“Alec,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You scared me half to death.”
“Didn’t mean to,” he murmured. “One-way communication makes certain things difficult.”
He crossed the distance in two strides, catching her before she could fall apart. One arm wrapped around her—tight, reassuring—as he took the keys from her shaking hand.
“What happened to Rhys?”
“He’s relieved. You’ve got me the rest of the night.”
She glanced up at him. They usually changed shift first thing in the morning. Did that mean—
“You’re trembling. Did something happen?”
“No. It was business as usual, actually I’m just on edge.”
“You don’t have to be. I’m here, baby.”
Then he kissed her. Claiming her panic, her breath, her night. She kissed him back, fingers curled into his jacket. Her body pressed against his, heat rising fast and sharp. His hand slid to her waist then lower, pulling her flush against him.
She moaned softly into his mouth.
He broke the kiss with a groan. “We can’t do this here. Someone might see us.”
“Right,” she murmured shakily, so caught up in his kiss she’d forgotten the role she played, had volunteered for.
Emily scrambled into the car on the driver’s side, too shaken to circle around. Her pant leg snagged on the emergency brake, nearly sending her sprawling across the console. She caught herself with one hand on the dash, breath hitching, adrenaline still humming through her veins.
Alec slid into the driver’s seat. Or tried to. At six-foot-three, his knees jammed against the steering wheel and his broad shoulders were an impossible fit.
He reached under the seat, fumbling for the manual adjustment. “Jesus, Em. This car’s a torture device. I think I just dislocated a hip.”
Any other time, Emily would have laughed, but her hands were shaking as she fumbled with her seat belt.
He reached over and clicked the buckle into place. His hand lingered, squeezing her fingers, until she finally exhaled.
Alec started the engine.
“Tell me that noise isn’t normal,” he said while it coughed and sputtered.
“It’s normal-ish for a fifteen-year-old hunk of junk.”
He shook his head but said nothing as he put it into gear and turned left out of the lot.
She frowned. “Shouldn’t we have turned right?”
“We’re not going to your place.”
“Where are we going, then?” she asked, pulse kicking up again.
“To mine,” he said. His tone left no room for debate.
And for once, the idea of arguing never even crossed her mind.
***
He didn’t remember the drive. Just the way she’d looked at him in the parking lot—shaken and still wired. He’d kissed her to ground her. Now, he was the one unraveling.
The door slammed behind them. She turned to speak, but he was already on her—mouth covering hers, hands in her hair, backing her into the wall. Her blouse was still buttoned, but not for long. He popped the first one open with his thumb and the next, until white lace and the rise and fall of her chest were exposed.
