Page 211 of Property of Whiskey

I pull my finger away. “Violent.”

The next kiss is slower, without a fight or an ex who’d just been standing in the hallway to fuel it. That makes this feel more dangerous than the first time.

Twila’s fingers slide into my hair while mine settle at her hips. We move together quietly, trading kisses and smartass whispers because apparently neither one of us knows how to be normal for more than ten seconds.

“You’re staring,” she whispers.

“You’re in my bedroom.”

“I noticed.”

“In my bed in about thirty seconds.”

“Cocky?”

“Very.” I kiss her neck.

Her breath catches, and she immediately clamps her mouth shut.

I grin against her skin. “You trying to be quiet?”

“Your daughter is asleep.”

“Thought you weren’t loud.”

“I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

I bite softly at the spot beneath her ear, and her fingers tighten in my hair.

“That’s cheating,” she whispers.

“Ain’t heard anything yet.”

My hand slides down between us, rubbing over her through her jeans. Her hips jerk into my palm before she catches herself.

“Still quiet, Deputy?”

Her eyes narrow. “Take my pants off and find out.”

Twila grabs my face. “You’re enjoying this.”

“More than I should.”

“You’re evil.”

“Biker.”

“Accountant in leather.”

“Quit ruining my image.”

Her laugh gets trapped against my mouth.

We end up in bed tangled together, covers shoved halfway down, her hair a blonde mess against the sheets and one leg hooked around mine. Her skin is warm beneath my hands, and every time the mattress creaks, we both freeze and listen for Wren.

Nothing.