Page 32 of Brick's Retribution

The second is anything but.

Her mouth opens under mine, her fingers sliding up to grip my shoulders as I pull her closer, mindful of my injured side.

The taste of her—sweet with an edge of danger—goes straight to my head like a shot of the best tequila.

I tangle one hand in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss as her nails dig into my skin.

There's nothing tentative about the way she kisses back, her body arching into mine like she's been starving for this as much as I have.

It's fire and gasoline, an explosion of desire that threatens to incinerate every professional boundary I'd tried to maintain.

My hand slides down to the small of her back, pulling her hips flush against mine.

She makes a small sound in the back of her throat—part surprise, part need—that nearly undoes my last shred of control.

My mouth leaves hers to trace the elegant line of her jaw, the pulse point at her throat.

"Brick," she gasps, her head falling back to give me better access. "We shouldn't?—"

"I know," I murmur against her skin, even as my teeth graze the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. "Tell me to stop."

Her hands tighten on my shoulders, but instead of pushing me away, she pulls me closer. "I don't want to."

The rawness in her voice brings me back to myself, enough to slow down and lift my head to meet her eyes.

They're dark with desire, but clear. Present. Like she’s making a conscious choice.

"This complicates things," I say, my voice rougher than usual.

Her lips curve into a small smile. "Everything about this situation is already complicated."

She's right, of course.

But adding this—whatever this is between us—to the mix could be disastrous.

Or it could be exactly what we both need to get through what's coming.

The decision is taken out of our hands by the sudden noise of a vehicle pulling into the motel lot, headlights sweeping past our window.

We break apart instinctively, both moving to opposite sides of the curtain to peer out.

A pickup truck, nothing suspicious about it, but the threat of danger is enough to cool the heat between us.

The bubble of isolation bursts, reality flooding back in—we're being hunted, we're injured, and I have a run to finish.

"I'll go get us some food," I say, pulling a clean shirt from my bag, careful not to disturb the fresh bandage. "You stay here, lock the door."

"No." She crosses her arms, back to business as if that kiss never happened. "We stay together, just like before."

"Imani—"

"We already established this. Splitting up is what they'd expect." Her expression softens slightly. "Besides, you just took a bullet for me. The least I can do is help you get dinner."

There's logic in what she says, and honestly, I'm not in top form right now.

Having backup isn't the worst idea.

"Fine," I give in. "But we keep it quick. In and out. No drawing attention."

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