New York's Finest Rebel. Trish Wylie

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СКАЧАТЬ of a five mile run. She’d hit a nerve but there was no way she could know he wasn’t sleeping. Or that he was sick of waking up bathed in a cold sweat, his throat raw from yelling. It had to stop before he did something stupid in work again or was forced to look for another apartment. He would damn well make it stop.

      But distracting himself from the problem with thoughts of Jorja Dawson’s breasts wasn’t the way to go about it.

      Slowing his pace to a walk, he shouldered his way into a busy coffee shop and pushed back the hood on his sweatshirt. After placing his order, he looked around while he waited for it to arrive, his gaze discovering a woman sitting alone by the windows. It was exactly what he needed: another woman.

      Questioning if he was forming a fetish, he started his assessment with her shoes—a pair of simple black patent heels with open toes—before he moved up the legs crossed elegantly beneath the table to a fitted skirt that hugged her like a second skin. Nice. Continuing upwards, he was rewarded with a glimpse of curved breast between the lapels of a crisp white blouse as she turned in her seat. Then his gaze took in the smooth twist of dark hair at the nape of her neck in the kind of up-do that begged to be unpinned so she could shake her hair loose. She was even wearing a pair of small, rectangular-framed reading glasses to complete the fantasy.

      But when she turned again, he shook his head. Used to be a time he was better at sensing the presence of the enemy.

      She looked up at him when he stopped for a paper napkin at the condiment station beside her. ‘Are you kidding me?’

      ‘I can’t buy a cup of coffee now?’

      ‘You can buy it somewhere else.’

      ‘This is the closest coffee shop.’

      ‘You can have the one two blocks down. This one is mine.’ She returned her attention to her computer screen. ‘It’s my work space every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning.’

      ‘I must have missed the notice on the door,’ Daniel said as he pulled out the chair facing her and sat down. He smirked when she scowled at him. ‘Good morning.’

      After an attempt to continue what she was doing while he looked through the window at the steady build of people headed to their offices, she sighed. ‘You’re going to be here every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, aren’t you?’

      ‘Not a morning person, I take it.’

      ‘This is your plan?’ She arched a brow when he looked at her. ‘You’re going to be there every time I turn around until you wear me down and I move? Wow … that’s …’

      ‘Effective?’

      ‘I was going to say adolescent. I can’t tell you how reassuring it is to know the city is in the hands of such a mature example of the New York Police Department.’

      When her fingers began to move across the keyboard again, Daniel realized he didn’t have the faintest idea what she did for a living. He wondered why. Hadn’t needed to know was the simple answer. Though it did kind of beg the question of why it was he needed to know now.

      Know your enemy and know yourself and you could fight a hundred battles, as the saying went. With that in mind he took a short breath. ‘So what is it you do anyway?’

      She didn’t look up from the screen. ‘It’s the first time you’ve been tempted to ask that question?’

      ‘I don’t have a newspaper to pass the time.’

      ‘They’re on a stand by the door.’

      ‘It’s an internet thing, isn’t it?’

      Long lashes lifted behind her glasses. ‘Meaning?’

      ‘You’re one of those people who reports their every move every five minutes so the universe can know how much time they spend doing laundry.’

      ‘Yes, that’s the only thing people use the internet for these days.’ She reached for her coffee. ‘It’s because working online isn’t a physical job, right? Anyone who isn’t lifting heavy objects or doing something with their hands instantly earns a low ranking on your Neanderthal scale of the survival of the fittest.’

      ‘You might want to slow down on the caffeine intake. I think you’re close to the legal limit already.’

      Setting the cup down, she breathed deep and went back to work. ‘I write a blog.’

      ‘You can earn a living doing that?’

      ‘Among other things,’ she replied.

      ‘What’s it about?’

      ‘Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?’

      ‘Nope.’

      ‘Fine, then. I can play the “get to know me better” game until you get bored and leave. It shouldn’t take long with your attention span.’ Lifting her coffee again, she leaned back in her chair and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I work for a fashion magazine and as part of my job I write a daily blog on the latest trends and the kind of things twenty-something women might find interesting.’

      ‘You’re as deep as a shallow puddle, aren’t you?’

      ‘Not everything is about the meaning of life. Sometimes it’s more about living it. For some people that means finding joy in the little things.’

      ‘Like spending money on the kind of clothes that will put them in debt?’

      ‘Like wearing things that make them feel good.’ She shrugged a narrow shoulder. ‘I assume it’s how someone like you feels when they wear their uniform of choice.’

      ‘I don’t wear a uniform as a fashion statement.’

      ‘You’re saying you don’t feel good when you wear it?’

      ‘It’s a matter of pride in what I do.’

      ‘And doesn’t that make you feel good about yourself?’

      She was smart, but that he’d known. Trouble was she wasn’t entirely right. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

      When her head tilted at an obviously curious angle, he lounged back in his chair. Since she’d given him the opening with the topic of conversation, he openly checked her out. ‘I take it the librarian look is in vogue now.’

      ‘It’s better than the mugger ensemble you’re wearing.’

      Lowering his chin, he ran a large palm over the faded U.S.M.C. lettering on his chest. ‘I’ve had this since basic training. It has sentimental value.’

      ‘Wouldn’t that suggest you have a heart?’

      ‘Bit difficult to walk around without one.’

      ‘As difficult as it is to survive without sleep?’

      Daniel stared at her without blinking.

      ‘Thin walls СКАЧАТЬ