She trailed her fingers along his forearm, then tracing up along his triceps, stirring a tingling in her wake. “As you seem awfully calm, it must not have been very close?”
“Nope.”
“Should we call the police?”
“Probably.” He couldn’t make himself move. Her body calm and warm and half naked under his, her fingers teasing his skin under his sleeves, she drove him mad with a desire he hadn’t felt in way too long.
While he wracked his brain for a single reason to move off her, she wrapped one hand around his shoulder, and the other gripped the back of his neck and pulled him to her. Leaning up to meet him, she pressed a silken kiss on his upper lip, then another on the corner of his mouth.
Helpless, enchanted, he stilled. Her tongue grazed along the crease of his lips, then she gently nipped at his lower lip.
Groaning at her simple touch that drove him absolutely beyond the tipping point, he took her mouth with his. Exploring, savoring her spiced, feminine scent, heat surged through his limbs, the outside world fading into nothing as she kissed him back, no holds barred, like she was as drunk on the chemistry as he was. Again and again, he tasted, learning the contours of her supple lips, a zing of electricity zapping him back to life with each touch.
Plunging her tongue inside his waiting mouth, she moved deeper, then looped her bare leg around his and clung like a horny Koala.
Lost, found, starving, he massaged velvet against velvet, heat building between them.
Crack.
And again.
More fucking gunshots.
Pulling away, his breath lost, her lips kissably warm and soft from the fucking best kiss he’d had… ever… he sat up and muttered, “Better call the cops.”
4
Tasty Lips
Waking from a delicious dream of those tasty lips on hers, Freya grumbled and picked up the damn phone that rattled her eardrum. “Hello?”
“Miss Marks?” A very official sounding voice asked, somewhere in between polite and brisk.
“Yes?”
“It’s Darren Miles from the Foothills Police Department. I wanted to follow-up with you regarding your call last night.”
She sat up in bed and smoothed her hair out of her face. “Did you find anything?”
“There’s only so much I can tell you, of course. That was gunfire, but it appears to have been aimed at a practice target and no violent intent was apparent.”
Scowling, she rubbed the sleepiness from her brow. “In the middle of the night? Shots fired nearly an hour apart?”
A heavy sigh. Never a good thing. “That’s the official story anyway, and action has been taken to ensure this shouldn’t happen again. Honestly, I would appreciate your help. The entire thing screams of domestic violence to me, but we can’t prove it. Young couple, they just moved into town a few weeks ago.”
“Oh. That’s terrible. Are you sure no one was hurt?”
“Not last night, fortunately. But if you wouldn’t mind reporting anything you hear coming from the neighbor’s property, I would sure appreciate it.”
“Absolutely.”
An icky feeling stirred in Freya’s gut as she thought about the rough night in the property neighboring theirs. When she was a kid, she only knew of it as the place where the weird couple lived that had twenty-three cats and their kids had all grown and moved on. She hadn’t realized the owners had passed away, but she supposed they would have been in their nineties or older by now.
Scooching out of bed, she took a quick shower and tossed on a breezy skirt and spaghetti strap top. She poured the pathetically weak coffee in the empty kitchen, popped in a quick piece of toast for breakfast and slipped on her shoes. No yoga this morning; she had more important things to do.
Sweeping her dark hair into a messy bun, she grabbed her coffee and headed across the driveway to the garage. Bouncing up the stairs, she raised her fist to the door, then hesitated. Crap. What if he was still sleeping?
Pressing her ear to the door, she held her breath and strained to hear any sign that he was up and about.
Grunting? Rhythmic thumping?
Had he met some woman after he’d left her at two in the morning? He didn’t even know anyone in town.
A rumble festered in the depths of her throat like a bad case of acid reflux. And where did the jealousy come from? She didn’t care for the odd emotion one bit. One belly-stirring, toe-tingling kiss, and this man was already messing her up.
She began to step back on the landing, when a heavy metal riff blasted from the speakers inside.
Mentally whacking herself on the forehead, she realized her faux pax, breathing out a sigh of relief and self-beratement at the same time. Raising her hand to the door, she waited until the song quieted again, then knocked loud enough so he’d hear.
Seconds later, the door swung open, Zane stood in front of her with an amused twist in his smile. “Morning.”
Holding her mug in front of her mouth, she covered her jaw-dropped gawk as she marveled. Bare chested, slick from the vigorous exercise she’d overheard… and those ripped abs she’d anticipated were even better without the shirt. Swallowing a miniscule sip of coffee, lest she choke, she found her smile and hoped her voice came out more than a breathy whimper. “Morning.”
He stepped back and welcomed her in, then dashed over and quieted the blasting metal. “You’re up early after a late night.”
“You too. The police department called me back.”
Snagging a shirt off the back of the couch, he slipped it over his head. As quickly as her brow scrunched in disappointment, she masked the expression. She was such a sucker for good abs, and
