Page 58 of End Game

The embrace brought her body flush against his. He moaned in response, cradled her face in his hands, and deepened the kiss.

When she realized his hunger matched her own, her pulse stuttered and her breathing put on the skids. From the first moment she saw him, she’d wanted him.

His continual hostility toward her had only heightened her attraction, especially once she’d detected interest beneath all his male posturing. But something had changed in the last few days.

Beneath the hostility, beneath the interest, thundered a heart that cared for her. Truly cared. Cared enough to drive her home and check for intruders, cared enough to show up on a weekend to ensure she was safe.

Could she make love to Ash Blackwell and walk away, unscathed?

No. Absolutely not.

The answer squeezed out what little juice she had left in her heart, and she became lightheaded with fear. She didn’t want to let him go, but she also understood the inevitable suffering she would endure if she allowed herself to indulge in one night with him.

Slowly, gently, reluctantly she brought their kiss to an end.

As soon as she stepped back, her stomach knotted with regret and longing.

Would his caress have led to the most amazing lovemaking of her life? Or would he have been one more romantic disappointment in a long line of disappointments?

Of its own volition, her gaze tracked over his body. Somehow, she didn’t think anything about Asher Cameron Blackwell would disappoint.

Except for his annoying tendency to judge her.

He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I don’t know, what?—”

She held up a hand. “It was a moment. No need for excuses.”

He scowled. “I wasn’t going to offer any.”

“You don’t know what came over you? You don’t know what you were thinking?” She raised an eyebrow. “Those non-excuses?”

“You have a knack for pissing me off, you know that?”

“We all have our talents.”

“You’re right,” he all but growled. “I shouldn’t have come here.” He stormed away, then paused at the garage door opening to look back at her. “Did any of your mother’s guests report losing a pearl stud earring the night of the murder?”

The change of topic jolted her. “Pardon?” His words clicked into place. “No, not that I’ve heard.”

“How about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you misplaced a pearl earring?”

“Not that I’m aware, but I haven’t worn my studs in weeks.” She set her jaw. “Why do you ask?”

“An earring was discovered in the garden.”

“You believe it’s connected to Vicky’s murder?”

“It’s probably nothing, but we have to follow up on it. Let me know if you find an earring missing. And text me the name of your university vandal.” He gave her a hard nod. “Good night.”

“Do you have a picture of the earring? If it’s not mine, I can ask around.”

“No.” Another command. “You sleuthing around is the last thing I need.”

“But wouldn’t it be better?—”

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