Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Don’t get me started on her dress. It is black and tight and has an in-fucking-decent hem. The entire ensemble screams sex, but the lace top stockings peeking out from beneath her dress’s super short skirt make it downright dangerous.
“Your date…” I murmur to myself, suddenly cluing in as to why she’s dressed to the nines, and my tongue is hanging out of my mouth.
I completely forgot about her confession earlier today that she has a date tonight.
Macy and I make eye contact in the vanity mirror. She looks confident, yet uncertain. “Yeah. He’ll be here shortly to pick me up.” Her expression augments as her head flops to the side. “Unless you need me to stay.” Hope flares through her eyes, removing the suspicious glint they’ve not been without today. “Did Brandon’s report show anything?”
“No. Nothing yet,” I half-lie. We haven’t gone through the report yet because I was more worried about her fainting from graphic images of birth than the women I traveled across the country to help. “But you’ll be the first person I tell if we unearth something.”
Confident that I am now telling the truth, she mouths her thanks before she returns to running mascara over her already coated lashes.
I make out that I can wait for her to finish applying her makeup before using the restroom, and then I pivot on my heel and stalk away.
The glossy cover of What to Expect When You’re Expecting mocks me when I return to the living room. I believed I was racing in to save Macy from the fear of childbirth. I had no clue she was anxious about dating while pregnant.
“Bathroom’s free,” Macy says seconds later, practically skipping out of the room.
With my earlier lie forgotten, I slump onto the couch and pull across the laptop sitting left of the book responsible for another gray hair. It is a bureau-issued laptop, and it shows an email from Alex commending me for the speed with which I placed Macy on maternity leave.
His commendation isn’t far off the mark. She’s going on a date only hours after leaving her apartment after a long hiatus. That sounds like vacation time to me.
I mark Alex’s email as read as Macy returns to the living room. Her lips are super glossy with a recent sheen of lip gloss, and she boosted her height with four-inch stilettos.
“How do I look?” She twirls, making even me dizzy.
I shut down the initial wave of praise that forms in my head, settling for a comment more appropriate for a fellow agent. “Good.” I wet my suddenly bone-dry mouth. “You look good.”
Air rushes from her nose as she bobs down to gather a gun taped to the underside of the entryway table. “I was going for hot, but good works.”
Her eyes flick between her gun and her sparkling clutch purse. It will never fit, so with a sigh, she fetches her holster from the bedroom and then alters it until it’s the size of a garter.
I groan when she hikes up the skirt of her thigh-hugging dress far enough to expose that the lace on top of her stockings isn’t the only article of lacy clothing she’s wearing. She is also wearing black lace panties. Then I shift my hooded gaze to the floor.
Though I shouldn’t, my position as her superior officer frees me to say, “Do you often weapon up for a date, Agent Machini?”
Macy’s eyes shoot to mine. “Oh. No. Um. I just figured better safe than sorry.”
Her high tone piques my suspicion and gives me free rein to interrogate her like my cross-examination isn’t fueled by jealousy. “What’s the name of the man you’re going out with again?”
“Again?” She shoots me a riled look, her lips tugging into a salacious smirk. “I didn’t say his name.” A knock saves her from further interrogation by an agent skilled at making anyone slip. “But I promise to be back before curfew, Dad.” She marks the cleavage almost spilling out of her dress with a cross. “Scout’s honor.”
Unable to ignore her pleading look to accept the white flag she’s waving, I murmur, “Naughtiest-looking Girl Scout I’ve ever fucking seen.”
My mumbled comment brings back the smile she’d deprived me of for the past hour, and it sees Macy extending an olive branch. “I wrote the restaurant we’re attending, his name, and his social security number on the notepad in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I say, appreciative of the reprieve she’s giving my worry. I’m not usually overbearing with my friends, but Macy is one of the rare few female friends I have, so she gets the brunt of the burdens Cameron’s abduction dosed me with.
While she ensures the hem of her mini dress covers her gun but keeps her lace-top stockings visible, excitement blazes across her face. “Thank me when this date greases the rusty cogs of this...” Lines sprout from her nose as her words trail off, and then she waves her hand at a part of her body that I pretend not to know is covered by only tiny black scraps of lace. “No one wants to give birth with… it untouched.”