brought enough,
he thought, remembering the red flags Nick would be removing before they got back. They wanted a clean investigation with no prejudicing the expert before she started her scan. “Let’s go.”
Once they were under way, Sophie held her frozen fingers up to the truck’s heater. Without a word, Vito leaned forward and twisted a knob, turning the temperature up.
When her fingers were warm again, she settled into the seat and studied Vito Ciccotelli. His appearance had come as a surprise. With a name like Vito, she’d expected him to be a brawny thug with a face that had gone too many rounds with the champ. She could not have been more mistaken. Which was why she’d stared. She’d been taken off guard.
You go right on thinking that.
He was at least six-two. She’d had to look up to meet his eyes, and at five-eleven herself, that didn’t happen very often. His shoulders were broad in his leather jacket, but there was a lean toughness to him that spoke more of a large cat than a scrappy bulldog. He had the kind of rugged, chiseled face that one saw in fashion magazines. Not that she read fashion magazines herself, of course. That was Aunt Freya’s vice.
Sophie imagined most women would consider Vito Ciccotelli swooningly handsome and fall helplessly at his feet. That was probably why he’d been so quick to rebuff her earlier—women probably hit on him all the time. It was a good thing she wasn’t most women, she thought dryly. Falling helplessly at his feet was the last thing on her mind.
Although that’s very nearly what she’d done. How embarrassing.
But for that one moment when he’d held her against him she’d felt comfort and the solidity of welcome. As if she could lay her head back against his shoulder and rest.
Don’t be ridiculous, Sophie.
Men that looked like Vito were too accustomed to getting exactly what they wanted with the bat of an eyelash. But somehow that assessment felt unfair. As if it mattered. He’d come for her GPR. Nothing more.
So focus on what you’re here for.
A chance to work again. To do something important. Still, her eyes were drawn to his face.
He was wearing sunglasses, but she could just see the corner of his eye where the darkness of his skin was broken by tiny white lines, as if he was quick to smile. He wasn’t smiling now. At this moment, his expression was sober and brooding which made her feel a little guilty for feeling so excited and energized.
For the first time in months she’d be doing something that got her back into the field. That was what had her heart pumping and goosebumps pebbling her skin. The thrill of the hunt, of finding secrets hidden below the surface of the earth, not the memory of his hands gripping her shoulders.
He was just keeping you from falling on your ass.
It had been way too long since she’d been touched by a man, for any reason. She frowned and focused. “So Vito, tell me about this gravesite.”
“Who said anything about graves?” he asked, his tone casual.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m not stupid. An ME and a cop are looking for something under the ground. So how many graves are we talking about?”
He shrugged. “Maybe none.”
“But you’ve found at least one.”
“What makes you say that?”
She wrinkled her nose. “
L’odeur de la mort.
It’s quite noticeable.”
“You speak French? I took it in high school, but I only learned the swear words.”
Now she did roll her eyes, her temper flaring. “I’m fluent in ten languages, three of them deader than the body you just came from,” she snapped, then instantly wished her words back as he flinched, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.
“The body I just came from was somebody’s daughter or wife,” he said quietly.
Her face heated, her annoyance becoming embarrassment and shame.
Shoved your foot in your mouth, army boot and all.
“I’m sorry,” she said, just as quietly. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. The bodies
he thought, remembering the red flags Nick would be removing before they got back. They wanted a clean investigation with no prejudicing the expert before she started her scan. “Let’s go.”
Once they were under way, Sophie held her frozen fingers up to the truck’s heater. Without a word, Vito leaned forward and twisted a knob, turning the temperature up.
When her fingers were warm again, she settled into the seat and studied Vito Ciccotelli. His appearance had come as a surprise. With a name like Vito, she’d expected him to be a brawny thug with a face that had gone too many rounds with the champ. She could not have been more mistaken. Which was why she’d stared. She’d been taken off guard.
You go right on thinking that.
He was at least six-two. She’d had to look up to meet his eyes, and at five-eleven herself, that didn’t happen very often. His shoulders were broad in his leather jacket, but there was a lean toughness to him that spoke more of a large cat than a scrappy bulldog. He had the kind of rugged, chiseled face that one saw in fashion magazines. Not that she read fashion magazines herself, of course. That was Aunt Freya’s vice.
Sophie imagined most women would consider Vito Ciccotelli swooningly handsome and fall helplessly at his feet. That was probably why he’d been so quick to rebuff her earlier—women probably hit on him all the time. It was a good thing she wasn’t most women, she thought dryly. Falling helplessly at his feet was the last thing on her mind.
Although that’s very nearly what she’d done. How embarrassing.
But for that one moment when he’d held her against him she’d felt comfort and the solidity of welcome. As if she could lay her head back against his shoulder and rest.
Don’t be ridiculous, Sophie.
Men that looked like Vito were too accustomed to getting exactly what they wanted with the bat of an eyelash. But somehow that assessment felt unfair. As if it mattered. He’d come for her GPR. Nothing more.
So focus on what you’re here for.
A chance to work again. To do something important. Still, her eyes were drawn to his face.
He was wearing sunglasses, but she could just see the corner of his eye where the darkness of his skin was broken by tiny white lines, as if he was quick to smile. He wasn’t smiling now. At this moment, his expression was sober and brooding which made her feel a little guilty for feeling so excited and energized.
For the first time in months she’d be doing something that got her back into the field. That was what had her heart pumping and goosebumps pebbling her skin. The thrill of the hunt, of finding secrets hidden below the surface of the earth, not the memory of his hands gripping her shoulders.
He was just keeping you from falling on your ass.
It had been way too long since she’d been touched by a man, for any reason. She frowned and focused. “So Vito, tell me about this gravesite.”
“Who said anything about graves?” he asked, his tone casual.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m not stupid. An ME and a cop are looking for something under the ground. So how many graves are we talking about?”
He shrugged. “Maybe none.”
“But you’ve found at least one.”
“What makes you say that?”
She wrinkled her nose. “
L’odeur de la mort.
It’s quite noticeable.”
“You speak French? I took it in high school, but I only learned the swear words.”
Now she did roll her eyes, her temper flaring. “I’m fluent in ten languages, three of them deader than the body you just came from,” she snapped, then instantly wished her words back as he flinched, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.
“The body I just came from was somebody’s daughter or wife,” he said quietly.
Her face heated, her annoyance becoming embarrassment and shame.
Shoved your foot in your mouth, army boot and all.
“I’m sorry,” she said, just as quietly. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. The bodies
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