Opposites Ignite by Sadira Stone (crime books to read .txt) 📗

His heated gaze settled on her mouth. “I remember every detail, Rosie. Doubt I’ll ever forget.”

She clucked her tongue. “I mean, where were we when my sweater came off?”

His gaze skimmed her body, then he sighed and pointed. “I found it draped over the TV.”

“Great,” she chirped, her voice too loud and bright.

She knelt and peered behind the TV cabinet. “I can’t see. There’s something in the way.” A poster board covered with magazine clippings, drawings, and words stood sandwiched between the TV and the bookcase. She slid it out. “Here.”

Eddie snatched the cardboard and held it to his chest like a shield. A cutout image of a barstool fluttered to the floor. She reached for it, but he stomped on it as if a sudden gust might whisk it away.

Touchy, aren’t you? Ass in the air, she shined her phone light into the void. “Project for your business classes?”

“Sort of.” His footsteps crossed the room, then a cabinet door closed.

“Top secret, huh?” She glanced over her shoulder. His gaze was riveted to her butt.

“Find anything?” he asked in a strangled voice.

“No, damn it.” She sat back on her heels and formed an O with her finger and thumb. “It’s about this big, a gold hoop with tiny diamond dangly bits.”

Their eyes met and held. Eddie giggled first. “Dangly bits?”

Her cheeks heated as she scrambled to her feet. “I can’t help it. I’m searching the place where we—you know. My mind goes to naughty places. I have ADD, so I tend to blurt out whatever’s on my mind.”

He hooked his thumbs into his belt, framing his own dangly bits. “Convenient excuse.”

An icy wave swamped her. No way could she let that remark slide—not if they had any shot at friendship. Jaw tense, she pushed to her feet and planted her fists on her hips. “You know, all my life people have called my condition an excuse. It’s not. It’s the way my brain is wired.” She peered around the bedroom side of the bookshelves. If she focused on her search, maybe he wouldn’t see the anger and disappointment twisting her features.

His hand fell on her shoulder. “Hey.”

She shook him off. “Maybe it’s under the bed.”

“Rosie, come on. Look at me. Please.”

Swallowing a jagged lump, she turned to face him. Curse those sad puppy eyes.

He spread his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He shuffled closer. “For the record, I like the way your brain is wired.”

Her eyes misted over. Damn it to hell and back.

He stroked her arms from shoulder to elbow. “You’re bold, and funny, and brave. And apparently, you’re a great artist, though I’ve never seen your work. Why is that?”

Because my art is everything, and if you don’t like it, I can’t like you anymore.

She knew she was being silly and way too sensitive. After all, he was just a work friend—aside from one steamy night she’d never forget. Her future didn’t hang on his opinion.

She squared her shoulders. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Expressions chased each other across his face: confusion, understanding, devilish delight. Taking her elbows, he drew her closer, until their bellies brushed. “I thought you didn’t want to, but Rosie—”

She placed her lips beside his ear and whispered, “My artwork for whatever you’re hiding in that cabinet.” She gave his chest a playful shove. “But first, help me find my sister’s earring. Otherwise, I’m a dead woman.”

He slumped for a moment, then straightened and pasted on a nonchalant grin. “On it.” He searched beneath the bookshelf while she checked the bathroom.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” She scratched her head and glanced at his bed. “Guess there’s just one last place to look.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Right. Here we go.” He stripped off the beautiful red and blue quilt and shook it out before folding it and setting it on the antique cedar chest.

Bit by bit, they stripped off the bedclothes. Nothing. Ditto underneath the bed. Rosie sank onto the bare mattress and dropped her head into her hands. “The family fuck-up strikes again. I’m gonna have to eat so much shit over this.”

The mattress dipped as Eddie sat beside her and rubbed soothing circles on her back. “You’re not a fuck-up, Rosie. You’re amazing. And if your family kicks you out over an earring, you can come live with us.” He leaned his cheek onto her shoulder. “Babka would love that.”

“Must be great to have such a supportive family.”

He didn’t answer, just slid his arm around her waist and sighed. For a long, irresponsible moment, she soaked in his warmth.

Suddenly, he bounced to his feet. “Wait a minute. I once lost a book here. Grab that corner.” He pointed to the foot of the mattress.

They yanked the mattress down, then dashed to the gap between the box spring and the headboard. A glint of gold winked.

“Oh, thank God!” Rosie snatched it up, threw her arms around Eddie’s neck, and peppered his face with kisses.

“Hey now. Let’s take a breath.” He grasped her hands and stepped out of her embrace. “I thought we were aiming for just friends.”

Disappointment feels just like needles. She’d never thought of it that way until this moment—not the buzzing sting of tattoo needles, but those big-ass needles they use for flu shots—a sharp pinch, followed by a dull ache. All she wanted to do was kiss Eddie silly then tumble onto his naked bed and re-enact their New Year’s surprise. But she was the one who erected that boundary, and he was honoring it. Like a real friend.

Breathe. Let it go.

Eddie squeezed her hands before dropping them. “Look, I know I’m not your type.”

Did she even have a type? A quick mental scan of her dating history didn’t reveal any particular pattern. There were tall guys and short guys, buff guys and skinny guys, younger, older, even a few girls. None of them had ever lasted more than a couple months. And that was just fine with her. After her first clichéd heartbreak in her senior year of high school—dumped