Page 84 of Every Last Breath

“Not if you give me a key.”

She threw him a sideways glance. Cole stood in all his unabashed glory with a towel draped on his shoulder. And every inch of him was indeed glorious.

She caught sight of lit candles in the living room. The smell of Chinese food pierced the haze of arousal twisting through her. Decanted wine sat on the counter.

What was next? Barry White? “What is this? A date?”

“I hate labels. Too restrictive.”

Fathomless dark eyes searched hers. Damp hair black as night. Those wiry muscles. The delightful length of him.

The tug of war between wanting him and being furious with him was exhausting.

“Labels are good.” She took off her jacket and holster. “It’s important to define things. That way, you take medicine and not poison.”

“This isn’t a date. We both just need to decompress.”

Sounded like an idea she wanted to indulge in. She was strung tight as piano wire with tension and needed to loosen up. They’d been in a real pressure cooker for the past two days. Her body screamed for an outlet, the kind of release only a man like him could give.

“I thought we could take a breath, eat together,” he said. “Maybe talk instead of fight.”

Or maybe like last night in the parking lot, neither talk nor food was the four-letter word at the top of the agenda. “Candles. Dinner. Wine. None of this stuff is involved when I screw someone.”

He flinched. “You used to appreciate a little romance.”

She’d lost her appreciation for many things after he had left. “Well, things change.”

“It’s just stuff, Maddox. Candles to help you relax. Blow them out.” He shrugged defined shoulders. Bare shoulders. Everything was bare. “Food to bring your blood sugar back up. You get so damn cranky when it drops, but chuck it in the trash.”

Smelled too darn good to throw away. Better than something from her freezer.

“I thought the wine would please your tongue.” He licked his lips.

And she wet hers, looking at the length of his arousal. Wine wasn’t the only thing that would please her tongue.

“It’s a nice Brunello,” he said, “but you can pour it out.”

With her government paycheck, she couldn’t afford such a splurge. The wine was a keeper.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, covering up the sight of his beautiful cock.

Maybe they weren’t on the same page.

“I didn’t come here to screw, Maddox. Sorry I gave the wrong impression.”

Yep. They definitely weren’t on the same page. A problem she’d have to remedy.

“What do you want?” he asked. “To start with.”

A graphic list formed in her head. For starters, she wanted the flirty dirty talk he used to pour into her ear, making her wet with his foul words and raunchy descriptions of what he planned to do to her. She wanted his mouth on her breasts. She wanted his rough fingers in her hair. She wanted his hard, hot body grinding all over hers. Oh yeah, she wanted.

“A glass of wine?” he clarified, casting a glance at the counter. “Some food? A foot rub?”

She chuckled. “Since when do you give foot rubs?”

Folding his muscled arms, he looked downright delicious. She was tempted to lick him all over, and before the night was over, she just might.

“As you said, things change.” He held her gaze.