Chapter Three

Troy watched Ruby move around his half-unpacked kitchen, her inquisitive gaze lighting on every surface, taking stock of the slightest details. His takeout menus, the brand of his whiskey. He doubted anything escaped her attention. She would have made a hell of an investigator, he thought wryly. Each time he spoke, Troy could actually see her weighing his words, searching for another meaning, discerning his tone.

Street smarts were probably a necessity for someone who made their living hustling people out of money.

The thought made him frown.

She took off her coat and hung it on the back of his dining room chair, once again revealing those long, jean-encased legs and low-cut black sweater. He’d nearly imploded earlier, watching her bend over in those jeans. Seeing the smooth skin of her lower back peek out just over the top each time. His mind had gone wild with the fantasy of unbuttoning those jeans, wrenching them down over her ass, and hauling her back onto his waiting erection. It had been the sweetest kind of torture, sitting aroused in the overcrowded bar, hoping for a glimpse of her cleavage, while at the same time, battling the urge to belt her back into her coat so no one else had the privilege of seeing her high, deliciously rounded breasts.

The way she’d so casually and efficiently divested the guy out of his money earlier still blew his mind.

Oh, she’d done it before. Many, many times. Troy had watched her opponent get progressively angry as the game wore on and luckily he’d been there to intervene.

Surely she wasn’t always so fortunate. He had a hard time believing the men she beat simply handed over their money once they realized they’d been conned.

He thought of the types of places she probably frequented looking for a game and inwardly cringed.

A girl who looked like her caused a stir merely by walking down the street, let alone in male-dominated pool halls. What she did on a regular basis couldn’t be considered safe by any stretch of the imagination.

She said she could take care of herself. To an extent, he believed her. But someone had introduced her to the world of gambling and he wanted to know who. It didn’t take a seasoned detective to see she was sharply intelligent and could probably do anything she wished with her life. Yet someone had encouraged her to become a professional liar instead. One who, as far as he knew, worked alone in a dangerous city with no one to step in if things went south. It made him uneasy just thinking about the possibilities. In his line of work, he knew all too well how quickly things could go to shit. The way they had with Grant.

As always, the thought of his ex-partner sent a feeling of discomfort hurtling through his chest. He’d been presented with too many reminders tonight.

First, watching Daniel and Brent interact in a way that reminded him of all too much of Grant’s antics.

Then again when Ruby stumbled on the picture in his wallet. But he couldn’t think about it yet. The pain of that fatal night months ago still felt fresh as though it had taken place yesterday.

He looked up to find Ruby watching him closely, as if she could read every single thought in his head.

Strangely, it comforted him, knowing he didn’t have to say the words out loud.

“Are you hungry?”

Ruby quirked a dark brow at his sudden question.

“You’re going to cook for me at one in the morning?”

“Have a seat,” he directed. After a moment of hesitation during which Troy suspected she was battling the urge to ignore his instruction, she pulled out a dining chair and sat, watching him expectantly.

“Omelet, okay?”

“Let’s see what you got, Chicago boy,” she responded, her lips edging up into a smile.

Troy threw an exasperated glance at her as he walked to the refrigerator to begin pulling out ingredients. “What tipped you off? The accent?”

Her smile dimmed a little, and he remembered.

In the picture she’d seen of him and Grant in their uniforms, Wrigley Field had been in the background.

Thankfully, she changed the subject. “What part of town are you from?”

“Oak Park. It’s a suburb just west of Chicago. You familiar?”

“I’ve been through Chicago once or twice,” she hedged.

“Really.” He pulled a Tupperware container out of the fridge and set it next to the carton of eggs. “Why do I get the feeling you weren’t there to catch a Cubs game?”

She ignored his question. “Are those prechopped peppers in that Tupperware container?”

Troy cracked an egg into a bowl. “Yeah.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Jesus,” he choked out. “How did we arrive here from prechopped peppers?”

Ruby pushed back her chair and stood, the poster child for nervous energy. “You must cook for girls pretty often to chop up peppers in advance, that’s all I’m saying. So if there are strings attached to that omelet, I don’t want it. No matter how good it tastes, the answer is no.”

“Actually, the peppers are for me.” He gestured with the spatula. “My mother is a chef back in Chicago.

It’s just something she always kept in the fridge, and I guess I got used to it.”

“Huh.” She sat back down and watched him cook the omelet. Once he’d finished, he slid it onto a plate and set it in front of her, then pulled out his own chair and sat.

“Who taught you how to play pool like that?”

The fork paused halfway to her mouth. “I see.

You cooked for me, so now I’m obligated to answer your questions.” When Troy simply waited, she sighed, muttering something about cops under her breath.

“My father.”

“And he approves of you going to these places on your own? Using the skill he taught you to take people’s money?”

“Approve?” She quickly swallowed her bite. “He encourages it.”

Troy’s hand flexed on the table as that infuriating piece of information sunk in. “That’s great. He knowingly sends you into dangerous situations. Sounds like he really cares about you.”

Ruby flinched a little at his sharply delivered words, and Troy desperately wished he could take them back. Her hand came to rest limply beside her plate, like he’d made her lose her appetite. When she spoke, her voice sounded different. Less confident.

And it sliced through him. “Maybe you’re right. But I don’t think he sees it like that.” She set her fork down, crossed her arms over her middle. “You’ve heard that proverb, teach a man to fish and you’ll feed him his entire life? Teaching me how to play pool was his way of feeding me for life. He didn’t, doesn’t, know any other way.”

Troy leaned forward. “Listen, I didn’t mean to say your father doesn’t care about you. I’m sorry if that’s how it sounded. I just don’t think hustling pool is the safest way to make money.”

Her chin came up, filling him with relief that he hadn’t completely shaken her self-assurance. “I didn’t come here for a lecture. We just met. You have no say in what I choose to do.”

“What did you come here for? You thought about taking off back at the bar. Searching for the quickest exit route. Why didn’t you blow me off?”

She smiled a little. “You’re one of the smart ones, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I am.” Troy took her plate and rinsed it in the sink, then turned toward the bedroom. “I’ll go grab you something to sleep in and get myself set up on the couch.”

He could feel the weight of her suspicious gaze on his back as he walked down the hallway.

Chapter Four

What in the hell am I doing here?

Ruby slipped Troy’s navy blue police department shirt over her head and stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. No one could accuse her of bein

g a scrupulous virgin, but she didn’t go home with strange men she’d known less than an hour. Ever. Especially a cop, for Christ’s sake. What would her father, who’d taught her how to identify, avoid, and evade the police, think about her standing in a cop’s bathroom, wearing department-issued paraphernalia? He’d probably never recover from his fit of laughter. As a lifelong gambler who’d introduced his only child to the lifestyle, Jim Elliott had never spoken about members of the police force with anything but disdain. She’d grown up believing they were the ones trying to keep money out of their hands and thus, food off their table.

So why was she standing there, hoping the bathroom door would open? Hoping Troy would stride inside and kiss the breath out of her. See right through her protests and take her to bed like she wanted. She didn’t understand it. The relentless tug in her belly.

The urge to fit her ass against his lap, wiggle her hips a little. Entice him into touching her. She’d been assailed by images of them together since they’d left the bar.

He’d put the first one in her head. Bent over the pool table with her hair wrapped around his fist. From there they’d spread like wildfire.

How come the hesitation to indulge herself, then?

She knew why. Troy didn’t strike her as one-nightstand material. Unlike her, he came from a good family. A prechopped pepper kind of family. His eyes held a trace of sadness, she suspected over the death of his partner. Even when he laughed, it still lurked there, a reminder of his pain. She shouldn’t care so much. Or be so curious to learn more about him. She should have already scratched the itch and slipped out the door as soon as he fell asleep. Only the thought of doing so left her cold. And dammit, if she left without looking back, she wasn’t so sure it would be easy to forget the drink-denying, omelet-cooking, blue-eyed detective.

She pushed the troubling thoughts aside and focused on the now. Since when did she do anything besides live in the moment? Later. She would worry about the stupid feelings knocking around inside her chest later. Hell, they’d probably cease to exist as soon as she managed to work Troy out of her system.