Page 25 of Lock ’N’ Load

She shouldn’t ask but couldn’t stop herself. Must be the alcohol lowering her inhibitions. “Are you an alcoholic?”

“No.” A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, softening the hard, rugged planes of his face.

“Then why d-don’t you drink?”

That got her a full-fledged smile, and her heart skipped a beat. “What’s with all the personal questions?” he asked.

Honestly, she didn’t know. Especially given her long-standing proclivity to social awkwardness.

“Tell you what,” he said, leaning back, stretching his long legs out under the table until one of his boots touched her bare foot. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine. Deal?”

Uh-oh. What had she gotten herself into? But she still wanted the answer to her question. “Deal. You first, though.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Not drinking is a personal preference.”

“Have you ever had a drink?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you had a drink?”

His eyes darkened, and she sensed a subtle shift in his demeanor. “Twenty years ago. When I was sixteen.” Then he grinned, and again her heart did some weird, skittering thing. “That was three questions, by the way. My turn. Why do you only stammer when you talk to me? You don’t do that with anyone else.”

“That’s not t-true,” she said with a huff.

He nodded. “It is, from what I’ve seen.”

Poofy stalked into the kitchen, meowed, then sat at Matt’s feet, staring up at him.

“Angora?” He held out his hand for Poofy to sniff. “Male?” She nodded. “He’s beautiful.” The cat stretched to reach his fingers. A second later, the hair on the back of Poofy’s spine stood up, and he backed away with his tail in the air. Matt laughed, revealing an even set of white teeth. “He smells Sheba.”

“Poofy’s never seen a d-dog.” She bent down to scoop the cat up. Still leaning over, her gaze met Matt’s, only he wasn’t looking at her face. His eyes were focused lower. Following his gaze, she caught sight of her tank top gaping open. Even though she was wearing a bra, from her vantage point and his, the wisp of fabric barely covered her breasts.

Tugging Poofy closer, she used the cat like an Angora pillow, covering her nakedness. She wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there until Groundhog Day.

Suddenly adjusting his position in the chair, the corners of Matt’s lips lifted infinitesimally, which only accentuated the sexy five-o’clock shadow she’d noticed earlier on his chiseled jaw.

“So,” she said, scratching Poofy’s ear vigorously to hide her embarrassment, “what did you want to t-talk about?”

“Two things. Mainly, about you.”

“Me?” She stilled her fingers on Poofy’s scruff. “Why?”

Canting his dark head, he stared at her, and it took every ounce of restraint not to squirm beneath the intensity of his chocolate-caramel-coffee-brown eyes. Light from the small chandelier over the table glinted off his hair, which was darker than she’d realized. It was nearly black.

Like midnight.

“I came here to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” She thrust out her chin and touched her neck. “See? No Band-Aid. Our c-conversation is over, so now you can leave.”

He arched a brow. “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

“Then you’ll have to be more specific.” Don’t you dare say anything about that kiss.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me what you’re working on.”

She gave him a duh look. “Not unless you’ve got TS/SCI, and you’ve been read into the program.” As a CIA cop, he had to know that unless he had top secret clearance, plus the Sensitive Compartmented Information ticket on top of that, she could never discuss her work with him.