Page 117 of Liar's Point

She took a sip, then set the bottle on the coffee table and stared at the game.

“I know you’re pissed off at me,” he said.

“You’re very perceptive. Maybe you should be a detective.”

He sighed.

Okay, so she was being immature. She knew that. But this whole situation infuriated her. She didn’t like being told what to do by anyone, but she could handle it coming from her boss. She couldn’t handle it coming from Emmet. They were equals, and he was using his position as lead detective to manipulate Brady into sidelining her.

“Nicole, look at me.”

“What?”

“Would you look at me, damn it.”

She did, and the intensity in his eyes made her stomach fill with nerves.

“Last night on the phone when I heard you scream”—he shook his head—“my heart fucking stopped.”

Her throat tightened. She watched his face, trying to read everything there. She’d thought he was frustrated with her, but it was more than that.

He picked up her hand and pressed her palm against his sternum. “I couldn’t breathe, Nicole.”

She stared at him, absorbing the solid heat of him through his T-shirt.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She couldn’t speak.

He leaned forward, and her pulse skittered as his attention dropped to her mouth. And then he kissed her, settling his lips on hers.

Nicole’s mind reeled as his tongue slid against hers. Emmet was kissing her. And she wasn’t drunk or dreaming or high on pain meds. His mouth was warm and avid, and she tasted her beer on his tongue. He eased her back against the cushion, and she made a soft noise that was part surprise and part immense relief.

His palm settled on her thigh, and she felt the heat of it everywhere.

“Nicole. God.”

He kissed her harder, and she ran her fingers into his thick hair that was still damp and cool from the air outside. He slid his hand up her leg, and a warm shudder moved through her. She tucked her fingers into the waist of his jeans to pull him closer. He tasted so good again and he smelled amazing, and she wanted to inhale him, even though two minutes ago he’d made her want to smack him. How did he do this to her? She wanted to push him away and also consume him—both at the same time.

She pulled back to look at him, and the intensity in his eyes sent a jolt of yearning through her.

“You okay?” He glanced at her boot.

She shook her head.

“No?” His face fell.

“Could you just—” She leaned forward. “I need to prop it up.”

He scooted over, and she lifted her boot onto the sofa and settled back against the cushion. “Better.”

He waited a moment, and she could see him trying to figure out how to best position himself. He shifted closer and leaned over her, gazing down at her as he stroked a finger over her cheek.

And then he kissed her again, and it was gentle and sweet, and once again she felt a flood of emotions. She reached up, curling her fingers into his hair as his hand glided under her sweatshirt and grazed her ribs on the way to her breast. No lace this time, but he stroked her through her bra, making a little circle with his thumb, and she whimpered at the sensation. He undid the clasp and pushed her sweatshirt up, and cool air wafted over her. She’d always been self-conscious about her smallish boobs, but the hungry way he was looking at them gave her a burst of confidence, and she tugged the bra and sweatshirt over her head and tossed them on the floor.

He closed his eyes briefly, and then he was leaning over her again, kissing her lips before making a line down her neck and over her collarbone. He wrapped her breast in his palm and his hot mouth closed over her nipple.

Desire seared through her, and she made a little moan as she pressed against him. It was like last night, but even better because it was bare skin, and God, he knew just how to use his tongue and his hands to turn her on. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back.

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