Her Detective's Secret Intent. Tara Taylor Quinn

her old life, that had never happened. After all the counseling she’d had, she understood that the feminine part of her, the part that controlled things like budding sexual attraction, had been shut down by her father’s abusive treatment. Her defenses against men, against trusting men, had been acute ever since.

      And now?

      Now she had to have the conversation she’d set out to have. Regardless of how her belly flip-flopped and her crotch got warm as she watched Tad walk back to her.

      She thanked him for the coffee. Took a sip to distract herself while he sat down. No need for her to glom on to his fly while it hung there at eye level.

      This situation was not going to get out of control. She couldn’t let it.

      Wouldn’t let it.

      “I’m not looking for a relationship,” she said as soon as the sting of hot coffee subsided from her tongue. “No matter how I feel about someone, I’m not going to hook up, period. At least not until Ethan is older.”

      There. She’d done her deed. And if it meant he walked out of here and avoided her the rest of the months he was in town, so be it.

      All the better, really. Meant she didn’t have to be on her guard around him. Constantly fighting the insane need she had to feel his lips on hers.

      To know how his tongue felt against hers.

      When she and Jeff had conceived Ethan, they’d tried to kiss first, but had ended up laughing, instead.

      Tad was still sitting there. Studying her. “Good to know,” he said, leaving her with a strong desire to be privy to every single one of his thoughts.

      “You’re only here for, what, another nine months, at most?”

      No. That hadn’t come out right. As though, if he was willing to hang around, she might change her mind.

      There could be no hint of possibility here. No cracks in any doors or windows through which he might slip.

      “At most,” he told her. He’d leaned back in his chair, was sitting partially sideways so that one arm was on the table, the other hanging off the corner of his chair. As though he didn’t have a care in the world.

      But the way he watched her...assessing...made her nervous. Like he was seeing more than she could ever allow.

      This was a bad idea. Worse even than she’d feared.

      What if she let something slip? Some little nugget of a fact that made him curious...

      No.

      She stopped that thought, too. She was not going to let paranoia take over again. She’d won that battle. Wasn’t going to let fear and suspicion get close enough to have to fight them again.

      At least not if she could see it coming.

      Since returning to the table, Tad had contributed nothing to their conversation. If she wasn’t still humming inside from his admission that he was attracted to her, preceded by an apology for “crossing a line,” and followed by his backhanded admission that he wanted to ask her out, she might be able to convince herself that they had nothing to talk about.

      That she’d been worried for nothing.

      “I told Ethan we can be friends, the three of us, you and me, you and him, but that we can’t need each other for things. Or rely on each other,” she said in a rush.

      Half hoping he’d miss the “you and me” part of that. And yet fearing he would.

      “I’d like to be friends.” He rested both arms on the table again, and she could hardly comprehend how relieved she felt. Almost giddy with it. Like she had to laugh out loud. And maybe cry a little, too.

      “All three of us, me and Ethan and you and me,” he added.

      And she started to tremble.