Secret Light Read Online Free PDF Page B

made
    their way to the foyer, but in the end, Rafe only inclined his head, ever so slightly, in
    dismissal.
    “You’ll let me know if anyone gives you any more trouble?”
    “I will. Thank you for your concern, Ben.”
    Once they reached the door, Ben turned. “It’s possible I’m a damned poor detective,
    but I’ve been in your home twice, and I haven’t seen a single photograph. You’re here
    alone on a Saturday night. There was one plate, one cup, and one fork in the sink.”
    “So I haven’t done my dishes yet.” Colman thrust his hands into the pockets of his
    trousers. “I don’t believe that’s a crime.”
    “Everything here”—Ben indicated Rafe’s living room—“is like movie set or an
    elaborate doll’s house. It feels cold. I guess when I met you, I thought you might be
    lonely.”
    “I see.” Rafe was unreadable. In the face of his indifference, it was plain Ben had
    come to an erroneous conclusion. Still—Rafe hadn’t moved. He hadn’t reached out to
    take the knob in his hand, hadn’t conclusively opened the door to usher Ben out.
    Ben’s heart contracted with fear, and his mouth went dry. If he was wrong about
    this… If he was reading things incorrectly—if he had Rafe Colman all wrong—there
    could be terrible consequences.
    Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
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    “I just thought…” He turned and oh so casually brushed Rafe’s forearm with his. It
    was the lightest touch a big man like him might deliver, and he was aware of every
    minute detail. Even through his suit jacket, he felt the warmth of Rafe’s body. When the
    bare skin of their wrists connected, the touch was so electrifying he nearly gasped.
    Surely Rafe must feel that ? He let his hand linger for the briefest second, just enough for
    his little finger to brush Rafe’s, a seemingly accidental curl and slide along the skin, and
    gone.
    The entire business was over in less than a second—just long enough for someone
    with experience, someone like-minded, to take his meaning and make a choice.
    Ben watched Rafe’s face carefully, discovering to his dismay that he’d been clumsy
    again. Or worse . Rafe’s pupils had dilated, either with arousal or fear, but whatever it
    was, the reality wasn’t pleasant for him. He appeared shocked. He appeared revolted.
    “Don’t.” Colman drew back with a gasp.
    Oh, Colman understood all right. Knew what Ben was and what he’d intended by
    that. Christ.
    “Excuse me.”
    Rafe rippled with strong emotion. “What makes you think…?”
    “I’m sorry,” Ben said stiffly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
    Rafe’s voice dripped ice. “I think you understand perfectly.”
    In a panic now, Ben stepped toward Rafe. He was a cop. He wasn’t going to let this
    get out of hand. If he had to intimidate—if he had to crush whatever threat was boiling
    up here, he’d do it—to hell with the consequences.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He rose to his full height, and even then
    he was only taller than Rafe by an inch. The difference was all bulk and attitude. “What
    exactly are you accusing me of?”
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    “Nothing.” Rafe swallowed. His accent thickened, and his face had gone pale. Even
    Mooki sensed a change; she’d dropped into a wary crouch and slunk closer to her
    master. “It’s nothing. Go. I wish you a pleasant evening, ja?”
    After that exchange, Ben hated himself more than he usually did. “Good night, Mr.
    Colman.”

    Rafe closed the door with shaking hands and leaned against it. His heart raced, and
    his chest ached. He couldn’t get enough air.
    Mooki danced nervously along at his heels when he finally pushed away and
    stumbled to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a good three fingers of whiskey. He
    got himself under control by about the third big sip, determined to rid himself of the
    sick, lingering aftertaste of terror.
    It would pay to remember that Ben Morgan was a cop .