I will not think naughty thoughts.
“You got lucky,” he said. “Looks like it’s just a first-degree burn. No blisters.”
Lucy nodded, unable to speak. She took another sip of water because her throat was suddenly dry.
“Did I mention I like the lace tops of your stockings?” He tickled a finger over them.
“Evan,” she warned, but it came out shaky.
They stared at each other, and the silence was flammable. She could sense the heat of his body and wanted to snuggle against him. But she had a feeling he wasn’t the cuddling kind. He was more the nail-you-against-the-wall kind.
Lucy was so damned tempted.
He got back to his feet in a quick, lithe movement that belied his size, and the spell between them was broken. Coming back with a cold compress, he handed it to her. “Cool it down with that and then we’ll put some aloe vera gel on it.”
“You seem pretty stocked up for this.”
Evan shrugged. “Burns happen.”
Lucy awkwardly pressed the cold washcloth to her leg, and she had to admit it did feel better. Evan got himself a beer out of the fridge and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, looking at her as though she was a puzzle he had to figure out.
“What were you guys doing out by the train station so late?” she asked.
“Patrolling.”
Lucy shook her head. “I thought you’d had enough of that when you were a cop.”
He shrugged. “It’s necessary.”
“Do you do that every night?”
“Off and on,” he said. His phone rang, and he picked it up without taking his gaze from her. “Good. Drive it over here.” He hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket. “Got your purse back. Warden is going to bring your car over.”
Warden, as his name implied, used to work in the prison system. Lucy didn’t know him well, but she had seen him around the bar a few times.
“Wow, that was quick.” Lucy wondered if these guys ever slept. “That’s so nice of him. Do you need me to go down to the station house and make a statement?”
Evan gave a short laugh. “No. I told you. No cops.”
“What’s going to happen to the mugger?” Lucy couldn’t figure Evan out. He was just going to let the guy go?
“Don’t worry about it. He won’t be bothering anyone for a long time.”
“Evan,” she said warningly, “what did you do to him?”
“Nothing,” he said, and snagged the bottle of aloe vera off a shelf. “I was here with you the whole time.”
This time when he sank to his knees in front of her, she couldn’t kid herself into thinking there wasn’t any spark between them. He pushed her knees apart, and when she looked down at his hands, she jumped and bit back a scream.
He frowned. “Did I hurt you?”
Her heart was galloping in her chest. “I forgot about your tattoo,” she said through gritted teeth.
The tattoo was a very lifelike black widow spider. She abhorred spiders. They terrified her. Seeing that tattoo was like dunking her entire body in ice water. One frightening—silly, really—experience when she was a kid had, over the years, become an embarrassing but real fear she couldn’t shake.
“You ever think about getting a tat, Counselor?” He eased between her legs and poured some gel over his fingers.
She began to speak, but flinched for a second when the gel touched the burned area. On the second try she got out, “What makes you think I don’t have one?”