Page 34 of Filthy Liar

We loop back to his office to get his car and I give him the address.

He nods approvingly. “Good location.”

He repeats the sentiment once we park and I lead him in the side entrance and up to my apartment, which probably doesn’t look anything like what he thought his Ellie’s space might look like. I’m not her, though. I’m the girl with Spartan taste and few belongings. The bed is still rumpled from when I jumped out of it last night, but I don’t care. I’m more interested in showing him the view out my windows.

“See?” I grin. “Who would try to break in through the back, and get caught on camera by the US Navy?”

He moves in behind me to follow my pointing finger. “Smart.”

“I try.”

“You succeed.” He says it grudgingly, but there’s enough warmth in his words that I believe him.

He moves his attention from the view to the desk space in front of the window, and Monica. “And you have a plant. That’s properly domestic.”

I don’t tell him that I named the aloe vera. “It’s good for cuts and bruises.”

His gaze narrows. “Do you get a lot of those?”

“I joined a CrossFit gym.”

“Liar,” he mutters.

I shrug. “I have a brand and I like to be consistent.”

“Dishonesty?”

“With you? It has its benefits.” I have to keep him on his toes.

He swears under his breath. “I need to go back to the office. Can you promise me you’ll stay here and get some sleep?”

I’m going to fall into that bed the second he leaves. Not that he’s made any move toward the door. He’s still standing right next to me. “I’m working a story.”

“You promised—”

“Not Caroline’s story,” I burst out, pivoting so we’re facing each other. “Jesus Christ, Jason. I told you—”

“How am I supposed to trust—”

I cut him off with a furious kiss. I jam my mouth against his and my heart leaps into my throat. His lips part in surprise, a sweet, soft brush of still-familiar flesh, and I pull back. He glares at me, and that makes two of us that are struggling to process what I just did.

“I shouldn’t have—”

He’s the one to cut me off this time, his mouth hard and hungry against mine. His tongue seeks mine out, and our bodies have no trouble at all figuring out what comes next. My breasts swell, my nipples tightening, and I arch into his touch as he trails his fingers down my neck and across my fabric covered chest.

Yes, yes.

My hands reach for his hips, the tight muscles of his ass, and I pull him against my core. He’s hard for me already, and I rub against his erection.

He groans, his mouth on my neck now. “We can’t do this.”

“Obviously.” I wait a beat. “Your hand is on my tit, though.”

He tightens his fingers around my eager nipple. “What’s your fucking point?”

“It might seem that despite our agreed upon decision, we’re doing it anyway.” I shove him away, but he doesn’t get very far, because his other hand is tangled up the back of my shirt, palming my side.

He squeezes my flesh hard enough to make me gasp. Memories flash through my mind. The same sound, the same squeeze. Different time, different place.

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