“You’re right,” I said in a steely voice. “I am here to find the person who tried to murder my ex-husband. Because he is the father of my children, and for that reason alone I will always want him to be safe. And maybe even happy. But I have no plans of going to counseling with him, and I would rather rip my own toenails out than welcome Steven back into my bed.” A spark lit in Nick’s eyes as I took a bold step closer. “But Joey was wrong if he told you that was my only reason for being here. I did come to do research for my book. I have writer’s block,” I said, confessions spewing out of me like a dam had finally broken. “Sylvia says my manuscript sucks, and my publisher is refusing to pay me because I can’t write a goddamn sex scene.”
Nick frowned. “You lost me.”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with this book!” I said, throwing up my hands. “The cop and the heroine are supposed to betogether—I know that—but every time I put them alone in a scene, I freeze up and I can’t finish it.” I looked up at the puzzled creases around his eyes, struggling to figure out how to explain. “The last book was different. The heroine’s romance with the lawyer was easy,” I admitted. “There were no strings attached and she had nothing to lose, because she could never picture a future with him anyway. But with you…” My mouth went dry at the intensity of Nick’s stare. “With you, the stakes feel higher, because this feels like it could be something more. And I think I’m holding back because I’m terrified of ruining it.”
His voice was husky. “What are you saying?”
What was I saying? That I was done waiting for everything to be perfect. Formeto be perfect. I was done trying to contort myself to fit everyone else’s expectations of who I should be. I was done feeling guilty for things that weren’t my fault. Mostly, I was done denying myself my own happy ending.
I wanted dessert, to hell with the consequences.
I took Nick by the straps of his holster and kissed him. His body went still.
I drew back, afraid I’d gone too far. That maybe, after everything I’d confessed over the last twelve hours, he didn’t want this anymore. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.” He slid a hand through my hair and pulled me close, his breath whisky-sweet on my face, our foreheads almost touching. Eyes closed, he said, “Don’t apologize for this.”
His mouth sank into mine, a teasing brush of five o’clock shadow and soft lips. He deepened the kiss with a maddening patience, the slow sweep of his tongue achingly thorough as I curled my fingers into the front of his shirt and drew him to me.
My body hummed with the buzz of whisky and adrenaline. With the warm leather smell of his clothes. Maybe it was this room or this place or the near-death experience I’d had only hours ago. Maybe it was the way he’d looked in a shower towel, with my son pressed to hischest. Or the way I’d thought about him every single night since he’d left me standing under the mistletoe. But when Nick kissed me, I felt it everywhere.
My fingers fumbled over his buttons.
“You sure about this?” he asked as I pushed his holster over his shoulders and dropped it on the floor.
“Uh-huh.” Our breaths started coming fast. All the frustration that had built over the last two months was cresting like a tsunami inside me.
“Finn…” I nipped his bottom lip and he swore under his breath. His muscles tensed under my fingers, his skin hot, his chest pebbling with goose bumps as I pushed his undershirt over his head. “Maybe we should set up some ground rules so we don’t get carried away. I can wait as long as you need. I don’t want you to rush into anything you’re not ready for—”
“Please stop talking.”
The sound that came from him was almost feral. He backed me to the wall, pinning me by the hips, our kisses becoming fevered and desperate. I grabbed on to his shoulders, my palm brushing the raised scar there, a remnant of the shoot-out at the Westovers’ house.
A vibration started somewhere in his pants. “Your phone,” I panted as his mouth moved down my neck.
“Not answering.”
“But what if it’s about Feliks?”
“Don’t care.”
I worked the button loose on his pants.
“You okay with this?” he asked, gripping the hem of my sweatshirt.
“Definitely, completely, totally okay with this.” He tugged it over my head as we limped backward across his room. My heel connected with the bed and I fell into it. Nick fell with me, every gloriously solid inch of him landing between my legs.
“Oh, wow,” I said, a little breathless at the thought. “That’s… a lot of research material.”
He grinned against my ear. His hair tickled my collarbone, then the rise of my chest as his mouth moved down to my bra, teasing me through the fabric. “We don’t have to cover it all tonight.”
“I wasn’t objecting.” I arched against him, the sensitive skin of my belly jumping at his touch. I felt his fingers unfasten the button on my jeans. Felt the zipper hum down. Felt Nick moan against my navel as he realized, the same moment I remembered, that I didn’t have any underwear on.
“Ground rules?” His voice was strained and urgent, his hands still where they gripped my jeans, waiting for me to decide how far I was willing to go. But I was so far beyond caring about the rules anymore. It was only a month into the new year, and I was throwing my third resolution into the fire like a cheap champagne flute.
“No rules,” I said. I was only destined to break them. And I refused to feel guilty about any of this.
CHAPTER 33
