Page 57 of Heist in Paradise

Her eyes widened to saucers. “Oh my god.” She slapped her hands over her face. “Damn you for saying that. Do you want me to cry? I hate you.”

“Good.”

With that, I dragged her against me. The dam broke, and she wept into my chest, her delicate fists twisting into the fabric of my shirt. My instincts screamed at me to run—for once, I ignored them, stroking her side until her sobs softened.

She pulled back after a few minutes. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks red and splotchy. Her ponytail was off-center, golden strands stuck damp to her face.

My heart fucking skipped.

She sniffled and ducked her head in embarrassment. “I think my brain is broken,” she admitted. “I just want to forget for a second about all of this—about Molly and that video and the—the dead guy. You killed him, right?”

I nodded.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “You should kiss me now.”

My brain short-circuited, so I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly. “What?”

She looked up sharply. “Kiss me,” she repeated.

I hesitated. Just for a second. She held my gaze defiantly, daring me to deny her. My bossy cheerleader.

“Fuck it.” I stamped my cigarette out on the balcony railing and cupped her face. “Crazy looks good on you, princess.”

She licked her lips. “Prove it.”

I crushed my mouth to hers.

OLIVIA

The kiss was rough, demanding, and a little bit feral. Just like him.

There was also something claiming about it, something possessive about the way his hand slid around my jaw, cupping the back of my neck and holding me in place. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. And I definitely didn’t want to.

Weirdo, Molly taunted in my head. The sound of her voice was devastating in the wake of the truth. I pushed her aside, down deep where she couldn’t reach me for a while. I needed to turn off. Breathe. Forget.

A breathless moan escaped my mouth when his lips molded over mine, his tongue immediately seeking entrance. I gave it to him, and the hot slide of him left me quaking in want, my body disconnecting and reconnecting in sharper agony.

God, he was a good kisser. Hard, unapologetic. Full of teeth and violence and cigarettes. I tried to keep up, but it was a lost cause. I was practically a virgin again, fumbling under his touch, trying to swallow my moans so he couldn’t find them. Our teeth clicked once, and he pulled back, only just enough to bite down hard on my lower lip. My eyes sprang open in shock, and I was unprepared for the shock of blue, the icy fire.

Jax released me, his voice ragged. My own pants were loud and embarrassing between us.

I knew we needed to stop. Once was forgivable—anything more was a commitment. I fumbled for the words, finding them and losing them all over again when he leaned in, dragging his stubble across my chin and down my neck.

At my ear, he whispered huskily: “Stop thinking so much.”

“I can’t,” I practically whined.

Then his teeth nipped my earlobe, and the pain was electric. His hands settled low on my hips, calloused thumbs rubbing my bare hip bones. “I’ll just have to do better,” he said.

He kissed me again, wholly, consuming. My brain was my brain, so I couldn’t silence it completely, and I became overly aware of my limp arms. Wanting to regain control—wanting to prove something—I dragged my hands over his stomach, over the fabric, then dipped underneath. He was so hot. Feverish almost. His ridiculous abs tensed and rippled beneath my touch, and I just knew he was doing it on purpose.

I hated that it worked.

As payback, I scraped my nails hard against his naked sides, and he jerked in response, but not in a bad way.

In a very, very good way.

Then I went higher, across his ribs, over jagged scars, over his hard nipples. He jerked again, more violently, and slammed my body against his.