Page 99 of Your Place or Mine

And her mouth.

Don’t look at it, Benedict.

Too late.

It was pink and soft and parted just enough to drive a man insane.

“You think you’ve got me figured out,” she said quietly.

“No,” I said, matching her tone. “I think I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Her eyes glittered. “You think I’m dangerous?”

“I think,” I said, leaning in so close my lips nearly brushed her ear, “you’re worse than dangerous.”

She stilled, but she didn’t back away.

“What’s worse than dangerous?” she asked, voice tight.

“Tempting.”

That did it.

Her hand caught the front of my shirt like it was second nature. Like we’d been doing this for years.

And then she kissed me.

Or maybe I kissed her.

Didn’t matter. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful.

It was wildfire.

Teeth. Tongues. Heat.

My back hit the bar and I dragged her against me, her hands fisting in the fabric at my chest, her body flush against mine like it belonged there.

And god help me, maybe it did.

She tasted like challenge and defiance and something sweeter underneath…something she wasn’t showing anyone else. And I was hungry for it. Starving, actually.

I slid my hands to her hips, then up her back, memorizing every inch like I’d been waiting for this exact moment since the second she stepped into my town and turned it upside down.

She pulled back first, just enough to breathe, eyes wild and wide and locked on mine.

“This is a mistake,” she whispered.

“Maybe.”

Her lips brushed mine again. “You still gonna stop me?”

“Nope.”

I kissed her again, deeper this time, slower, like I wanted to wreck her in a way she’d feel for days because I did. Because this wasn’t just heat anymore—this was need, raw and rooted and impossible to shake.

Her fingers skimmed the side of my neck, and I nearly groaned.

I’d had kisses before. Plenty.

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