Page 118 of Liar's Point

“Nicole?”

“Hmm?”

“Is David coming over?”

Her eyes flew open, and it was like being doused with cold water. “No.”

He pushed up on his hands. “You sure?”

She propped herself on her uninjured elbow, and his gaze darted to her bare breasts.

“We broke up.”

He stared down at her, and something flickered in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He bent down and gave her a quick kiss. “Hold on to me.”

“What?”

He took her hand and curled it around the back of his neck. Then he scooped her up off the sofa with one swift motion.

“Oh my God.” Her heart made a little lurch, and she gripped his shirt as he carried her through the living room. “Watch my—”

“I know.” He stepped sideways through the doorway, taking care not to bump her boot as he carried her down the hall and into her bedroom. It was messy and dark, and the light from the closet spilled out over all her discarded clothes on the floor. He set her down in the middle of the unmade bed and then reached over and grabbed a pillow for her boot. He propped it under her foot, then gazed down at her with a simmering look.

A lock of hair fell over his face as he leaned over her. “Want to watch TV?”

She blinked up at him. “What?”

He smiled. “Kidding.” He traced his thumb over her chin and his smile faded. “But seriously... we don’t have to do this now.” He glanced at her ankle. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

His eyebrows arched. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Emmet stared at her, and she realized the absurdity of her words. She was fairly sure he would hurt her. Badly. This whole thing was emotional suicide, which was why she’d resisted it for so long. She was about to end ten years of joking, and banter, and healthy competition—all things that had helped them both excel at their jobs. They’d established a professional equilibrium that was tried and true—and she was about throw it all away, forever.

But she didn’t care. All she cared about was that he was back in her room again, and she wanted him to stay. She pulled him down, and he was kissing her with so much pent-up need, and she refused to think about the repercussions. She’d spent years ignoring her attraction to him and keeping her feelings locked tightly away. Ten whole years, but now she didn’t think she could wait another minute to know what it would be like with him.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he yanked it over his head. Then he turned and took off his boots, and her pulse kicked up another notch as she heard the dull thud of them hitting the floor. He took off his jeans and stretched out beside her on the bed in only his black boxer briefs, and she felt a flood of anticipation.

Emmet was in her bed.

He scooted closer, close enough for her to feel the heat coming off his skin, and she ran her fingers over the muscles of his shoulders and chest. She’d seen him with his shirt off over the years—of course she had—and she’d even seen him change clothes a few times at some rain-soaked, backwater crime scene. But being alone with him and having a chance to actually touch his body was a whole new level of temptation. She grazed her fingers over his chest, feeling the hair there, and he tensed as she traced a path to his navel and lower. She rested her hand on the hard ridge of his erection, and his eyes went dark.

“Is this a bad idea?” she whispered.

He cupped her breast and toyed with her nipple. “You want us to stop?”

“No.”

---