Page 166 of Reckless Hearts

I hear him move closer. Feel him, even before I catch his reflection in the window, arms crossed, T-shirt damp with sweat. His hat’s off, hair a mess. “I’d volunteer,” he says, voice lower now, “but I’m enjoying the view.”

I finally turn. That’s when he sees it.

The thick swipe of green paint streaked along my bare shoulder.

I follow his gaze, groaning. “Don’t start.”

“You look like a forest sprite,” Colt says solemnly. “A very sexy, mildly unhinged forest sprite.”

“I swear to God,” I warn, raising the brush like a weapon, “if you make another joke?—”

Too late.

He crosses the room in two long strides and grabs my waist, hauling me in like he’s got every right. Like I’m his home base.

“You gonna threaten me with that brush?” he murmurs against my cheek.

I nod.

He kisses me anyway.

Colt’s mouth brushes mine, warm and easy, in no hurry until a sudden sharp whistle cuts through the air.

We both turn.

Maverick stands in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, wearing that exasperated half smile.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes,” he says, “and you’re already making out?”

“She started it,” Colt says without missing a beat, arms still looped around my waist.

I jab my elbow into his ribs. “You’re the one ogling me like I’m some kind of mural.”

Maverick steps closer, eyeing the paint on my skin, grinning as he inspects me. “You’ve got paint on your neck, your arm, and somehow”—his fingers swipe down to my thigh—“your jeans.”

“Unreal,” I say, voice dry. “I’m being hazed by the tidy one.”

“Not hazing,” Maverick says, dipping the corner of a cloth into the water cup on the side table, “just trying to keep my girl from blending into the walls.”

He slides it over my shoulder, his fingers lingering, and my breath stutters under his touch.

Colt lets out a long, satisfied sigh from behind me. “This is the kind of teamwork I was promised when we moved in together.”

Maverick stands again, gaze flicking between us. “We should all stop flirting and finish this damn room before nightfall.”

Colt presses his face into my neck, pretending to groan in agony. “You got it, boss.”

“You’ll thank me when we’re not tripping over paint cans in the dark,” Mav mutters.

I lean back into Colt and smile over my shoulder at Maverick. “You love us messy.”

He doesn’t argue. Just picks up a roller, dips it, and starts on the opposite wall like he has more than one reason to rush to get done.

Colt nudges me toward the tray. “Come on, Sunshine. Before he paints this whole house without us.”

Maverick

Steam curls in the air, softening the edges of everything. Callie laughs as Colt yelps, water bouncing off her hands where she’s just flicked it at him. There’s paint smudged on her neck, a soft sage streak we didn’t quite manage to scrub off. I reach over and swipe it with my thumb, but all I do is smear it further.

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