Цитаты из книги My Killer Vacation

“Going to bed with you would be a disaster. You have the emotional availability of a banana.”

I might be dominating her, but she’s owning me.

Taylor’s car is here, along with two other ones I don’t recognize. I already hate whoever is driving them.

“Looked like a sea nettle. Unless he’s allergic to the venom, it’ll just hurt for a couple of days,” says the instructor. “He should be fine.”

“Physically, anyway,” Jude says, dazed. “I’ve been peed on, though, so…mentally? This calls for vodka.”

With a stomach full of broken glass, I return to the motel, determined to go over my case notes and plan my next moves. Not think about shit like red lace panties and women who cry over children being nice to each other.

Do your job and go home.

You’ll forget her eventually.

Like in a hundred years or so.

Maybe.

Not even a little bit.

Fuck.

Bright and early tomorrow morning, I’m going to the local sex toy shop.

Needs must.

I must.

There is no way I can make it another five days without an orgasm after being driven so thoroughly to the edge. I’m going to buy the newest model they’ve got with all of the bells and whistles and then I’m going to take it with me on the longest clawfooted bath time in history. Tomorrow morning, this vacation truly begins.

My hips press unconsciously to the island, goosebumps rising on my neck. Down my arms. Dear Jesus, how late does this sex shop stay open? I swear if I get there and the doors are locked, I’m going to cut a hole in the ceiling and rappel in like James Bond.

This is it. My chance to sneak out to the sex shop. I’m going to walk straight in there and ask for the vibrator with the earthquake setting.

“If you’re sneaking out behind Mad Myles’s back, I’m coming with you, though. Just to be safe.”

“I’m going to buy a vibrator,” I blurt.

“Cool.” He limps over to the counter and scoops up his keys, waggling his eyebrows at me when the roar of the motorcycle engine recedes into the darkness. “I’ll grab a drink at the closest bar while you browse.”

What am I going to do about this woman?

Taylor leans down to refill my coffee mug and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to take the pot out of her hand, set it down and pull her into my lap. In fact, I’m pretty goddamn positive it would feel like the most natural thing in the world.

When we first met, I decided she was the relationship type, the settling down kind.

Not for me.

She was not for me.

Somehow I know I’ll never have another woman on the back of my bike besides Taylor. She’s the last.

No matter what happens.

How dare I want to track down everyone who might hold her hand in the future and lock them in the lion cage at the zoo? And watch them be devoured while they scream for help?

I don’t have that right.

I have no rights to her.

I don’t know if it’s possible to fall in love with a man in four days. But if it is, I think I’ve just soundly accomplished that feat with Myles Sumner. And there’s no more pretending I’m not heading for a very steep fall.

I’ve gone from wrestling convicts to the ground, dodging gunfire and nursing injuries in motel rooms to holding this woman’s hand on an ice cream date. How in God’s name did I get here?

When we walk into the ice cream shop, I barely resist the impulse to shout, “Everything. Give her one of everything.” I want to buy her a scoop of each flavor. Hell, I want to buy her the whole fucking shop and hang a sign on the front with her name on it.

“You’re very quiet,” she remarks, her tongue dragging around the butter yellow scoop, slowly, making my fingers tighten around hers. “Are you thinking about the case?”

“Yes,” I say, too quickly.

God forbid she finds out I’m scheduling imaginary fertility doctors.