Page 980 of One More Kiss

I lace up my boots then pull my hair up into a tight bun before pushing to my feet and joining him in the kitchen area. He’s drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. When he doesn’t look up at me, I crane my neck to read the title.

“Lady of the Lake, huh? You into the Witcher because you don’t have enough action in your life?” My attempt at a joke is garbage, and we both know it.

“Sometimes it’s nice to read about other people fixing problems.” He closes the book and straightens before downing the rest of his coffee. Dressed in boots, dark jeans, a black t-shirt, and a leather jacket—he looks delicious.

Absolutely mouthwatering.

Easy, hormones. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. We have a plane waiting for us at a private airport just outside of town.”

“A plane? You have a plane?”

“No. But I hired a pilot, and he has his own plane.”

My brow furrows. “How did you get a plane?”

He lifts a black duffel from the floor beside him and turns to face me. “Turns out killing bad people pays good money.” Then, he heads for the door, leaving me to retrieve the small bag I brought with me and follow him out into the hall.

After locking the door, he heads down the hall, boots thudding heavily. An apartment door opens, and a woman leans out. “Morning, Drex,” she says with a grin.

“Ollie,” he replies with a smile.

“Going out of town?”

“Yes. Keep an eye on my place, will you?”

“Always.” Her cheeks flush, and she glares at me before ducking back into her apartment.

“Lots of friends, huh?” I mutter.

Drex laughs. “Careful, Mags, or I might start to think you’re jealous.”

“Just making a statement,” I reply as we head toward the elevator. As soon as the doors close, I take a deep breath and instantly wish I hadn’t. His scent pummels me.

Spice and leather.

My stomach warms, and I tighten my hold on my bag. I’d known coming back and facing him was a risk because I already knew his effect on me. It’s why I hadn’t contacted him before. Love—it’s too pure an emotion for someone haunted by death.

Still, love is precisely what I felt for the teenager he was, and I certainly feel something for the man he is now. Even if there are plenty of things about him I don’t know.

The doors open in a parking garage, and I follow him down the aisle, expecting him to climb into a car. Instead, he stops beside a Harley with saddlebags. After opening one, he tosses his duffel in then opens the other side. “Your things should fit in here.”

“We’re taking a motorcycle?”

“Unless you have a car.”

“I used a taxi.”

“Then motorcycle it is.”

Swallowing hard, I stick my bag inside and watch as he latches it. As soon as he straddles the bike, I force myself to do the same, but my thighs pressed against him, my arms around his waist—it spurs my lust into overdrive.

“Hang on.”

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