Chapter 4
I stood in the entryway, heart hammering. All that pep talk I'd given myself? Gone. Just pure nerves now.
"Pull yourself together, Delaney!" I hissed at the door. "This is research. That's all!"
But then I thought about that "Research Collection Plan" hidden in my suitcase and my face went hot.
God, what had I written? "24-hour close observation"? If Gideon ever saw those notes, I'd die on the spot.
The doorbell again, more insistent.
"Coming!" I smoothed down my loungewear, took a breath, and opened the door.
Gideon stood there in a black T-shirt and jeans, duffel bag over his shoulder. Out of uniform, somehow even more devastating.
The hallway light carved shadows across his shoulders, highlighting lines that seemed unfair to the rest of the male population.
My brain went straight into observation mode: That shirt fit like it was custom-made, the proportions absolutely— Wait. Stop.
"Ready?" His voice was warm, easy.
Seeing him like this—relaxed, casual—made my whole "observation plan" seem ridiculous.
This wasn't research. What I really wanted was...
"Need help?" Gideon spotted my suitcase and started inside.
"No! I've got it!" I blocked him, panicked he might see that notebook buried in my luggage.
He grabbed my suitcase with one hand like it weighed nothing. "Let's go then."
Let's go.
Two words. My pulse stuttered.
Gideon's apartment was downtown, way bigger than I'd expected. Clean lines, dark furniture, leather couch—total bachelor pad.
"Your room's upstairs." He set down my suitcase. "Let me know if you want to change anything."
I followed him up, taking it all in. Spacious living room, high-end kitchen, bathroom twice the size of mine.
"Fixed up the guest room for you." Gideon opened a door.
A queen bed, plants on the windowsill. Someone had put real thought into this.
"When did you do all this?" My chest felt warm.
"Last night after my shift." Like it was nothing. "Figured you should be comfortable."
God, he was thoughtful.
After dropping off my stuff, we headed back down. Gideon grabbed water while I sat on the couch, watching him move around the kitchen.
Broad shoulders, narrow waist, every movement efficient and somehow graceful.
How did pouring water look that good?
"What's on your mind?" He caught me staring.
My face went hot. "Nothing! Just spacing out."
He sat close enough that I caught his scent—clean, masculine, dizzying.
In the silence, Imogen's voice played in my head, along with that mortifying research plan in my suitcase...
"Can I ask you a favor?"
The words escaped before I could stop them.
"What kind of favor?" He gave me his full attention.
Those eyes. I forgot how to breathe. "I'm designing a cop character and need reference photos." My face burned. "Would you model for me? Just in uniform, a few poses, nothing weird—"
His eyebrow lifted, mouth curving into a smile that melted me. "Whatever you need. Happy to help."
Whatever I needed?!
I nearly choked. "Just professional shots, might be a little—"
"A little what?" He leaned in, close enough I could feel his warmth. "I'm a professional. Don't be shy."
His breath on my skin. My legs turned to jelly. How could I not be shy when he was this close?
"Just go change then." I swallowed hard. "I need to observe the details. Study how real officers move..."
Even I heard how flimsy that sounded.
But Gideon didn't call me out. Just nodded. "Ten minutes."
I sat frozen on the couch, heart racing as he headed upstairs.
Wait—would just watching be enough? What if I forgot details?
Imogen's voice: You need to experience real masculine energy...
Right. Photos. For reference. Character design. Totally legitimate.
I grabbed my camera with shaking hands. Pure research. Nothing more.
Ten minutes crawled by.
Footsteps on the stairs. Every nerve fired.
Gideon appeared in full uniform and my brain flatlined.
Holy shit.
Navy fabric molded to his frame. Badge gleaming. Utility belt low on his hips, showing off that build.
"Oh my God..." The camera shook in my hands. Detective G in the flesh.
"This work?" He walked over. "Need adjustments?"
I was about to pass out.
"No! Perfect!" I raised the camera. "Just stand there. Look serious."
Click.
Through the lens, he was devastating. Sharp, intense—everything I'd tried to capture but never could.
"Now look at me like I'm a suspect."
Click.
Natural. Every pose perfect. One thought screamed in my head: This is what Imogen meant.
"This angle's not quite right..." I bit my lip, gathering courage to close the distance between us.
For the work. For the authenticity of my character.
"Let me just..."
My hand landed on his chest, smoothing a wrinkle. God, solid muscle. His heartbeat raced under my palm—fast as mine.
"Delaney." His voice dropped, rough. "You sure this is just work?"
Busted.
"Of course..." Breathy. My hands kept moving, tracing his shoulders, his arms. Mind of their own.
"Okay." I stepped back. "Now an interrogation scene. Pin me against the wall."
Something dark flashed in his eyes.
He moved deliberately, backing me up until I hit the wall. Arms bracketing my head, caging me in.
"Like this?" Low. Intimate.
I tilted my head back. Close enough to see gold flecks in his eyes, count his lashes. His cologne mixed with something warmer, more primal.
This was going to kill me.
"Yeah... good..." Barely got the words out.
"Where's your camera?"
I blinked. Camera. Right. When had I—?
"I—"
He smiled before kissing me.
My mind blanked. His mouth firm, sure, coaxing mine open like he'd been thinking about this. Every kiss I'd written paled next to this.
"Gideon..." Between a gasp and a plea.
"Really into this research." He kissed my jaw, my neck, voice rough. "Want to keep observing?"
My knees gave out. I grabbed his shoulders to stay upright. "No more... observing..."
He lifted me, carrying me toward the couch. Just when I thought we'd cross that line—
