The End - Blackbird book 7

2

As he drove to the exit ramp, she found her eyes nailed to him. Not only his face. There was something about the way he steered the wheel, relaxed and in control... Gosh! Why do I find it sexy all of a sudden? Good thing they were only ten minutes away from South Boston. Keeping her libido in check got harder by the minute.

She tried to bribe her dirty mind by taking his hand on the gear lever. So she pulled the sling strap over her head and dropped it on her lap.

Brock shot a questioning scowl at her. She shrugged.

"I don't really need it anymore," she said. "But I'm supposed to use it until the doctor clears me for active service."

"If the doctor hasn't cleared you, you should keep it on," Brock replied, two plus two.

She chuckled. "Don't worry, Agent Brockner, sir. I don't need handling with care."

He glanced at her with only one eyebrow up. "Sir? Really?"

Her hand rested on his as her tone softened with a sigh. "He didn't clear me 'cause I didn't make the appointment for him to do so. I wanted to talk to you before going back to work."

Shit! How does he do it? How come I always end up telling him everything? Dammit! I really need to learn to keep my big mouth shut around him!

Her touch and her sigh defused any question or argument he might harbor. His brow cleared and he nodded. A minute later he noticed the silence. It wasn't thick, or awkward, but he sensed it wasn't the best moment to give room for Gillian's head to roam free.

"What was that about my tie and my suit?" he asked, as casual as he could.

An ironic smile pursed Gillian's lips. There he was, making conversation to distract her. Well, not such a bad idea after all. So she matched his casual tone.

"Your dark-red tie and your blue suit. My favorite of your outfits."

The idea of Gillian paying attention to his clothes had never even crossed his mind. He'd always assumed the words 'suit' and 'like' couldn't fit in the same sentence for her without a 'don't' in between. He stopped at a red light and looked down at himself.

"Red tie, black suit," he said. "Only one out of two."

She managed a scoff instead of a stupid fangirl giggle. "It's okay. This is my favorite of your black suits."

Gillian could tell his black suits apart? He drove on before the honks from behind made his surprise too evident—surprise! Why don't you just accept such an ego boost, Brockner?

She shrugged at his suspicious scowl. "I like these lapels better. The other suit coat's are too big. And looks like you slimmed down since you bought the other one. This one fits you better."

"Oh...?"

"But the blue suit looks best on you."

"With the red tie..."

"Yep."

"I'll keep it in mind."

She couldn't fight back the silly giggle anymore, because she knew he meant it.

"You shouldn't."

"I shouldn't?"

She shook her head, always smiling. "No. Unless you wanna be assaulted at some weird spot of the field office."

"You mean by you."

"Hopefully."

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head—well... Her open laughter made him smile. It was always so good, hearing her laugh. And that was the key, he thought. Gillian seemed focused on the physical side of—oh, just say it, Brockner! She's focused on having sex with you! Well, yes. It didn't matter how many things they might have to talk, she lingered on the sexual tension to lighten the stress of the whole situation. So the best he could do was playing along—aren't you a hero, always willing to sacrifice. He would've liked a nice, romantic dinner at home. And then take her by the hand to his bed, to hold her in his arms and make love to her in no hurry for as long as they were awake.

But that would only stir her fears. So he needed to break the ice some other way. Everything about her suggested that some teasing, detached sex would help her overcome her paralyzing fear. So no gentle, romantic lovemaking I'm afraid, Brockner. Not yet, at least. He controlled his impulse to rub his hands together. Because the idea made his fingertips tingle in anticipation. And his belly twitched in sympathy. Jesus, Brockner. Get a grip on yourself, please. But don't change the subject.

"Okay, let's make a deal," he said. "I'll wear the blue suit and the red tie only if you wear that tailored suit you wore last year in DC."

"What? You want me to wear a skirt to work?"

"And high heels," he replied, adamant.

"That's such a lousy cliché, Agent Brockner."

He glanced down at her legs and back at the street.

"What," she said.

"Let's say tight jeans don't make exactly a handy gear for an ambush. That is, if you mean to get anywhere before I fall asleep or starve to death."

Gillian tried to look shocked and ended up laughing out loud. Brock playing sex jokes was something she'd never imagined. And his matter-of-fact way to say it, as if they were discussing a case, only made it all so much funnier.