Page 27 of Caught from Behind

“Where did you get”—he lightly brushes his thumb over the bruise—“that from?”

My frown deepens, thinking back, and not remembering hitting it on anything. Then again, I run into things often enough that I don’t always pay attention to it…or the bruises that form in my clumsy wake. The universe only created one graceful Adler, and that’s not me. “I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “Probably at the salon today, same as I got the other one” I’m always bumping into the corners of our sets of drawers and doorframes and the rows of sinks at the salon. Not to mention burning myself on my curling iron and dropping color on my clothes and?—

Well, like I said.

I’m not graceful.

He lifts my arm.

Higher. Higher. Up toward his face. Up toward his lips.

Until they press lightly against my skin. Over the bruise on my forearm…and the other on my bicep.

“You need to be careful,” he murmurs.

I shiver—not because I’m cold, but because my nerves are alight—and my body drifts closer to his.

And maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I can’t stand to walk away from him, can’t stand the lost look in his eyes, the way they warm just at the edges when he doesn’t realize I’m watching him watch me.

Plus, I can’t resist celebrating his skill at shocking my brother.

First the quip then…

Riggs—quiet, grumpy, man-of-few-words Riggs—had kissed my brother to shut him up.

It didn’t work for more than a few seconds, but…still.

Maybe I should be grossed out.

But all I could think when I’d watched it go down was…can I get some of that?

Except, longer and with open lips and lots of tongue and…well a real kiss to shut me up, like the one from his car, and not the smack he’d laid on Knox.

So, yeah, maybe I’m just that dumb or truly a glutton for punishment.

But I don’t walk away.

I drift a little closer.

“You need to be careful,” I say. “Taunting my brother like that.”

One shoulder lifts, drops. “I can handle Knox.”

“You sure about that?”

“Crystal.”

The edges of my mouth tip up. “Well, I suppose we won’t know if he wants to murder you or kiss you again until he follows through.”

“On what?”

“On one of those two options—murder or locking lips.”

A chuckle that coats my skin in dampened velvet. “He’s not getting another kiss.” That big shoulder lifts and drops again. “God knows I’m going to get enough shit in the locker room for that as it is.”

“So why’d you do it?” I ask, curious.

His eyes come to mine. “I don’t know.”

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