Armed and Fabulous (Lexi Graves Mysteries) (23 page)

“For a night with
a
sexy cop? No.”

"What do I wear to a not-a-date at home?" I asked.

"I feel a fashion show coming on."

Dear God.

Chapter Seven

Maddox turned up at seven sharp, strolling into my apartment as if he owned the place,
with
a bag of something delicious-smelling in his hand. Fortunately
,
I had just finished dressing in jeans and a silky
,
pale blue
top, my hair still tied in the ponytail
,
but this time
,
with a sparkly band
,
given the potential date-ness of dinner
.

"Come in," I said and he
grinned
.
He hadn’t changed. He still looked great.

"You should lock your door."

"The one
downstairs
was locked."

"No, it wasn't."

"Huh. Maybe Lily forgot."
I tried to summon up worry at that but couldn’t be bothered. Maddox was in my house. With food. That was infinitely more interesting right now. I would realign my priorities later.

"Remind her." Maddox paused, like he
was trying to decide whether he
should tack on another warning to that or not. Evidently
,
he decided for, because he said, "There are two killers out there and someone
else
with an interest in you."

"Is that why you're here? To look after me?"

Maddox smiled in that sexy way of his, the one that made my stomach flip and beckoned me to follow him to the kitchen.
It was a good job I hadn’t known he was undercover, or that he looked even sexier with stubble, or I’d never have gotten any work done at the office.
I padded barefoot behind
him
, eyeing the rear view. Very nice. He
said, "Next time someone walks in when you're not expecting it, it might be one of them, not me. Their intent might be the same as mine."

That flattened my daydream.
But then…
"And what's your intent?"
I
t came out a little more breathy than I intended. Maddox turned, stepp
ing
closer and my breath caught in my throat. He reached behind me, and for a moment
,
I thought he was going to wrap his arms around me, pull me in close and...
then he stepped back, two plates in hand and winked before moving around me to set the bag on the counter.

"I intend to feed you," he said.

Well, that worked for me too. I stood to one side and watched as Maddox unpacked the containers he'd b
r
ought and
served
them onto plates
. He was
opening my drawers and extracting
knives and forks
. "Do you have wine?" he asked.

"Red or white?" I'd made an emergency run to the supermarket
,
just in case. I also had
a new carton of
orange juice, coffee, eggs, mi
lk, croissants for the morning—
not that I
planned to ask
Maddox to stay the night, perish the thought, but you know, better safe than sorry
,
which was why I wore matching underwear and shaved my legs—and
fruit.

"Either."

I uncorked a bottle of red and carried it through the living room, al
ong with two wine glasses,
setting
them on the coffee table beside
the plates.
I was glad he’d chosen not to use my small
,
dining-for-two table because this seemed so much less formal.
Maddox scrolled through my iPod, set an album to play, and we sat side
-
by
-
side, eating the spaghetti marinara. It was companionable. Nice. My mother would have asked where the tablecloth was. And the candles. I resolved to buy candles.

"This is good," I said.

"It's my favorite take
-
out spot. Best Italian in Montgomery."

"Can't argue with that."

"You like Alessandro's? You went there earlier with your sister?"
he prompted.

"Uh-
huh. It's Serena's favorite, but I like it too. You ever been?"

"Sure."

On a date?
I wanted to ask, but I didn't. I tried to imagine Maddox in a suit and tie,
date smart
,
not office-wear
smart
,
clean
-
shaven,
smoldering
across the table from me
. I
had to stuff a forkful of pasta in my mouth
to mask my
sigh.

"You lick your lips anymore and you're going to lose them."

I hadn't realized
I was
doing it. "Just getting rid of the sauce," I mumbled.

Maddox leaned in, stopping just an inch or so from my face, and his eyes fluttered down to my lips, then back to my eyes.
When I didn’t move
,
but for a slight
est
parting of my lips, h
e closed the last little bit of distance, and his lips brushed mine, briefly
,
then again, longer, enough to make
my
blood rush as I leaned into him.

"Got it," he said and kissed me again.
T
his time
,
I was certain there was no sauce left.

Holy chick-a-bow-wow.

We finished our meal, talking mostly about food, and cleared
the plates.
When he sat
down again
, I poured another glass of wine for each of us. "What are you doing Sunday?" he asked.

"Nothing much." Traditionally
,
I went to dinner with my family, but since Mom and Dad retired, Mom
started taking
a bunch of adult ed' classes and that meant Sunday dinners moved to Thursday night.
For t
he past couple of Sundays
,
I
did
laundry and
tried to
enjoy my last hours of freedom before my Monday
-
to
-
Friday sentence at Green Hand Insurance began. Now that Dean
’s body
had been found, it
suddenly
occurred to me that maybe I didn't have a job anymore.
A fleeting moment of sadness passed through me. Also: poor Dean.
"What happens Monday?" I asked. "Now that Dean's been found?"

"
Next week I
'll announce Dean died over the weekend. Things will go on as normal for a while. We still have an investigation to run."

"And what about me?"

"Try not to break in anywhere."

It was my turn to
smile
enigmatically
. I stacked the plates and retrieved the tub of ice cream from the freezer, adding bowls and spoons to the counter before I pried the lid off.

"Here let me," said Maddox, taking the scoop and running it under warm water. He slid his arms around me and grasped the tub, cutting through the ice cream easily.

"Are you distracted?" I asked as his lips nuzzled my neck.

"No. Totally on the ball."

"You scooped ice cream onto the counter."

"Maybe a little distracted," he said, his hands spanning my waist before he turned me around
. My arms went around his neck
as he kissed me, slowly at first
,
then eagerly
when
I responded. "Sprinkles," he whispered.

"Do we
need
a safe word?"

Maddox laughed. "No, do you have any sprinkles?"

"No."

"Chocolate sauce?" he murmured against my lips.

"Kinky."

"For the ice cream."

"No. All out." But I'd definitely get some now. Sauce, that is.

"How do you live?" he asked a
s he
move
d me aside to clean up the spilled
ice cream and fill the bowls
. He
carr
ied
them back to the living room so we could curl up on the couch.

As it turned out, apparently non-date-dates weren't sacrosanct anymore.

Solomon turned up first
. He
stroll
ed
in
as
casually as
Maddox did and
we sprang apart like guilty teenagers who shouldn’t be snuggling on the couch. H
is eyebrows r
ose
when he
saw
the wine glasses, half-
empty
bottle and empty
bowls. "You should loc
k your doors," he
advised
me
.

I turned to Maddox. "That's your fault. You lecture
d me on keeping my doors locked
,
then
you
didn't lock the door."

"But I'm here," he pointed out.

"You're just relieved Solomon has honorable intentions."

"That'll never stand up in court," said Solomon, taking the armchair and looking pointedly at the wine.

"Would you like some?" I offered.
It wasn’t like he looked like he was about to leave.

"Please."

I got up to get him a wine glass, hearing them speak softly as I entered the kitchen. I was tempted to eavesdrop
,
given that it was my apartment and thus perfectly reasonable
,
but I decided that was probably rude. Also
,
I couldn't hear them too well.

I grabbed the glass and went back, hoping that I was interrupting and they would just continue
—they didn’t
. A
s
I set it on the table and poured for Solomon
,
I passed it to him and his fingertips grazed mine.
He took it with a nod and sipped.