My Killer Vacation — Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Taylor

don’t even look at Myles when he arrives.I Continuing to stare straight out at the ocean, I point wordlessly toward the hill where I spotted the gun earlier, chin raised. As soon as I hear the evidence bag open and I’m confident he has found the weapon, I sail in the direction of Coriander Lane and our rental house. I’ve already texted Jude to let him know I’m heading home, though he probably won’t see the text for an hour. When the conversation interests my brother, the way it was at tonight’s impromptu get-together, he becomes thoroughly absorbed and forgets to look at his phone. It’s another one of the things I love about him. His ability to give someone his undivided attention and make them feel like they are the only human being left on planet earth.

Speaking of very few beings being left on earth, if Myles and I were the last people in existence, that would spell a very tragic end to the human race.

Not only does he refuse to eliminate me from his list of suspects, but his lack of gratitude is unspeakable. The only reason I didn’t call the Barnstable PD is my concern over their apparent unwillingness to look at anyone but Judd Forrester. Well, next time I discover a murder weapon, I am going straight to them. I’ve already mentally deleted Myles Sumner’s number from my phone. Poof. What bounty

hunter?

I can’tbelieve he called me Shaquille.

“Taylor,” says the bounty hunter from behind me. In his deep, dumb, sexy rasp. “You’re really going to ignore me?”

I don’t respond.

Take that, bucko.

“I act like an idiot when I’m worried,” he says, making me frown. “You’re right, I was worried about you. Can you

slow down now?”

If anything, I walk faster, alarmed.

I’m not sure about this…swooping sensation inside of me. It starts at my chest and scoops down into my stomach, moving things around. Things I wasn’t expecting Myles to jostle. I’ve never been jostled before and I am very wary about this man—who just poked fun at my childhood trauma so cavalierly—having that power over me.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the sensitive type. That’s one of the reasons I’m divorced.”

Oh,damn. Now I’m curious.

He’s divorced. This little nugget of information is like an untied shoelace. My fingers are itching to make a bow.

There is no use pretending I’m not dying to know more about this surly, antagonistic man, is there? A few

questions won’t hurt, as long as I’m casual about them,

right?

My steps slow down, ever so slightly.

“Well?” I cross my arms tightly over my boobs to offset my concession. “What are the other reasons you’re divorced?”

Behind me, he grunts. Silence stretches.

“Before I started bounty hunting, I was a detective.

Boston PD. Like my father and brother. It’s the family business.” He clears his throat. “My brother and I….we were spitballing about retiring early. Opening a private investigation firm. I was getting ready to file the paperwork with HR, but I wanted to tie up the Christopher Bunton case. A kidnapping. I…don’t know. This kid, the one who’d been taken, reminded me of a childhood friend. My best friend, Bobby. He was sick when we were kids. And he didn’t make it.”

I slow down a whole lot more, my arms dropping to my sides.

“Paul, the guy who hired me to do this job? We both knew Bobby. The three of us were best friends as kids and that’s probably why I felt…I don’t know. Responsible. When he called and asked me for help following up on Oscar Stanley’s murder.”

“Oh.” I let out an exhale that does nothing to ease the mounting pressure in my breast. “I didn’t realize. I didn’t think about how you knew Lisa’s boyfriend.”

“It’s fine. Anyway, this kidnapped boy looked just like Bobby. I got too invested. I stopped going home. This case…I was obsessed with it and that’s the kiss of death for

a detective. When you stop being objective and let your emotions start making decisions for you. And I fucked it up.

The case and the marriage.” He laughs, but there is no humor involved. “When I got home one day, the place was empty, like I kind of suspected it would be. Got the divorce papers maybe a month later. I’d been so checked out, I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d spoken.”

There are a lot of blanks to be filled into the story, but his curt ending tells me he’s said all he’s willing to say. “I can’t imagine you proposing to someone.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Because it’s a vulnerable moment.

Waiting for an answer.”

“You’re right. I don’t do vulnerable well. Or relationships.” Once again, the silence drags out. So long that I turn and look back over my shoulder to see if he’s still following me. And oh, he is. His intense eyes are trained on me in the darkness. “That’s why I’m just here to work the case, Taylor. Not chase you down the beach while you pretend to be mad.”

Caught between outrage and embarrassment, I whirl on him. “Pretend?”

Myles keeps coming. He walks until our bodies collide, pressing chest to thigh, his mouth hovering a breath above mine. “That’s right. I’m calling you out. You couldn’t be strutting that ass any sexier in front of me if you tried.”

Red bleeds in from the edges of my vision. “In other words, I’m asking for it?”

“I wouldn’t lay ahand on you without permission, Taylor.

You’re asking for it?” He shakes his head. “No. I’m asking

you to stop offering.”

“I’m not,” I murmur, trying so hard not to be turned on by how he surprises me. How he’s restraining himself despite the fact that his erection is spearing me in the belly.

“I’m not offering you anything.”

“Really?” he drawls. “Whose fingers are those

unbuttoning my jeans?”

Those would be mine.

I’m literally trying to twist the metal button free of its hole.

I draw my hands back like they’ve touched a hot stove.

Which isn’t so far off considering the heat radiating from his hard stomach. His mouth. Eyes. All of him. I’ve never experienced this. Irritation and lust at the same time. It’s itchy. It’s consuming—and most definitely misplaced. “Are you implying that I’m sending mixed signals? Because you’re standing here asking me to quit offering you…

physical pleasure—”

“Sex, Taylor. It’s called sex.”

“And yet, you stolemy hookup panties and almost kissed me this morning. Who is the one sending mixed messages?”

His jaw grinds so dramatically, I can hear it creaking, but he says nothing. “Going to bed with you would be a disaster. You have the emotional availability of a banana.”

“There it is. ‘Emotional availability.’” His expression shifts to smug satisfaction. “You see? You’re lying to yourself about wanting a hard, sweaty roll in the hay. You are a relationship girl. You are a spring wedding bridezilla

waiting to happen.”

My gasp echoes down the beach.

I shove at his chest, but I’m the one who ends up stumbling backwards, due to him being built like a Mack truck. He ends up steadying me by the elbow. “Take back

the bridezilla part.”

“The rest of it is true, though?”

“I never lied about wanting to settle down. There’s no shame in wanting a husband and a family and matching shirts at Disneyworld. If you remember correctly, I said I wanted the hard, sweaty rolls in the hay,as well. These things shouldn’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

Lord, the man appears to be chewing on burning plastic.

“Maybe they’renot mutually exclusive. But there is nothing about you that even…hints to a man that you’d like to be manhandled. Not remotely.”

My interest is piqued. I hate giving him the satisfaction of wanting to know more, but my gut tells me he’s on to something. Something I might not want to know, but could be valuable insight, nonetheless. “What does that mean?”

“It means you shocked the hell out of me and I’m a trained detective. You’re not giving off the…I don’t know.

Wildcat vibe?” Slowly, he begins to circle me. “When I saw you, my first thought was, she’s cute as a button. I’ve since amended that evaluation. A lot. But the men you’re hunting

for—”

“Hunting,” I snort.

“If they’re in the marriage market, they’re only half as smart as me. Atbest. You’re expecting too much from them.

All they see is the wholesome girl next door, like I did.”

“You’re saying I need different energy if I want to find a gentleman in the streets who also happens to be a freak in

the sheets. Do I have that right?”

Having completed his circle, he comes to a stop in front of me, opening his mouth and closing it, as if the conversation is getting away from him. “I’m saying you’re marriage material. I’m saying you are a girl who demands respect…”

“And none of thedisrespect I’m looking for.” Half in a daze, I turn and sort of float down the beach, considering the conversation from all angles. Is Myles right? Am I expecting too much from the men out there? How would they know I have a unique sexual appetite when I show up to my dates in a matching sweater set and sensible nude flats? “I’ve never gotten what I want in bed, not only because I don’t ask for it, but because the men who I choose to date…have resigned themselves to the predictable married life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with predictable. Youshould have predictable.”

“Oh.” Startled, I press a hand to my chest. “Are you still here?”

A dangerous light flashes in his eyes. “Yeah.” Spoken through his teeth. “I’m still here.”

“Shouldn’t you go evaluate the possible murder weapon?

I assume you’ll bring it to the Barnstable police once you’ve cataloged—”

“We’re not finished with the other conversation.”

“No, I think we are. You’ve given me a lot of food for thought.”

“You misinterpreted the food.” He jabs the air with a long, blunt index finger. “I gave you apples and you took

oranges.”

I stop walking and face him, doing my utmost not to notice the way his long hair blows around him in the wind, making him resemble a Scottish highlander on his way back from battle or something. “How did I misinterpret?

You’re telling me I’m too wholesome to attract men who will…be aggressive with me—”

“Taylor.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, a vein ticking in his temple. “Aggressive is the wrong goddamn word. I would kill a man for being aggressive with you.” He says something else under his breath that I can’t hear, but it sounds like,I’d kill him no matter what. OrI need to work on my putt. I can’t be sure.

“I’ve been going about dating all wrong. I’m giving off the cherished wife vibe and none of the sex kitten vibe. It’s all stuffed down under the surface. Like you said, men need things spelled out in thick red Sharpie. Meanwhile I’ve been using a pencil. Of course I’m drawing in all the Boring Bobs.” Mentally, I’m already making tweaks to my dating profile. I’m really on to something here. Reluctantly grateful for his input, I smile up at the bounty hunter.

“Forget the hookup panties, I need a whole hookup outfit.”

Myles stares at the spot I vacated long after I keep walking, hands partially raised like he’s trying to reason with a ghost. Why is his face so red?

I’m halfway up the stairs leading from the beach up to the rental house when Myles catches up with me. “I’m not sure I like what I’ve unleashed here,” he grunts, falling into step beside me, though his legs are so long, he has to take

two stairs at a time. “This is why I usually keep my mouth shut.”

“Do you?” I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I hadn’t noticed that trait.”

“It’s your fault,” he gripes, looking over at me. “Stealing guest books. Finding evidence. Forcing me to show up and see you.”

“Oh myGod. Apologies for the terrible hardship.”

“Yeah, well, it is a hardship when you always look so fucking beautiful and I’m trying to keep my hands to myself.” On the sidewalk in front of the house, he blocks me from walking any further. I’m not sure I could have, anyway, because his words have turned my legs to rubber.

“Forget what I said on the beach. Don’t change. Not your clothes or your vibe. There will be a guy eventually who

isn’t a complete moron and he’ll…”

“Pick up on my big sex kitten energy?”

Myles swallows. Loudly.

His huge hands slide up my hips and my breath catches, nipples tingling into points. It’s a waste of time to pretend I’m not attracted to him. I’ve been ignoring that fact for the last five minutes, distracting myself with new dating profile color schemes and now, when I’m looking him in the eye, I know why I needed that distraction. It hurts to be kept at arm’s length from him. I don’t know why. Don’t know how it’s possible when I just met him yesterday. But I had an instant awareness of him that I’ve never experienced with a man. Like there is a tiny but powerful magnet in my tummy and Myles is holding the counterpart.

“You pick up on my big sex kitten energy, Myles. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” he mutters gruffly, stepping forward to bury his nose in my hair. Inhaling. “God, yes, Taylor. You know I do.

But I can’t—”

“I won’t expect anything else from you.”

His head comes up fast. He searches my eyes warily.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…”

Whatdo I mean?

It’s all coming together now, as I look into this man’s face. This man who was a stranger this morning but now, by some crazy twist of fate and momentary bravery, is the only other person in this world who knows my secret. He might be mean and unavailable and slightly dangerous, but my secret feels safe with Myles. He talks about my plight in such practical terms—no judgments. On top of that, I’m very attracted to him, I’m on vacation and there is a pretty good chance I’ll never see him again after I leave the Cape.

Do I want to go back to my boring dating pool of beige prospects and settle?

Or do I want to go home to Connecticut and reach for more with the confidence I can only gain from experience?

Ignoring the ominous pang in my chest at the thought of not seeing Myles again, I curl my hands in the front of his T-shirt and savor the answering rumble in his chest. “Help me learn exactly what I want. And how to ask for it.”

He tugs me close by the material of my skirt and our laps meet, both of us biting our lips and exhaling unsteadily

over the contact. The unmistakable proof that he wants me.

“You’re the kind of woman who comes with strings, Taylor.”

“M-maybe.” I force myself to mean the next part. Really mean it. No matter what happens, I have to remember this man is not for me. Not for anyone. He’s made that clear and I won’t make the mistake of thinking I can change his mind. “I might come with strings, but I won’t attach any of

them toyou.”

A trench forms between his brows.

He opens his mouth to speak, closes it.

Then heat floods into his eyes, a dam visibly breaking inside of him, and I’m being thrown over his shoulder and carried into the house.