Page 72 of Noble Neighbor
“Mine?” Sunny asked when he arrived at her back door with a slice of strawberry shortcake a few hours later. And Oliver made her toes curl again, feeding her cake, one mouthful at a time. Naked. Which of course led to other, um, eating activities, ending with them sticky and sweaty and sated and stretched out on her bed.
“It keeps getting better,” Oliver commented softly, skimming a hand up her arm until his fingers threaded possessively through her hair to gently massage her scalp.
She’d never liked it when someone touched her hair, but with this man beside her? His touch was addictive, and it was getting harder and harder to keep her distance, to stay neutral.
Because he was right. Each time together was just … so muchmorethan the previous. And it wasn’t only about the sex — which was phenomenal, by the way.
What she felt when around him went way beyond the physical.
And that knowledge scared her senseless.
Sunny had vowed, years ago, to never be fooled by a handsome face and smooth words. She’d been deluded by the master of deceivers. There would not be a second time. Ever.
Then again, this wasOliver.
There was no deception in Oliver.
He was just a widower with a child living a good life following a dreadful tragedy.
Not so different from you, Sunny.
“Sunny?” A gentle tug on her hair drew her from her musings.
She stretched her neck to reposition her head on Oliver’sshoulder and focused on his amused stare. “Sorry. I was miles away.”
“Figured. Wanna share?”
Never.She broke eye contact.
Instead of letting him see the shadows lurking in her life, Sunny examined his chest with great concentration. Her nails scraped across its expanse, tracing every dip and rise, searching for those particular areas she was becoming familiar with — areas she knew made Oliver lose his train of thought.
And when he trembled with anticipation, hard, ready, and her own body flooded with desire, Sunny moved above him, taking him in, welcoming him.
Loving Oliver the only way she could — with her body.
20
Beau
Startled by the commotion in the bullpen, Sheriff BeauStirling raised his head. And stifled a sigh.
Oliver burst through the doorway. “Explain yourself.” He slapped a piece of paper down. “And this.” A second ticket joined the first, and the man dropped his ass to the visitor’s chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
Beau met the stare of his friend. Erstwhile friend. He bit back the expletive hovering on the tip of his tongue, wishing he could take Oliver by the shoulders and shake sense into the foolish man.
Instead, he leaned back, folding his own arms. “She broke the law.”
“In the strictest sense. But that” — Oliver nodded his head to the tickets — “is a witch hunt.”
Beau pushed back from his desk, stood, and stalked to the window. Propping his shoulder against the wall, he looked out at the town beyond.
His people. His town. His responsibility.
“She’s going to hurt you,” Beau bit out.
From the moment he’d met the blue-eyed, brown-haired woman, he’d known Sunny Jones was one step away from bolting.
Her entire demeanor screamed secrets. She was eitherhiding something or from someone. As sure as his name was Beauford Stirling, he was sure of that.
