Page 11 of Win a Date with a Detective

“You’re a detective!”

“An actual detective. I don’t generally investigate murders by searching for combination locks hidden inside fake books.”

“You’re being very negative about this experience.”

“I’m having a wonderful time.”

“You’re lying.”

I smile. “Prove it.”

Her eyes narrow. Oh, I like that look. I like practically every look she gives me.

Which is becoming a problem.

Because instead of examining the clues scattered around the room, I keep finding myself watching her.

The way she bites her bottom lip when she’s concentrating. The little crease that appears between her eyebrows when something doesn’t make sense.

The way her dress stretches across her ass when she bends over to examine a suspicious-looking desk drawer. I clench my jaw as my dick twitches.

“Detective!”

I straighten. “Yes?”

“Are you even paying attention?”

“Very closely.”

She follows my gaze. Then looks down at herself.

When she looks back at me, she’s grinning. “See something interesting?”

“Several things.”

Her cheeks turn pink. And suddenly, solving this fictional murder becomes the least interesting thing I could possibly do tonight.

It isn’t long before Rachel is frustrated.

She’s found a bloody handkerchief, a threatening letter, and a suspicious receipt. Unfortunately, none of them seem to fit together.

“Maybe we should ask for a hint,” she suggests.

I examine the receipt. “Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I’ve figured something out.”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”