Page 37 of Capture My Heart

Typical woman, he snorted, had to dig to find anything in their bags. His eyes dropped to her smooth fitting shorts. She could take her time. No complaints here. Officer Larson sure did have curves.

Straightening, she turned and held out a file to him.

His fingers wrapped around it. When he tugged, she held tight. “If you can find out why my dad really died, I’ll bow down and admit you’re a BCA god.”

He looked her square in the eyes, expecting to find humor, but what stared back sent a hot tingle down his body. The corner of his lip rose. “Bow, huh?”

She dropped her hand and leaned close. Her lips brushed his ear. “It’s not the bow, but what comes after that you’ll like.”

Alrighty then. He took in the scent of her. All flowery shampoo and Diet Coke. His hand twitched to slip into her hair.

He exhaled. Not now. Amy was a siren, but she was also a suspect. He needed to be in control and the way she made his balance teeter told him it was time to get out of here. Fast.

He stepped back. “Good to know. I’ll pick you up on the Fourth for Jim and Liz’s party.”

Questions wrinkled her forehead. “Why?”

“Oh yeah, you and I are officially dating now. That way, it won’t seem strange that I’m hanging around and I can keep my eyes on you.”

Her sputter was the last thing he heard as the door closed.

Way to go, Trey. He whistled as he crossed the hall. This idea was so brilliant he didn’t even stop to question it before it tumbled out of his mouth.

This should be easy. Hell, the woman was just flirting with him. Faking a relationship will be a piece of cake. Now if he can remember, this is only pretend.

He could do this. Right?

God help him. Because if he touched her the way he longed to, one of two things would happen. He wouldn’t stop or… she’d break his fingers.

Chapter 8

Amy dropped back on the couch and ran her hands over her face. She stared at the door. What the hell just happened?

Her legs bounced. She should go after him. He couldn’t be serious? No way she could play the role of his smitten girlfriend.

Pushing off the couch, she circled her apartment. The urge to open that bottle of scotch Uncle Pete gave her at her father’s funeral was strong.

No, one tiny glass of whiskey and her inner slut slipped out. But was it the liquor or him that brought out her vixen?

Now that the cloud of testosterone had left the apartment, she could think again. Her hands fanned her hot cheeks.

Yes, she’d wanted him to use his BCA connections to help her find the truth about her father’s death, but be his fake girlfriend?

Sure, she flirted a little. She dropped her head against the door and banged it once, twice. Then leaned against the wood panel. Who was she kidding? She all but promised him sex if he solved her father’s murder. She didn’t think he’d ever call her on it.

Bullshit. If Trey touched her, she’d combust and a part of her wanted him to take her up on her absurd offer. Her hands slid up and covered her eyes.

She’d need to gag herself when he was near.

Well, damn. Now that brought a whole new scenario to mind.

Pushing off the door, she paced. Nothing about him was in her plans. Nothing.

God help her. She flopped back on the couch.

Her mind spun with it all—the Finden case, a dirty cop, and Trey. Agent Fenley. Could she pull this off?

Could she trust him? She snagged her bag and pulled out her father’s evaluation. She didn’t trust Trey fully, or she’d have left it in the file she’d given him. She shoved the papers back in her bag.