Page 11 of Wilde and Deadly

Her lips curved into a wicked, knowing smirk. And then she surged upward, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.

His brain short-circuited.

Heat exploded between them, wiping out all logic, all reason. Rowan kissed like she fought, all teeth, heat, and sheer, reckless determination to win.

For a moment, he forgot everything—the mission, the danger, even his own damn name.

There was only Rowan, soft and pliant beneath him, her body molding to his as if she were meant to be there.

The kiss was all heat and desperation, weeks of pent-up tension and unresolved feelings slamming together in a collision they both should’ve seen coming.

His hands roamed down her back, pulling her impossibly closer, gripping her like he had the right to keep her.

She moaned into his mouth, and that was it. That was his breaking point.

A small, rational part of his brain screamed at him to stop, to remember why he was here.

But Rowan’s soft, needy little sound drowned out that voice, replacing it with a primal, gut-wrenching need to take her, claim her, own every beautiful, infuriating inch of her.

He didn’t even realize he was moving until he hauled her off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bed, his hands mapping the curve of her thighs, the dip of her spine.

He kicked the door shut behind them and barely registered the low, confused whine.

Rowan broke the kiss just enough to murmur, breathless, “Let him in.”

Wait, what?

It took him a full five seconds to process what she meant.

Luka. He’d shut the dog out of the room.

Davey hesitated, torn between his instincts as Luka’s handler and the burning, all-consuming need to keep Rowan exactly where she was—pressed against him, her body arching, her fingers tangled in his hair.

With a frustrated groan, he set her down and yanked open the door. Luka bounded inside, tail wagging happily.

“Stay,” he commanded, pointing to a worn armchair in the corner.

The dog trotted over, obedient as ever, but his sharp, knowing gaze never left them.

Davey dragged a hand through his hair, his pulse still thrumming, his body still wired, still wanting as he turned to face Rowan again.

She stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving, lips swollen from their kiss. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of desire and defiance that made his blood sing. And that smug little look on her face told him she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Jesus Christ.

He was in so much trouble.

And he didn’t care.

“Now,” he growled, advancing on her. “Where were we?”

Rowan’s smile turned wicked. Dangerous. “I believe you were about to make a very big mistake.”

He barely caught the glint of metal before she brought her hands up, the cuffs dangling loosely from her finger.

Fucking hell.

Of course. Of course she’d gotten out of the damn cuffs.

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