Page 6 of Illicit

And two, to get her the fuck out of here.

I’ll deal with the repercussions from what I’m about to do later.

As in for the rest of my fucking life, most likely.

Her shocked gaze never leaves me when I put one hand to the back of the booth and the other cups her cheek to tip her face to me.

“What are you—” she starts, but I shut her up.

With my lips.

And my tongue.

This reminds me of the last time we were together. Though there wasn’t a nefarious government target as our witness, and it was angsty as fuck for entirely different reasons.

The circumstances couldn’t be more different.

This is for show.

But when my tongue reunites with hers, it’s no less real than it was before.

I never thought this would happen again. In fact, I swore to myself, and to her, it wouldn’t.

That it couldn’t.

But here we are.

I slide my hand into her thick hair to cup the back of her head and hold her to me.

I move my lips on hers.

I taste her.

No, I fucking lap her up like I’m parched and stranded in the desert.

Now that I’m right here, that feels like a reality rather than a metaphor.

And the way she’s reciprocating, she might actually miss me instead of hate me.

If that were only the case.

Still, I don’t regret this decision.

My only regret is the circumstance.

“What the hell?” Robichaux bites.

Fucking Robichaux.

Fucking reality.

I pull in a breath and savor the last moment of our kiss before I pull my lips from hers and watch her thick lashes flutter open to gape at me.

“Missed you,” I tell her the truth.

“You did?” she whispers.

I nudge her nose with the tip of mine and give her hair a slight tug. “I always miss you when we’re apart. I know I’m early, but when you told me you’d be in town and to pick you up here after your meeting, I couldn’t wait another second. You about done?”

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