“Get inside,” I ordered, because this was my hallway, my neighbors, my world, and I didn’t need a man like him standing out here where anyone could see. “Now.”
I opened the door and went in without waiting to see if he’d follow.
He did.
Of course he did.
The door clicked shut behind him. The apartment felt smaller immediately, the air thicker. I shrugged off my jacket and dropped it on the chair by the door, then turned to face him.
He’d pushed his hood back. His hair was damp from a shower, curls flattened in places, a few strands clinging to his forehead. His eyes tracked over me once, quick and controlled, as if he was checking for injuries.
“Big risk, coming here again,” I said.
“Big risk letting me in,” he countered.
He wasn’t wrong.
Anger flared, and that was an emotion I understood. “What are you doing?” I demanded.
He watched me in that flat way he had, as if he could see right through my skin. “You tell me, Detective. I followed you. You opened the door.”
I crossed the space between us in three long strides and shoved him back against the door. The impact rattled the frame. His breath left him in a huff, but he didn’t lift his hands. Didn’t fight. Just looked at me, eyes dark and steady.
“Don’t turn this on me,” I said, although I was the one doing all the touching.
“You’re the one with the badge,” he said. “You want to arrest me for something, do it. You want to pin a murder you witnessed on me. I’d like to see how you manage that. You want to throw me out, do it. You want something else—” He let the words hang between us, heavy and obvious. “That’s not all on me.”
I hated how much truth there was in that.
My hands bunched in his shirt. Warmth seeped through the thin cotton into my palms. I could feel his heart beating steadily as if none of this bothered him at all.
“Say what you want, Detective,” he murmured.
I didn’t say it.
I kissed him instead.
My mouth crashed into his, teeth knocking, lips scraping, and then I gentled it. Anger and want and confusion, all wrapped into one stupid decision, vanished in a moment and became something more.
He froze for a heartbeat, as if I’d surprised him, then his mouth opened beneath mine, and the world tilted.
He tasted of coffee and mint, and his hands came up slowly, as if he were giving me time to change my mind, then landed on my hips and pulled me in until there was no space left between us.
I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and kissed him deeper. I wanted control back. I wanted to be the one driving this, not dragged along behind it.
He let me bite his lower lip, angle his head where I wanted it, press him harder into the door until the frame groaned behind him.
A low sound rumbled in his chest. Not quite a moan. Not quite laughter. Something in between made my chest burn.
My hands slid down, over solid muscle, to his belt. I hesitated for half a second, then got my fingers under his dark hoodie and T-shirt, found bare skin. He was hot. Too hot. His stomach jumped under my palm.
“Detective,” he said, voice rough.
“Shut up,” I muttered against his lips.
His fingers dug into the back of my shirt. He didn’t try to take over, but he wasn’t passive either. He matched every push with a pull, every rough drag of my mouth with one of his own.
My brain fuzzed at the edges. For a while, there was nothing but the press of his body, the glide of his tongue, the burn of his stubble against my skin.
