Page 33 of One Big Little Secret

I wonder if her nipples still look the same, large and round and suckable.

Does she still moan like molten caramel when they’re trapped between a man’s teeth?

Fuck.

She looks like she can read my filthy thoughts.

But she shuts her mouth, and I think I hear her molars grinding.

With the damage done, we head back to the SUV.

A tense silence hangs over us, as smothering as the ice-cold sleet that slicks the windshield.

“Look, Miss Hopper—Salem,” I say as I pull away, desperately scraping my teeth over my tongue as I try to throw my imagination off teasing her nipples. “Why don’t you choose the radio station before our next stop?”

“You want me to pick the music?” She glances at me, a hint of disbelief crossing her face.

“Usually, I listen to podcasts or audiobooks about business when I’m short on time to read them,” I say through gritted teeth. “I thought maybeyou’dlike to listen to music. A simple courtesy.”

“Oh. Okay.” Her face softens.

I switch on the satellite radio and she flicks through stations, listening to a few seconds of each until settling on one she likes.

An eighties station.

Kill me now.

I’ve never been one of those people who needs to revisit the era he was born in. We get through half a song before I worry about the murder factor ruining this day after all.

That’s when Salem startssinging,cupping her hands in front of her face like she’s holding a microphone.

She croons out “Time After Time” in perfect sync to the music. Apparently, she knows this song word-for-word even though it had to be well before her time.

Murder is starting to look like the easy way out of this.

She sucks in a deep breath, ready to belt out another verse.

“I read your résumé last night,” I say loudly, cutting off her next warbled line. “You’ve had a lot of business ventures in the past.”

She drops her hands into her lap and finally—thank the fucking universe—stops singing.

“You really want to talk about my résumé?” she asks blankly.

Anything but the singing, yes.

“I was curious about your experience before you came here, aside from the three years at the motel.”

“Say what you really mean. Thefailedventures, you mean.” Her tone hardens, and she turns down the music as she gives me her full attention. Somehow, that makes it worse. “That’s what really caught your eye, isn’t it?”

Shit. No. Maybe?

“I didn’t mean—”

“Well, you’re right. I have tried a lot of things and they haven’t panned out,” she whispers. “That’s one of the reasons I went for this opportunity. So maybe I could learn enough to keep a real business alive.”

I don’t dare ask if she regrets it yet as much as I do.

“What inspired you to try entrepreneurship in the first place?”

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