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I lean closer to him, giving him plenty of time to pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t. Instead, he meets me halfway, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly turns hungry.

I shift closer, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. His hands grip my hips, his fingers digging in possessively. The kiss deepens, his tongue tangling with mine, drawing a needy sound from my throat. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.

“You do things to me,” Robbie murmurs, dipping his head and nuzzling my neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against my skin. “Things no other woman has.”

“Like what?” I can’t help asking, even as I tilt my head to give him better access.

His hands slide under my top, rough palms skimming over my ribs. “Like . . . you make me lose control.” He nips at my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine. “But also . . . you make me want more than just to fuck you.”

Coming from Robbie MacDonald, that’s practically a declaration of love.

I rock against him, loving the feel of the hard bulge in his jeans against the thin material of my leggings. “But . . . you do want to fuck me. I can feel it. So fuck me.”

In one fluid motion, Robbie shifts our positions, laying me on the bed and covering my body with his. I wrap my legs around him, and he kisses me deeply, his weight pressing me into the mattress. His hands are everywhere—threading through my hair, tracing the curve of my hip, squeezing just hard enough to make me gasp into his mouth.

I slide my hands under his T-shirt and explore the hot skin stretched tight over muscle. Then I tug his top up, and he lifts away from me so I can pull it over his head.

I drink in the sight of him, all tattoos and coiled power. My fingers reach for his belt buckle, but he catches my wrist.

“Not so fast. I want to savour you this time.”

He tugs my top off then makes quick work of my bra. His eyes roam over me with an intensity that has me wriggling beneath him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says roughly.

Before I can respond, his mouth is on my left breast, hot and demanding. I arch into him, one hand splaying across the nape of his neck to hold him closer. Every swipe of his tongue sends sparks of pleasure straight to my core.

Robbie works his way down my body, kissing and nipping as he goes, his tongue dipping into my belly button. By the time he drags down my leggings, along with my underwear, I’m practically vibrating with need.

“Please,” I whisper, not caring how desperate I sound.

He stands to remove his jeans, and I take a moment to appreciate the magnificent sight of him, all hard lines and raw masculinity. Then he leans over me again, positions himself at my entrance, and pushes in, just the pierced tip, tormenting me with these shallow thrusts that have me digging my nails into his shoulders in frustration.

“Robbie,” I moan, “stop teasing!”

With a wicked grin, he finally pushes all the way in, filling me completely. I cry out, loud enough that Mrs Innes next door will definitely be giving me knowing looks tomorrow.

He sets a punishing rhythm, the headboard thudding against the wall in time with his thrusts. But then, through the noise, another thumping joins in, insistent and coming from elsewhere.

“Fuck,” Robbie grunts, slowing his movements. “Is that⁠—”

The thumping gets even louder. Someone’s knocking on my front door.

“Ignore it,” I pant, trying to pull him back to me.

But Robbie is already withdrawing. “I don’t know, Cat. Whoever that is, they really want to⁠—”

“Police! Open up!”

For a heartbeat, we stare at each other in horror. Then we’re scrambling for our clothes.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter as I yank on my knickers, top, and leggings.

I’m ready first, and I hurry to the door while Robbie tugs up his fly. I take a deep breath, try to smooth my sex-tousled hair into something resembling normalcy, then open the door to find two police officers standing on the other side. One is DS Gordon Sinclair, a stocky, greying man with the weathered face of someone who’s seen it all. The other I don’t know. She’s a tall woman, a few years older than me, with sharp green eyes and a no-nonsense expression.

“Evening, Cat,” Sinclair says with a curt nod. “It’s been a while. I don’t know if you’ve met PC Ailsa Muir?” He gestures to the younger officer beside him. “We’re looking for Robert MacDonald. Is he here?”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong!” The words just burst out of me.