Taking a deep breath, I leaned back. His arm was right behind my neck. Not a second seemed to pass before his hand found its way to my shoulder. “Do . . . do you think he’ll marry again?”

“Probably.” He grabbed his glass, taking another drink. I’d completely forgotten about mine. “I think the worst thing, though, isn’t the fact that he’d stick his dick in anything that walked, but that he constantly lies about it, even when he’s caught. I don’t get that. Never will. Anyway,” he said, drawing out the word with a grin that didn’t reach the beautiful eyes I had such a hard time capturing. “So what have you painted lately?”

Holy shit, was he a mind reader? Blood flooded my cheeks as I searched in my head for something that didn’t include his face. “Um, well I’ve been doing a lot of landscapes. Beaches. Gettysburg. That kind of stuff.”

Good answer, Roxy!

His gaze tracked over my face, almost like a physical caress. “You still painting for Charlie?”

Of course, he’d remember that. Nodding, I wasn’t surprised when the familiar sadness washed over me as I thought of all those paintings hanging on his wall.

The hand on my shoulder tightened. “So when are you going to paint something for me?”

“When you become my official pool boy,” I retorted.

He stared at me. “You don’t have a pool.”

“I know. So it’s when I get a pool and you become my official pool boy.” I grinned. “You think I’m kidding.”

Tipping his head back, he laughed deeply as he used the hand on my shoulder to tug me over to him. One second I was leaning into him, and the next I was on my back, my head resting in his lap, and all I could think as I stared up at him was that was one hell of a smooth move.

“Did you learn that move while training to be a cop?” I asked, breathless.

“Yeah, they teach that special kind of takedown in the academy.” His thick, dark lashes lowered as he settled a large hand on the curve of my hip farthest from him. “Couldn’t wait to use it on you.”

I smiled up at him as my heart started jumping around in my chest. The hand on my hip seemed like an unconscious thing to him. “I feel honored.”

“You should.” Using his other hand, he carefully brushed a strand of hair out of my face. Something about what seemed like an absent-­minded touch sent my heart careening. As his lashes lifted and all I could see were brilliant blue eyes, I knew in that moment that being satisfied with just a hookup here and there was going to be really hard.

Before I could really dwell on that realization, he spoke. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” I wished he’d ask if he could kiss me. That would’ve been a resounding yes.

The hand on my hip shifted and his thumb smoothed over the hem of my cami, and I shivered. “What were you thinking when you threw that book, Roxy?”