Brewed Awakening by Cleo Coyle

Author:Cleo Coyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

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• • •

A short time later, I was back in the big corner bedroom. Astonishingly, the detective was sleeping right next door. That had taken some angling.

“I have EMT training,” he told Matt. “I should be closer to her in case she needs help. And, Clare, you should leave your door open. I’ll do the same.”

“Then I’m keeping my door open, too,” Matt proclaimed. “Don’t try anything cute, Quinn. Remember, you’re no better than a stranger to her.”

“Yes, I know.” He turned to me. “Don’t worry, Clare. I won’t touch you unless you need medical help—or you ask me to.” This time Mike Quinn slipped me the wink. “Okay, Allegro?”

Matt’s grunt was his version of approval. (Clearly, he hadn’t seen Quinn’s wink.) Then we all retired to our assigned bedrooms.

Before long, I was burrowing under the covers, trying to keep warm. The house was still chilly, and I was restless. Turning over, I faced the gas hearth, though it didn’t offer much heat.

Like the rest of this place, it was set up for show more than substance, which, come to think of it, sounded like my ex-husband’s second marriage.

Staring into the dancing flames, I tried to imagine what a relationship with a man like Detective Quinn would be like. I could see he was intelligent, mature—and he even got my jokes. He also clearly cared for me; or, at least, the “me” I used to be. But he was so obviously repressed, so stiff.

He seemed surprised when I asked about our sex life. His quiet nod was unreadable—and he certainly didn’t want to prolong the discussion. Then again, my hostile ex-husband wasn’t far away. Who could blame the guy for wanting to prevent World War Three?

Still, this match seemed odd.

Detective Quinn was so different from what I was used to. Where Matt was hotheaded and passionate, the detective seemed calm and deliberate. Was he like that in the bedroom, too? Was there any heat under that cool blue exterior? Or was he just a big human version of this McMansion fireplace?

I couldn’t deny I was curious to find out. Certainly not tonight, and not in this house, but Matt did say physical stimulation might help my memories, and who was I to stand in the way of a neurological experiment?

Turning over again, I stared in the direction of the open bedroom door. The woods outside were dark and quiet, the house like a tomb, save for a distant, rhythmic rumbling. It was Matt. He was already asleep, snoring up a storm.

Well, I’m glad someone is getting some shut-eye.

With our host unconscious, an imp in me considered tiptoeing into the next bedroom. I had more questions for Detective Quinn—and I couldn’t help wondering what the man looked like out of his bureaucratic blue suit.

With a sigh of frustration, I grabbed a pillow to hug. I didn’t have the nerve. What would I say to the man? “Hi, Mike, just passing through.” Even worse, what if he misinterpreted my arrival

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