Flirting With Disaster (Camelot 3)

“Did you just call me ‘Leadfoot’?” she asked Sean.

“I have to c-call you ssomething,” he said.

“Most people call me ‘Katie.’ ”

Sean nodded. “What t-time?”

She calculated how long it would take her to pack, shower, eat something, and reassure Caleb that she wouldn’t get devoured by wolves while she was away. “I can pick you up around nine,” she said. “I’ll drive.”

“Now see, that’s one of the things we’ll have to sstraighten out if we’re going to be p-partners again,” he replied, spreading his arms like wings along the top of the couch cushions. “I’m going to be the one who drives.”

“I like to drive,” she protested.

Sean looked at Caleb. “Back me up.”

“You’re a terrible driver,” her brother said.

“You traitor!”

Caleb picked up her empty coffee cup and carried it into the kitchen with an amused smirk that told her he was pleased with Sean and pleased with himself.

Men.

“If you’re the partner who drives, I get to be the partner who picks the music,” she announced.

“My c-car, my music,” Sean said, gathering his jacket off the arm of the couch and standing up.

“Come on,” she complained. “What does that leave for me?”

He stepped closer, blocking some of the light and replacing it with a couple hundred pounds of man as he shrugged into his jacket. It had a deep navy satin lining that matched his eyes, and she remembered its buttery softness beneath her fingers when she’d touched his arm. Supple leather over hard muscle. She’d be willing to bet that jacket had cost a mint. A strange luxury for a security guard to have a jacket like that.

But what did she know about Sean, really? Next to nothing. He was so serious and stern again, she almost wondered if she’d imagined him smiling. If his laughter had been a mirage.

“What?” she asked.

Sean didn’t speak. Not until he’d crossed the room and opened the door to let himself out.

One foot outside the house, he finally said, “You can be the p-partner who packs heat.” His mouth twitched with a smile he didn’t quite allow onto his lips. “I’ll be b-back at nine, Leadfoot.”

Chapter Thirteen

It was 293 miles from Camelot to Buffalo, most of it a straight shot northeast along I-71 and I-90. Five hours in the car with Katie. Plenty of time to talk strategy about Judah. Plenty of time for the two of them to get to know each other better, now that they were talking.

Thirty-four miles in, and Sean already knew he was screwed.

Katie leaned forward to fiddle with the volume on his stereo. Her scent washed over him, fresh as a beam of sunshine.

He wasn’t going to touch her. Not today, not tonight, not ever.

“Wuh-wuh-why d-did you d-decide t-t-to sstart fffieldwork?”

Oh holy mother, that was bad. If every sentence that came out of his mouth was that much of a catastrophe, he would seriously have to consider going back to silence.

Katie had to have noticed, but there was no pity or disgust in her expression when she turned toward him, rising slightly in the seat to tuck her sock-clad feet beneath her butt. “Do you want the short, pithy answer people find comforting, or the long, painful one that’s actually true?”

“Wuh-we have t-t-two hundred ffifty nine miles to g-go.”

“So, the long one then?”