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She blinked, belly clenching, pleasure sparking where he was still hard inside her. He unfolded his grip from her wrist, small red marks on her skin, and flexed his fingers, shaking his hand. That same old ache, she knew.

Lungs tight, her breath coming and going in gasps, she soaked in his heat.

His hand curved on her hip, the softest of strokes, and she finally managed a steady exhale.

Eyes closed, she waited for his weight to shift, for him to collapse next to her.

“Love you.” He pressed a kiss between her shoulders and pulled out.

He climbed off the bed, bare feet a light pad on the hardwood then the bathroom tile. Moments later, the shower rushed to life.

She sat up, aching and pulsing between her thighs with a phantom fullness, a weird emptiness from her stomach to her chest. She stared after him, to where he’d disappeared into the en suite.

Holy Mother.

A disbelieving laugh fell from her lips. They’d just . . . and she . . . and he’d . . .

Motherfuck.

Chapter Six

I Can Barely Say

He’d hurt her feelings.

When he’d stepped out of the shower, she’d stepped in, then they’d gone to bed and to sleep. The orgasm, the release, had helped him fall asleep, although he’d woken a couple of times through the night, his sleep disturbed by dreams he didn’t remember but had him grinding his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

The morning demanded his focus — holy hell, he’d forgotten Zeb the day before — and they’d moved through their routine, with her taking the girls to school. In their dressing room, he’d donned the gray suit closest to the door, skipping over his navy tie, fresh from the cleaners, for his blue foulard instead.

Her gaze skittered over that tie as she hustled the girls out to the car. Slinging her leather tote over her shoulder, she leaned up to kiss him. “Have a good day, tesoro. I’ll see you.”

And she was gone, responding to Eva’s excited chatter about library day.

He took care of Zeb, scratching his ears and giving him an extra treat before heading for his truck and the office.

And the whole way, the way she wouldn’t quite look at him itched under his skin. Stopped for the left onto Northwest, he tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. Of course, he’d hurt her feelings. He’d acted like what they did was nothing, when she was everything. He blew out a long breath.

He had to make that shit right and do better.

In the office, he went through his email, then spent an hour reviewing agent reports, sending both Ransome and Everly’s back requesting revisions. Might as well start as he meant to go on, and if he let a lack of clarity or detail go now, they’d carry those habits forward.

Pen in hand, he leaned back in his chair, flipping through his notes. Christophides, Old River, Lanier . . . multiple cargo thefts in a tight window. What he needed was to see that window laid out.

Field book and phone in hand, he strode down the hall to the conference room designated for his team. A whiteboard and corkboard combo took up one long wall. Rummaging for a dry erase marker, he divided one half of the whiteboard into sections, labeling each as a week. Pulling up agent reports on his phone, he listed individual thefts with the carrier and type of cargo.

Once finished, he leaned on the table, tapping the marker on the edge, first the cap, then flipping it in his hand to tap the end.

Christophides.

Lanier.

Old River.

And Beacon, too.

What about the dates? He frowned at them. Two days between the first Christophides trailer and the Lanier. Then four days before the Old River trailer loss. Another Christophides the next day . . .

If there was a pattern there, he didn’t see it yet.