The Object of His Protection - Brenda Jackson [22]
He chuckled. “Fair enough. And to answer your question from earlier, about what I see in your hands…. One thing I found interesting is the fact you are a very passionate woman.”
A passionate woman? Who was he kidding? “If you say so.”
“I do and one day I intend to prove it to you.”
His ultimate goal, Drey thought, was to finish the investigation and make it possible for Charlene to return to her home—but not before he had taken her to bed. He glanced over at her, saw the way she avoided looking at him by keeping her eyes focused on the scenery outside the car window, and wondered what she would think of his plans if she knew them, especially the part about him sleeping with her.
He didn’t mind letting her know that he wanted her. It would be hard keeping something like that a secret anyway while they lived under the same roof. But she didn’t have to know she was at the top of his to-do list. He had given her fair warning, but for some reason she didn’t believe him.
He’d even left it up to her as to how she would handle him and the situation. However, for some reason she assumed she could keep sexual urges, tension and good old chemistry at bay by doing nothing and pretending they didn’t exist between them. What planet had she been living on most of her life?
Any hot-blooded adult knew the best way to handle red-hot lust was to work the person out of your system and move on, which was something he intended to do. He could handle her bouts of anger just as he would be able to handle whatever degree of desire she had the ability to whip up within him. As he had told her earlier, she was a passionate woman. Not only could he feel it in her hands, but he had tasted it in her kiss and he could even pick it up in her scent. The way he was doing now.
“Tell me about your family, Drey.”
Her words cut into his thoughts and he glanced over at her. For reasons unbeknownst to her, his family was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He brought his car to a stop at a traffic light, inclined his head and said, “How about telling me about yours?”
From her expression he could tell she hadn’t expected that. It was obvious she preferred not talking about her family, but since she had been the one to bring up the subject, he figured that eventually she would respond.
It took her a while and then she said, “My parents divorced when I was ten. I took their divorce hard until I realized they were happier living apart. Neither of them liked the idea of being single so they remarried quickly, and before you ask, no, not to each other. My mother is into her fourth marriage and Dad is involved with wife number three. I’m the only child they had together, but I have a number of stepsisters and stepbrothers.”
“And do you get along with them?”
She shrugged. “Most of the time. But then there have been occasions when they avoid me like I avoid them.”
She glanced over at him when he stopped the car to another traffic light. “What about you? Are you an only child?”
He thought about her question and decided to answer it the way he felt best. “Yes. My father was a cop. He died when I was in my teens. My mom is still alive and in good health.”
“How did your dad die?”
“In the line of duty,” he said, remembering that day so clearly in his mind.
“Sorry.”
“So was I,” he said automatically, noticing how his voice had lowered, how he still felt pain after all these years. And then he added, “We were close.” After saying those words he wondered why he had told her that. His relationship with his father had never been up for discussion with anyone other than his mother.
“Is that why you became a policeman?”
“Pretty much,” he said evenly, knowing that had been the reason. “Dad was a good cop and I wanted to be like him. I was on the streets a few years before I decided I didn’t want to put up with all the beauracacy that went along with it.”
“So you became a private investigator instead?”
“Yes.” He remembered how much Harmon had played into that decision