Page 32 of Hidden Shadows
“Yeah.” But she didn’t remove the hand from his arm. Instead, she looked up at him, and that stare chained him to the moment.
He should pull his arm away, or at least look away from her. He should fucking run from Finley and what she did to him. But no part of him felt capable of that. Everything she was called to his soul. Like a melody made just for him.
As if his hand had a mind of its own, his fingers slipped through hers.
Her eyes softened, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth. With his other hand, he reached up and tugged the lip out with the pad of his thumb. But then he didn’t move his hand. Instead, he grazed her bottom lip, slowly, back and forth.
Her lips parted, her gaze lowering to his mouth.
Fuck, she destroyed him.
His head screamed at him to take his hand away. To look away. But his fucking body betrayed him as he lowered his head and kissed her.
Immediately, the press of her mouth against his made his heart thump in his chest. Something inside him changed. Relaxed. Made sense for the first time in his goddamn life.
When her lips separated, he slipped his tongue inside, tasting her. Letting her sweetness sift through him.
The kiss was silent, but it was also loud, deafening the world around him. Turning everything and everyone to nothing.
Her fingers swept up his chest, and he felt it as if she was touching his bare skin. Like she’d burned through the material of his clothes.
He threaded his fingers into her hair. He wanted to deepen the kiss. To lay this woman down and bathe in her. It was only when the sound of talking penetrated the fog that he came back from reality.
They were on a sleigh. In public. Fuck, he wasn’t even watching their surroundings.
He lifted his head, and Finley’s groan almost undid him. Almost had him slipping back to her again.
“I need to stop doing that,” he said, fingers still tangled in her hair.
“Why?”
“Because you’re my client.”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t hire you.”
That wasn’t how it worked. “You still are.”
“Nixon, I—” She stopped, frowning at something over his shoulder.
He twisted in the direction she’d looked, hand going to his concealed Glock. “What is it?” When he saw nothing, he turned back to her.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Finley—”
“It was nothing. I’m just being paranoid.”
Before he could push, the sleigh stopped, the driver’s voice booming. “Okay! End of the line.”
* * *
Finley’s eyes shot open.The hotel room was dark around her, the only light coming from the small digital clock beside the bed.
But something had woken her…
What?
She was a deep sleeper, so it had to be something loud. Had someone made a noise from the hall? Maybe someone returning late to their room or ordering middle-of-the-night room service?
