Page 21 of Owen

Just outside the kitchen, Owen turned to her and gently pushed her against the wall. He paused, looking into her eyes, seeming to wait for her to object, a kiss hovering between them. For a half-second, she considered turning away, but she couldn’t. She wanted this too much and had no intention of denying them what they’d both craved since that moment by the pool.

And if she was honest with herself, even before that.

He tilted his head and leaned in, each move deliberate, until his lips met hers—softly at first. Her hands came up and gripped the front of his shirt as the kiss deepened. He might have started it, but she more than met him halfway. When his tongue slid across the seam of her lips, she opened eagerly. He tasted delicious, like coffee and spice. Her tongue tangled with his as his hands sank into her hair.

His body pressed closer, trapping her hands between them. Under her fingertips, she could feel the muscles under his shirt and the rapid beat of his heart. It was racing as much as hers was.

Suddenly, he broke the kiss and she had to bite back a whimper. He brushed kisses across her cheeks and forehead, and she felt herself going weak. One thing was certain—Owen knew how to kiss a woman and make her feel wanted.

“What was that for?” she asked, her voice husky and her fingers still splayed over his chest.

“We’re supposed to be pretending you’re mine, right? If you were, I’d kiss you like that.”

She smiled at him. “I thought we were pretendingyouweremine.”

Heat flared in the depths of his eyes, and he pressed closer again. His lips came back to hers. Before they could touch, the kitchen door opened and two servers came out, talking loudly, puncturing the heat of the moment. Owen pulled back, taking her hand, and guiding her toward the exit.

The cool, damp evening air washed over her heated skin, bringing her back to reality. The kiss had been newsworthy, front-page stuff, but she couldn’t get caught up in that and forget their purpose. She cleared her throat, struggling for her usual demeanor.

“I should prep you for the interview with Razor. He might contact us at any time with a meeting place. I want to be ready,” she said, letting him know that she was going to agree to his requirements for the meeting.

“Makes sense,” he said. They were back to talking about the case, yet he didn’t drop her hand or stop his thumb from stroking across it. The slight movement was gentle, but it still seared her skin like a brand.

And she could see herself wanting a whole lot more of that with him.

TEN

Owen went up crumbling steps to the apartment building where he was supposed to meet with the drug lieutenant. He already didn’t like what he saw—derelict cars in the parking lot, trash in the bushes, and general suckage.He’d seen worse, but it put him even more on guard than he’d been. As he entered the building, he scanned his surroundings, noting the exits and potential danger areas before seeking out apartment 1C.

“Are you inside yet?” Sophie asked via the Bluetooth earpiece he wore. His phone was in his pocket with an open call to her so she could hear everything and let him know the direction she wanted the interview to take.She’d prepped him with a series of questions but was worried that Razor would be unpredictable, forcing them to improvise.

“Just arrived,” he said and knocked on the door. He waited, tuning into his surroundings again. He heard movement inside the apartment—footsteps and a chair scraping against a floor. But no one came to the door. “He’s not answering.” Owen kept his voice low.

“Try to sweet talk him,” Sophie advised.

Sweet talk a guy connected to a drug operation? Yeah, right. He knocked a second time more loudly and waited, counting to ten. Still no answer. Time to make a nuisance of himself.

“Hey,” Owen spoke loudly enough to easily be heard even through the closed door. “I need to talk to you.” He waited again but was quickly running out of patience with this little game. Razor was toying with them, so Owen went for the kill. “We’ve gotdrugdealing to discuss.”

“I said sweet,” Sophie said, pleading with him. “Not intimidating.”

“Come out, dude.” Owen kept at it. “I can get louder, so all your neighbors know your business. Is that what you want?”

The door opened a mere three inches, held in place by the safety chain. “What the fuck’s wrong with you, man? Spreadin’ my trade in the hall.”

Owen looked the guy over. “Let me in, and we can talk privately.”

Razor sneered. “I ain’t talkin’ to you.”

“I’ve got a few questions for you. Sophie sent me.”

“She was supposed to come herself.”

“She couldn’t.” Owen didn’t elaborate on that.

“Let me make this clear, asshole, I’m talking to her or nobody.” Razor tried to slam the door, but Owen had wedged his boot into the crack, preventing it from closing.

“Try to get his trust. Introduce yourself. Be likable,” Sophie begged. “Please. I really need the info only he can give us.” Owen bit back a sigh and forced some of the tension out of his stance. For her, he’d give it a try.

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