Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 36

"I'll get my mom on it. She never turns down a little sleuthing." He digs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "She's the artistic one in the family, not counting my nephew. It skips a generation or some shit."

Whoa. Did he just admit there's something he's not good at? "Honestly, I don't have much of an eye for art. But I'm trying." "It's a good start, Miss Hopper."

"Salem," I say.

His blue eyes become glinting stars, brighter than ever.

Wow. When he's not scowling fit to ruin his face, when he looks warm, he brings me back to that night.

The transformation shocks me. He suddenly looks like a man whose company I might enjoy.

"Salem," he repeats, testing the word like he's tasting it in his mouth, savoring the flavor like melting chocolate.

Holy hell. It's more intimate than I expected, more than any time he's said it before.

"Anyway." Back to work things. "I should have the reports for you pretty soon."

"Cool. Looking forward to it." He gives the screen a quick glance. "Don't work yourself to death. I don't need them immediately. I also don't need you burning your evenings here and missing time with your son."

My throat tightens.

Yeah, this other Patton is definitely worse. I have no idea what to do when he's making himself so hard to hate.

"It's cool. I'd rather get this done."

"Only if you're pacing yourself." He pushes off the wall, ready to leave

—and about time, too, seeing as this is the longest we've ever spent in each other's company without plotting mutual murder.

It does nothing for my state of mind, especially his eyes, so dangerously close to the looks he gave me when we—

No.

Then I hear him sigh and he stops, turns, and looks at me again.

"Listen, there's a group from out of town hanging out at the rooftop bar if you want to clock out early," he says. "You know, real estate agent types. I said I'd stop by and talk to them. The bar's open and comped if you want to finish up early and relax with a drink."

"Um, thanks. But I said I wanted to get this done before the weekend…"

The warmth leaves his face and his eyebrows pull down. Ah, yes, Grumpybutt returns.

I'm a little relieved.

Arlo definitely hasn't mastered subtlety yet. Patton's face darkens.

Any hope for him stomping off disappears and so does my composure. "That's not—um, I mean, I didn't put it up to poke fun. It's not meant to

be offensive…" God, I'm cooked.

I pin my lips together, lacing my hands at my waist, doing my utmost best not to burst into anxious laughter.

"Very unprofessional, Salem Hopper," he finally says. And I lose it.

Not just a little bit, either.

Not the delicate lady-laughs I bet he's used to hearing from his colleagues and friends and even dates.

This is ugly donkey laughter that makes my face hurt.

Stop, stop.

Of all the things to laugh at, this is so not the one. But the mixed shock and horror curdling his face is too much to take without dying.

"Arlo's shameless when he gets stuck on something. I'm sorry he doesn't like you much," I manage, unremorsefully pinning the blame on my son, though I was the one who hung these pictures up.