Page 57 of End Game

“Rewind a sec. Someone has written trash on your car before?”

She nodded and lowered her hand. “At university.”

“Give me the details.”

“The one has nothing to do with the other.”

“You’re a detective now, are you?”

Her brows bunched together. “You can’t really believe a hotheaded young man from my past had anything to do with this.” She pointed at the etching.

“I’ve learned to rule out nothing. Some criminals have exceptionally long memories, especially if they believe they’ve been wronged.” A hard lesson Zeke had learned not long ago.

A hint of vulnerability penetrated her features, but she seemed to thrust the emotion away to make room for the ever-present, mocking curl at the corner of her mouth.

“This must be one happy week for you,” she said.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “Someone hates me more than you.”

The slap of her words had the same stinging effect as one of his grandmother’s pointed looks. “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t like me, either.”

His attention shifted to her mouth, to the infuriating curl at the corner. If he pressed his lips there, would it disappear or deepen? Welcome or repel? “You’re wrong.”

“Sometimes, but not in this.”

After his meeting with Liv, he’d shucked his jacket and tie, rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, and unfastened the top two buttons. Now, he cursed his decision to expose the flesh at the base of his neck. If he’d left his armor on, he wouldn’t now be tortured by the whisper of Kayla’s warm breaths against his skin.

Had he stepped closer? Or had she?

“I’ve got a problem with your profession. Not you.”

“I am my profession, Ash,” she whispered. “You cannot carve it out of me and expect me to survive.”

Hadn’t he said something similar to Zeke a few days ago?

Unable to stop himself, he brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, startling her, and continued the caress across her jawline to her chin. The tip of his thumb skimmed upward to her lower lip. He skirted the edge until he reached the curl.

He smoothed the mock away. Did the same to the other side. “I don’t know. I’m pretty good with a fillet knife.”

Then he did the last thing he should, and kissed her.

27

Kayla froze at the first press of Ash’s lips against hers.

His touch was tentative, as if seeking permission—or waiting for the violent rejection of her palm across his face, a kick to the shin, or a shove against his chest.

She sensed all of this, even as shock speared through her bloodstream, making her limbs heavy, her thoughts nonexistent, and her organs unsteady. The only part of her body that seemed to be functioning as intended was her mouth.

Instinct controlled her. Months of anticipation, of wanting, of imagining, guided her through one of the most erotic moments of her life.

When his tongue slid inside her mouth, she could no longer passively participate. Her body broke free of its strange paralysis. She moved in closer, snaking her arms around his middle, sliding her hands upward until she felt the ripple of muscle across his back.

Her G-man worked out. A lot.

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