“Sometimes.”
“Do they know that?”
“They suspect.”
She steps closer to one of the shelves, trailing her fingers along the bottles.
“You look different back here.”
“How?”
“Less… guarded.”
That surprises me.
“Am I guarded?”
She tilts her head. “A little.”
I take a step toward her.
“Am I now?”
Her breath shifts.
“No.”
I don’t rush the kiss.
I step into her space gradually, giving her time to move away.
She doesn’t.
Her hands find my shirt. Mine slide to her waist. The heat that sparked earlier flares stronger now—less tentative, more certain.
She presses closer.
I back her gently against the shelving, bracing my hand beside her head.
Her fingers slide into my hair.
And yeah.
This is escalating fast.
Her mouth parts beneath mine. A soft sound escapes her throat that nearly undoes me.
Then—
“Boss?”
I exhale sharply.
Lou again.
The man has the worst timing in the Western Hemisphere.
He appears in the doorway holding an empty tequila bottle and grinning like he knows exactly what he interrupted.
