Page 68 of If Our Hearts Collide

“I may need these for blackmail purposes,” she answers seriously.

“Is that so?”

Her eyes widen and then without warning, she flips to all fours and starts crawling away from me—like she actually thinks I won’t catch her. She turns to look back at me, only a few feet between us. When she sees what I can only assume is a sparkle in my eyes, she hops up to run—giggling and squealing—as I dart toward her.

I chase her into the kitchen, cornering her around the island.

“I promise I won’t show anyone.”

“Lies.”

We move in a circle, both on guard—until Penny tries to make a dash for it. But I’m faster.

“Let me go,” she says, out of breath from all the laughing.

Her body feels so soft in my arms, as her back is pressed against my front. Beneath my fingers, her heart beats rapidly. Wisps of her hair tickle my neck, as she tries to break free.

She is light—too light. It’s as if I’m holding a delicate strawberry, afraid to press her too much and cause her to bruise.

I should let her go, but I don’t want to. I want her to stay here just a little bit longer, so I can savor the feel of perfection.

“Please.” I can tell she is pouting just from the simple word.

“Not until I get the blackmail material.”

But then she goes limp, catching me off guard and wiggling free. She darts back across the room, giggling as I close the distance yet again.

She holds the phone in front of her, splitting her attention between me and her screen. “You better hope I don’t post these on social media or upload them to some random dating app. Actually, that sounds so fun.” She gives me a dazzling smile. “It could be a good way to get laid—if you needed help in that department.”

I stalk toward her, ignoring her soft mewling protests as she pins herself to the wall of windows, never taking my eyes off her. “Do you really think it’s wise to threaten me, when I obviously have the upper hand?”

“Who says you have the upper hand? I’m the one holding the?—”

My hand thrusts forward, snatching the device so fast that Penny has no time to react. “And you were saying?” I ask smugly.

“Hey! Give it to me.”

I turn my back, walking away. I’m privy to the passcode, but the last thing I need is to make that information obvious. Nic Hoffman is a cybersecurity genius, and anything digital that I need, he can usually retrieve. Sure, I’m overstepping a bit here with the only-use-when-necessary code of conduct, but having?—

“Gotcha,” Penny growls, jumping onto my back and trying to grab at the phone in my hand.

She can only weigh about one hundred ten pounds, but I let her think she has me. She hammers my back with her little fists, groaning after a couple of hits.

“If you are trying to hurt me, you are instead going to hurt yourself.”

“Too late.”

I give up on the photos, reach back, and pull Penny down to face me. I look at her hands, seeing that she will probably bruise tomorrow—or at the very least be sore. She is that delicate.

“Can you keep yourself from getting any more injuries today?”

“They are all your fault.”

“How is hitting memyfault?”

“Maybe if you weren’t built like a freaking ice sculpture of a Greek god”—she shoots me a glare with her angry eyes—“stop laughing at me. It’s true. Anyway, I wouldn’t have pain right now. So, yeah. This is your fault. And I’m pretty sure you don’t have a soft spot on your entire body.”

Oddly enough, I’m developing one for you.

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