"You good?" I ask sweetly.
"You—" He wheezes. "Seth Monroe. Of all people."
"He's a deputy now! He's grown up!"
"Clearly." Ben's trying to look stern but his dimples are showing. "Do you want me to go punch him for... for whatever just happened?"
"No! God, no. He didn't do anything wrong. I kissedhim."
"Okay, but did he kiss back, or was this assault? Because if he just stood there?—"
"He kissed back." Heat floods my cheeks again just remembering it. "Definitely kissed back."
"Good." Ben nods firmly. "Because if he didn't, I'd have to arrest him for failure to appreciate my sister."
"You can't arrest someone for that."
"I'd find a way." He's trying to look stern but his dimples are showing. "But since he apparently has taste and basic survival instincts... you gonna talk to him?"
"Absolutely not."
"Bea—"
"Not discussing this! Never discussing this! This conversation is not happening!"
I walk away, leaving my brother staring after me with obvious concern and what I strongly suspect is barely suppressed amusement.
I need somewhere to hide. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can process the fact that I just kissed a stranger in front of everyone I've ever known, and it was the hottest kiss of my entire life.
Absolutely NOT into him.
Nope.
Not even a little bit.
The taste of coffee and cedar on my lips is a filthy liar.
Chapter 3
Seth
Mrs. Henderson's cat is stuck in a tree again.
I've read this sentence four times now, and I still couldn't tell you which tree or what the cat's name is. My brain refuses to process words when my entire body is replaying what happened two hours ago.
The way Bea Wilson tasted. Cinnamon and apples and something uniquely her that made my alpha sit up and take notice for the first time in my life.
My fingers drift to my mouth before I catch myself. Again. I shove both hands under my thighs and glare at the computer screen.
Focus, Monroe. You're at work. You're a professional. You did not just have your first kiss at twenty-seven in front of the entire town with Ben Wilson's little sister.
Ben's little sister who used to be the popular cheerleader I'd see around town. The girl who was always laughing with friends, confident and bright and if she was in my grade completely out of my league. I remembered her—everyone did. But that was four years ago, when she was eighteen and leaving for college,and I was the awkward deputy who couldn't talk to women without stuttering.
She's not that girl anymore. And apparently, I'm not that guy either, because somehow, I kissed her back without passing out.
And now everything's different.
And now her scent clings to my uniform—cinnamon-apple warmth with an undertone of arousal that makes my pulse spike every time I move. Two hours later and I can still taste her. Still feel the way her body pressed against mine, all soft curves and desperate heat.
