Page 66 of Knox

“Completely serious. When I was six, a seagull stole my hot dog right out of my hand, then attacked me when I tried to get it back.”

“You tried to get it back?” She roared with laughter.

“It was a shrimp po’ boy. Hell yeah, I tried to get it back. Damn thing fought me for it. And won! Traumatized me for life.”

She laughed louder. “You cannot be afraid of seagulls. You live on an island.”

“It’s not ideal.” I fought a smile and lost. “In my defense, those things are vicious, winged rats with no respect for personal space.”

Sloane was still laughing, and I felt warmth bloom in my chest at the sound.

“Okay, your turn.”

She sobered. “I can’t whistle.”

I laughed. “What?”

“It’s true,” she said. “Not at all. I’ve tried, but I’ve got nothing.” She demonstrated, pursing her lips and blowing out air that produced a breathy, wheezy sound. “See? Useless.”

I shoved a few fries into my mouth to squash my broadening smile. “That’s actually kind of endearing.”

“It’s embarrassing. I’d make a terrible catcaller. And forget about me summoning a horse.”

My inability to keep a straight face in her presence should’ve been frustrating. The fact I’d barely scanned the lot outside the diner in several minutes, too lost in the moment, should’ve caused horrible alarm bells. But all I could feel was charmed. And grateful.

We finished eating, and I paid despite Sloane’s protests.

Outside, the afternoon sun was warm and bright as we walked to the Jeep, my hand against the small of her back. The touch had become natural, necessary. Part of the performance that didn’t feel like performance anymore at all.

We were steps from her seat when Sloane slowed to a stop.

“Knox.” She looked up at me, her green eyes serious and searching. “This is getting a lot more complicated than I thought it would be.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I promised. “It all sounds scary, but we aren’t alone. You’ve got me and the guys, the sheriff’s department, and now, apparently, the FBI. The information we’re adding to the case will make a huge difference in their ability to find this guy. I’m sure of it.”

She inhaled deeply and released a long breath. “I agree with all of that, but it wasn’t what I meant.” She stepped closer and rested one small palm against my chest.

My hand covered hers on instinct, pressing it against my heart. My pulse hammered, and I could see my own confused feelings reflected in her eyes. Only then did I realize what she’d meant.

“I need to know if you feel this too.” Without further explanation, she rose slowly onto her toes, sliding her hand higher and cupping it to the back of my neck.

My hand fell to the curve of her waist as I watched, mesmerized.

Her chin tilted up. “Because this isn’t fake for me anymore. I’m not sure it ever was.”

A million reasons to step away again raced through my mind. Except, this time, the voice inside my head who wanted control wasn’t nearly as loud as the voice who wanted Sloane.

In that moment of hesitation, she closed the last few inches between us and kissed me.

The world tilted, and everything else, the investigation, the danger, the complicated circumstances that had brought us together, all of it faded away. There was only Sloane, warm and soft, her lips moving against mine with a sweetness that stole my breath.

I wrapped her in my arms, pulling her closer. One hand tangled in her hair, the other splayed across her lower back. She made a small sound of pleasure, and something in me came undone. Whatever thread of restraint had remained until that moment, snapped, pulled too tight for too long.

Sloane eased back with a grin, her eyes wide and bright, her cheeks flushed. “You do feel it too. I was right.”

I laughed, my hand still in her hair, my heart still racing. “You are.”

“Hmm.” She bit her lip, obviously pleased.