He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

her, before her face was ravaged. Confused and increasingly uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, she asked, “Why did you come here?”
    “I’m supposed to ask if you’ll speak to an FBI agent about your abduction.”
    She noted the tension in his jaw, the tightening of his fingers against the edge of the countertop. “Supposed to? You don’t want me to talk to him? Or her?”
    “Him. Of course I do. But I want you to speak to me first.”
    “Since I don’t want to talk to either of you, there really isn’t an issue, is there?”
    He shrugged and glanced around the kitchen. She looked around too, wondering how it appeared to the eyes of a stranger. It was her favorite room in the house—bright and sunny, with a soothing, creamy yellow covering the walls.
    It was an eat-in kitchen with plenty of space and a terra-cotta tile floor that perfectly complimented the color on the walls. She would have preferred it to open up into the living room like the newer houses—instead of opening into the foyer—but it was homey.
    She looked back at him and frowned, wondering why he wasn’t making any move to leave, not that she didn’t enjoy the view. Her fingers itched with the desire to touch him, and she hadn’t drawn a proper breath since he’d held her against him. The unfamiliar feelings made her uneasy and unsure of herself. She didn’t want to be attracted to him, not when the sight of him standing there so tall and strong reminded her of her own vulnerability.
    “Chief Richards—”
    “Logan.”
    She sighed. “I’m not trying to be rude, but if you came here to ask me whether I’m willing to speak to the FBI, you have your answer. Was there something else you wanted?”
    His gaze shot to hers, shocking her with its heat. Then he looked away and she wondered if she’d imagined that spark of attraction that had flared between them.
    “I should go.” He strode forward and reached for his jacket.
    “Wait.” His arm muscles jumped beneath her fingertips and they both looked down at her hand on his arm. She’d touched him without even realizing she’d done it.
    She snatched her hand back, already regretting that she’d stopped him, but good manners wouldn’t let her be so brusque. “Wait. Please. You were nice enough to help me with the trash, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me, concerned about my safety. The least I can do is offer you a drink. How does iced tea sound?”
    He studied her with those unfathomable dark eyes, and for a moment she thought he’d refuse her offer. Then he nodded. “Tea sounds good. Beer sounds better.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “Are you off duty?”
    The corner of his mouth tilted up in a wry grin. “As much as a chief of police is ever off duty.” When she raised her brow, he added, “One beer won’t impair my driving. Promise.”
    She crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles. “I hope this brand is okay. It’s the only kind I buy.”
    He looked at the label and that lopsided smile appeared again, making her wonder what he was thinking.
    “This will do.” He took both bottles from her, twisted the cap off the first one and handed the bottle to her. Then he twisted the cap off his and they both sat down at the table.
    When he tilted his bottle and took a drink, she was mesmerized by the sight of his throat working to swallow. She forced herself to look away and she searched for something to say to fill the silence. “I’m guessing you’re on your way home. Where do you live?”
    He set the bottle on the table and seemed to consider her question. “I was living in an apartment near the station, but as of this evening Cypress Hills is home. I’ve been renovating a house there. Other than finishing a downstairs half-bath, everything else is ready.”
    She was surprised a police chief could afford to buy a house in Cypress Hills. It was an affluent area, known for its beautiful wooded lots and gently sloping lawns. If she remembered correctly, most of the houses were set back on land that bordered a tributary with access to the Gulf of Mexico. “Cypress Hills. That’s a beautiful area. Are you doing all the work yourself?”
    “Most of it. I hired a roofer and an electrician. Other than that, I did the rest. It’s not the first one I’ve done, kind of a side hobby.”
    “You flip houses? You’re not keeping this one?”
    “I’ve flipped a few, made a nice profit. But the real estate market isn’t great right now and this house