emotions.
So he really needed to not muddy the waters. He needed to not want her as badly as he did. And most of all, he needed to keep his hands and mouth and other various body parts off of her.
Which he knew would be the hardest job he’d ever have. “You lied to me,” he said.
She started to pull away, but he held on, bending his knees to catch her gaze. “Why? Why did you let me think we’d slept together?”
She closed her eyes.
“Talk to me, Molly.”
“Talking’s not my strong suit.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “I’ve seen you talking with the girls for hours on end without so much as taking a breath.”
“Hey,” she said, and then sighed. “Okay, maybe true. But talking about . . . feelings aren’t my strong suit.”
“Try anyway.”
She looked up at him thoughtfully. “What do you remember of the other night?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’d tried going out for a run that day, the first time since getting shot, and got home hurting like a son of a bitch. I took two pain pills. Then I received a text to come down to the pub because a client had shown up to meet us and I’d forgotten. He bought a round of drinks and toasted to me, and I drank.” He shook his head. “A stupid decision, but that’s it, that’s all I remember until I woke up with you all over me.”
“I wasn’t all over you—” She broke off when he arched a brow. “Fine,” she said. “I was all over you but you sleep like a damn furnace and I was cold, that’s all.”
“Or,” he said.
“Or what?”
“I don’t know, Molly, you tell me. But I want the truth. And it’s not that we had sex, because that kiss . . .” Just thinking about it got him hot all over again. “That was most definitely our first. I’d have remembered any other, and I’d have remembered anything that followed.” He waited until she met his gaze. “And so would you.”
She blushed, but also rolled her eyes. “Fine. We didn’t . . . sleep together,” she said. “I’d never have taken advantage of you that way.”
At this very unexpected comment, he paused, surprised.
“I was already at the pub when you arrived,” she said. “You seemed fine until you had alcohol. Then you got pale and shaky, and when I asked you if you were okay, you said you wanted to go to bed. The pub was packed and everyone was either playing pool, darts, or dancing. No one else seemed worried about you getting upstairs okay, so I walked you.”
He reached out and cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his. “And then . . .”
“I got you upstairs.”
He gave her a go-on gesture.
She grimaced. “You hit the sack, tumbling me down with you.”
He froze. “I forced you into my bed?”
“No! No, nothing like that,” she rushed to tell him. “You were being playful, joking around about me wanting to tuck you in and suddenly you closed your eyes and were out. It happened so fast it scared me. So I stayed where I was.”
“In my bed.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Because you were worried about me.”
“Yes.” She nodded earnestly.
“So I didn’t . . . try anything.”
She bit her lip.
Oh, Christ. He had. Visions of being slowly murdered by Archer were filling his head when she said, “It wasn’t you, it was me.”