“And you don’t like that you can’t rattle me.”
She smiles. “I just did.”
That’s it.
The last thread snaps.
I kiss her. Hard enough that she gasps into my mouth before kissing me back with equal force.
Her hands fist in my shirt, daring me to push harder.
I do.
My grip tightens at her waist, pulling her flush against me. Every argument, every sharp word, every loaded glance since she walked into my bar burns through that kiss.
She tastes of coffee and defiance.
I break it long enough to look at her.
“You want to stand beside me?” I murmur.
“Yes.”
“Then understand something.”
Her eyes are dark now.
“I don’t half step into anything.”
“Good,” she whispers. “Neither do I.”
I kiss her again, slower this time, but no less intense.
When I finally pull back, her lips are flushed, her breathing uneven.
“This complicates things,” I say.
She smirks. “You like complicated.”
She’s not wrong.
I glance at the Founders Day plan still spread across the table.
“You’re relentless,” I mutter.
“You’re stubborn.”
“We’re doing this my way.”
She arches a brow. “With my muffins.”
A corner of my mouth lifts despite myself.
“Draft the budget,” I say. “Security’s tight. No gaps.”
Her smile turns victorious.
“You hate that I’m right.”
