Rule #1: Rules are meant to be broken.
Rule #2: Don’t date members of the same generation in the same family (e.g. sisters or cousins) within three years of each other.
Rule #3: Don’t do shit you don’t want to do.
Riley, on the other hand, had been born a good girl. She wanted to make other people happy by doing what they asked. And while the whole good girl thing was a major turn-on for him, he didn’t like how other people could use it to take advantage of her.
“I’m anadult,” she told him. “Adults do things they don’t want to do all the time.”
“Yeah, like right now. We should be having sex on that dusty-ass couch over there. Instead, you’re pretending you have a choice when you know there’s no way in hell I’m letting you investigate a homicide.”
“I think it’s called a divan,” she said.
He stood and walked her backwards until her legs hit the hideous brocade upholstery and she sank down onto the cushion. He followed her, covering her body with his.
Her breath caught, and her fingers dug into his shoulders.
“We’re at work,” she whispered.
“I’m the boss, remember?” He trailed his mouth over her jawline, nipping at the skin of her neck.
She shivered against him. “I think you’re taking the boss routine a little too seriously.”
The hammering outside stopped abruptly. “Look at that, Willicott. I think we built it backwards,” Fred shouted.
“What?” Willicott yelled back.
“Isaid, ‘I THINK WE BUILT IT BACKWARDS!’”
“How the hell should I know which way is starboard?”
“For the love of God,” Riley muttered under him.
“Ignore them. They’re adults,” Nick said, shifting his hips against her to add weight to his argument.
Her legs parted, and he settled between her thighs. She was wearing a pair of running shorts that were cut high on the leg. He liked them on her—but not as much as he was going to like seeing them on the floor.
“I don’t think we settled anything,” she reminded him as his mouth hovered over hers.
He looked into those eyes under their heavy lids and thick lashes and felt himself physically ache for her. He’d never had this before. Never wanted a woman with this prolonged kind of intensity. It scared the hell out of him and added to the thrill of it.
If something scared Nick Santiago, he preferred to run right up to it and slap it in the face. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
“We’ll settle things later when you’re too dizzy from orgasms to argue.”
She gave a breathy laugh, and everything was right in the world. He had his tongue in her mouth and his hand on his fly when the pocket doors flew open.
“Whoops! Well, since you’re not naked yet.” Mrs. Penny—their purple-haired, glasses-wearing roommate—sauntered into the room, shoving things out of her way with her cane. She was dressed in wrinkled cargo pants, Birkenstocks, and a WINK 104 visor. She had a bullhorn in her free hand.
Riley groaned and shoved at Nick’s chest. “Get off.”
“I was trying to,” he shot back.
“What do you want, Mrs. Penny?” Riley asked, wriggling under him. It didn’t help his state of arousal. “And why do you have a bullhorn?”
“I was protesting whales over on Woodbine Street. Don’t worry about it. You got a new client, Santiago,” she said, kicking a rolled-up rug out of the way. A puff of dust rose up from it.
“Who?” he asked, feeling depressed as Riley adjusted her tank top to cover up her great rack.
