Salt.
Her skin.
Then something else.
“Funny,” I whispered near her ear. “You smell like him.”
Her breath hitched.
A soft sound escaped her — half gasp, half moan — and her fingers tightened in my shirt.
Her eyes fluttered shut for half a second.
Then opened.
Dark.
Dangerous.
“I think,” she said softly, “we should do something about that.”
My pulse slammed.
Jesus.
Everything about her was heat and gravity and yes.
Every cell in my body wanted to say screw it and pull her closer.
But—
I didn’t even know her last name.
Didn’t know where she lived.
Didn’t know anything except the way she kissed and the way she looked at me like we were already in the middle of something reckless.
This was moving fast.
Too fast.
Like flooring the gas on black ice.
Thrilling.
But one wrong move and we’d both spin out.
So I stepped back.
Just a breath.
Just enough space to think.
Her brows knit.
“You pulling away already?” she teased softly.
“No,” I said.
