Criminal Instinct by Kelly Lynn Parra Page A

now.
    “You don’t say,” he murmured.
    No rag. No napkins. She picked up a T-shirt that lay on the floor, then reached up awkwardly, dabbing at his sweater. Of course, the material was probably something like cashmere.
    Hesitant, she looked up. There was a gleam of humor in his eye as that tongue that had danced in her mouth last night, flicked out, licking a dot of whipped cream from his lip.
    Ana took a slow breath, deliberately trying to ease her nerves. She studied the mess on his sweater. Splotches of cream seeped into the fabric. He would make her pay for this, no doubt. Her eyes veered to the tan skin exposed by the V of his pullover. Below his throat a few curling hairs lay against his chest. She’d never been too fond of hairy chests. Saven had just the right amount.
    “I’m sorry, really,” she said. “I didn’t mean to ruin your sweater.”
    “I’ll know next time not to surprise you like this.” His tone was easy-going. He took the makeshift rag and cleaned himself, as if being spit at happened to him regularly. “Don’t worry, it’ll clean.”
    She stared at him. He seemed to be taking the incident in stride. Weird. Not the reaction she was accustomed to from people with money.
    “What is it?” he asked. “Do I have more cream on my face?”
    Despite her tight nerves, she forced a smile. “No. You’re just lucky whipped cream is all I have. After sundown, I’m holding pepper spray.”
    He eyed her can. “I believe you. Can I come in?”
    Reluctantly, Ana stepped back. Alone with Jonas Saven again. Great. She went to her boom box and turned off the music.
    “Prince,” he said, as he closed the door at his back.
    “Yeah. He always makes me want to hit things. So I listen to him when I work out.” Actually one of the girls from the group home absolutely loved Prince, and the guy’s music had eventually grown on her.
    “Ah.” His lips twitched.
    Her cell phone rang. She strolled over and grabbed it off the milk crate. Sarge.
    Not now.
    She flicked her phone to silent and set it back on the crate, then surveyed Saven as he in turn observed her none-too-clean room. His expression was bland. She didn’t own much: a bed, an ugly green chair and a beat-up circular table she’d found at a garage sale to eat her meals on.
    She shifted her weight to her right foot, whipped cream still in her hand. On her left, she moved her thumb over each knuckle, searching for one to crack. For the first time in her life, she felt embarrassed by how someone might think of the way she lived.
    Saven was way out of his element here. Last night in his posh office, he’d looked part of the surroundings, sleek and polished. She worked the streets most of the time and hadn’t had the time or the energy in the last few months she’d lived here to fix up the place. As a rule, she couldn’t care less what anyone thought of her home. Why should anything change now? She’d take this place over a nine-by-nine cell any day.
    “So, what brings you here?” she asked, taking the dirty shirt from his hands and throwing it and the whipped cream bottle—oops—in the corner with the rest of her dirty laundry.
    He turned to her, his eyes traveling to her chest. Following his gaze, she realized she still wore her pajamas. A well-worn white cotton tank stuck to her breasts with perspiration, not leaving much to the imagination. She wasn’t really stacked enough in the chest department to care how much showed, but her tracker rose slightly under her skin, and she crossed her arms. Usually she had any evidence well covered, but with her tank so thin, she worried he would notice.
    “If you’re here for a continuation of last night,” she said, “you’ve wasted your time.”
    He searched her face. “You disappeared on me.”
    “Nothing gets past you, does it?”
    His eyes flickered with annoyance. “Cut the attitude, Ana.”
    “There is no attitude,” she lied, looking away. “How did you find me?”
    “The address