Page 28 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

I don’t know if I can keep my hands off him. Not when he leans his cheek into my hand like that. He still smells of vanilla and hope. His face looks older, but his big brown eyes are the same.

What I wouldn’t give for another chance to kiss him.

“Do you still want me?” Quin whispers.

I lean in closer to him, until I’m hovering just a few inches from his face. Should I be honest with him and admit that my grizzly heart will never stop wanting him?

He looks back at me, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” I say.

He moves in closer until our noses brush, then drags the tip of his against the bridge of my nose, and God. That little touch makes my whole body light up. I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips. Just that hint of him is wildly erotic.

“What if I wanted you to take me right here in this car?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I close my eyes and press our foreheads together. “Do you?”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Yes.”

I grab the back of his head and claim his mouth with a fierceness I worry will scare him. He lets out the sweetest whimper as I deepen the kiss, diving my tongue between his lips. He tastes of cinnamon and sugar.

We kiss each other with desperation, his hands roaming over my chest. I allow myself to lose control, giving in to the temptation to suck on the bottom of his lip and move my mouth to the tender lobe of his ear. Every sharp intake of his breath is a glorious sign that he wants this, too. It’s so unexpected, I don’t think about what comes next or how long it will last. Until he breaks away.

His face is flushed and his lips are swollen. I’ve spent the last six years remembering the beauty of his face, and my memories didn’t come close to how striking he is right now.

“Before we do anything else, I have something I need to tell you,” he says. “You have a right to know.”

Is he dating someone else? The idea of it makes my stomach twist with jealousy, even though I have no claim to him.

“Do you know how raccoon shifters take a mate?” he asks.

I nod. Everyone knows that a raccoon shifter can make someone fall for them with the touch of their paws. Has Quin put his paws on someone already? I guess we’re twenty-four. Plenty of shifters bond by the age of twenty-four. But if Quin was already bonded, what is he doing kissing me?

“That night when I was in your bedroom, I…” Quin trails off. “I, um, put my paws on you.”

I think back to that night. I got caught up in making love to Quin, and didn’t stop to wonder why he was in my room in the first place. I remember how badly I wanted him—how little control I had over myself.

“What does this mean? Are we mates?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “The bond never had a chance to form properly.”

Quin put his paws on me. I can’t believe it. All this time, I’ve gotten it wrong. I thought it was my grizzly heart that kept me yearning for Quin. If only I had known.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He swallows hard. “Has our connection faded for you?”

I open my mouth to answer him, but I’m not sure what I should say. If I admit how deep our connection still is for me, will he feel obligated to pursue whatever is left between us? Is that fair to him now that I’m a convict?

“It’s okay.” Quin says, but his eyes well with tears. “You don’t have to worry about…” He shrugs instead of finishing his sentence.

“Quin—”

He starts the engine again. “It isn’t a big deal.” He wipes the tears away, and my heart aches. He’s getting this all wrong.

“I’ve thought of you every day for the last six years,” I say.

He turns to me, his lip trembling. “You did?”

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