Page 33 of When You Got a Good Thing (Misfit Inn 1)

“I want you to come cook me dinner. At my place.”

“You want me to cook for you?”

“Well, you already proved you’re a pretty damned good cook with breakfast for Ari. And I want to spend some time with you. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and I’d just as soon do it without prying eyes or ears.”

Kennedy could get behind that idea. At the Sheriff’s Office, she’d felt on display during their conversation. And that had been before her run-in with his father. The thought of Buck had her hesitating, her enthusiasm dimming.

“Your daddy still hates me.”

“I’m not in the habit of doing what my father wants.”

The last ten years would seem to contradict that, but maybe Xander was up for letting her corrupt him again. Kennedy thought she’d enjoy that a helluva lot.

“How’s tonight?”

“Sounds perfect.”

~*~

“I can’t believe you bought old man Miller’s place.”

Xander stepped back to let Kennedy inside. “The irony is not lost on me.”

She breezed past him, her arms loaded down with bags. “Worse, I can’t believe we were this close to your house the other night, and we sat in your Bronco until dawn.”

He trailed her into the kitchen, effectively boxing her in against the counter as she set the groceries down. He let his lips curve, his voice drop to a growl. “I don’t think either of us was complaining about close quarters that night.”

She pressed a hand to his chest, and he thought she might push him away. Instead, her pupils dilated and her fingers curled in the front of his shirt.

“How hungry are you?”

Xander knew they weren’t talking about food. “Starved.”

“Me too.” She tugged his shirt and he went willingly.

Her mouth took his, warm and insistent. An answer to the question that had been humming between them for days. Apparently she’d thought about them and had finally come up with an answer. Thank God. She’d always been the answer for him. Twining her arms around his shoulders, she took them deeper, a quick, reckless slide toward madness. They weren’t outside. They had no audience. And he’d wanted the possibility of this when he’d invited her over.

Running his hands down her back, he cupped her exquisite ass and pressed her against the evidence of his need. She nipped his lip before licking to soothe, then running her tongue along the seam of his mouth. He welcomed her, stroking his tongue against hers and bending until he could hook his hands behind her legs and lift her onto the island.

Something clattered. Kennedy’s head jerked toward the noise, and she reached out to nab the bottle of wine before it rolled off. “We’ll just put that over there, where it’ll be safe.” She stretched, putting it and the other bags out of harm’s way before looping an arm back around his shoulders and pressing her free hand to the pulse in his throat.

Xander could feel it hammering against her touch, could see an answering flutter at the base of her throat, and knew they could lose themselves. He wanted that, wanted to feel the softness of her skin sliding against his, the warmth of her body closing around him. He wanted it like he wanted his next breath.

But he saw something in her eyes. Some trace of desperation that had nothing to do with arousal. He knew if he kissed her again, they’d finish this. But he had a sense that if they did, it would be less about him, less about them, and more about distraction. Not that he had a problem being her distraction, but he didn’t think that’s what she actually needed right now.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“We are both wearing entirely too many clothes.”

Xander huffed out a laugh. “That is probably true. But I didn’t actually invite you over here for this.”

One blonde brow shot up. “After all that innuendo in the barn?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t thinking about it.” He glanced down at the irrefutable evidence below his belt. “But I wasn’t going to push.”

She hooked her fingers in his belt, looking at him through lowered lashes. “I believe all evidence indicates that I was pulling.”

Her words and the proximity of her hands had Xander thinking about those slim fingers wrapped around him, as, he imagined, she’d known it would. His dick jumped, totally on board with that plan. In a bid for some kind of sainthood, he g

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