Page 140 of The Re-Proposal

“But… I guess that proves my point,” she muses.

A beat passes.

My blood pulses so hard I almost pass out from the adrenaline.

“And what exactly is your point?”

“Thathormonesmess with the brain.”

“Ah-ah.” I take her hand and slide my thumb over the back of it. “You didn’t say hormones earlier. You said love.”

“Did I?”

“You did.”

“I don’t remember that.” Her eyes flash with mischief and her sexy lips curl higher.

Screw it.

Somehow, this argument about responsibility in dating turned into… something else. I don’t care what she’s thinking or what kind of game she’s playing with me. The way she’s looking at me, the soft scent of her hair, the pretty brown eyes—I’m going to explode if I can’t kiss her.

“You can’t remember or you don’t want to?” I growl, easing over to her side of the car.

Desire thrums through me like a wolf on the prowl.

I grip her chin. One finger traces her lips, teasing at the parted middle. My body hardens, firmer than granite with the skitter of her breath on my pointer. The hunger boiling inside me explodes.

“How about I jog your memory?”

“How do you plan on doing that?” she asks.

I grip her beautiful face firmly, my lips hovering just over hers.

She’s ready for this.

I can see it in her eyes.

They’ve gone pitch-black with anticipation, with tension, with desire.

My focus is on Clarissa, and I miss the sight of a speedy missile hammering our way until it’s too late. When I see the shadow behind her head, all I can do is bellow, “Get down!”

Clarissa releases a confused shriek as I push her head into my lap and cover her body with my own. Glass explodes. Shards rain over our heads, coating my back and biting into my skin.

A small rock lands on my dashboard. It clatters, rolling forward until it comes to a dead stop.

“Ris, are you okay?” I bark, easing off her and lifting her head.

She looks shaken, but her eyes are clear. “Y-yes. What was that?”

I glance up and notice someone rushing away on foot. A security guard is tailing him, but the perp jumps on a motorcycle and zooms off.

Vargas drives up at that moment. He parks beside me, sees the hole in my window and pops out.

His eyes are wide and frantic. “Bolton! What the hell?”

“Ris,” I keep my eyes on her face, “are you sure you’re okay?” I push her hair back and inspect her neck. “Do you have any injuries?”

She brushes glass fragments from my hair. Her hands are trembling. “I’m the one who should be asking you that.”

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