Page 22 of Hooked on Trouble

A muffled snort drifts toward me. “Since I’m in a tell-all mood, why not? It’s pretty much your MO anyway.”

She’s right about that. This need I have to know her has been there from day one. “What happened when she took off? Why do you think it’s your fault?”

“That’s two questions, hot shot.” We’re back to her signature snark, but her voice waivers. We watch the rolling waves. She seems ready to ignore me, then she places her hand on my thigh. “I appreciate the asking, but I can’t talk about it yet.”

Although it’s a warm summer morning, a quiver runs through her shoulders, as though her memories are sending ice through her veins. Whatever happened was bad. Painful enough to reduce the strong woman I know to quaking limbs. Unable to keep my distance, I grip her hips and hoist her onto my lap, facing me. She wraps her legs around my waist. Just like in Aspen.

I cup her cheeks. “It’s okay. Tell me when you’re ready. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

For dredging up painful memories.

For ditching you after Aspen.

For making it all worse.

She drags her teeth over her bottom lip. “What are we doing exactly?”

Isn’t that the question? One I have no problem answering. “We’re starting over, getting to know each other.”

Tentatively, she places her hands on my chest, and my muscles jump. One touch from her is like an electric spark. “Then I guess it’s your turn to open the vault.”

Barely able to focus, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I hate curry.”

Smirking, she flicks my shoulder. “Yeah, big guy. I figured that out. Not exactly breaking news.”

Or the type of sharing that breeds trust. I touch her nose, the arch of her eyebrow, the dark strands of her hair, some tinged red by the eerie lighting. If we’re going to find our feet, there has to be honesty, which means divulging the hard stuff. She’s not ready. I get it. Best way to pave that path is to offer my truth. Find a way to voice the nasty thoughts that have plagued me recently.

I clear my throat. “When my father got arrested, my sergeant hauled my ass into his office for a ‘heart-to-heart’ about my family. My character was put into question, and things were sketchy for a bit.” I lower my head and sift through the tough realities I haven’t wanted to poke. Steeling my resolve, I look Raven in the eye. “Insisting I’m not involved with their drama may not go well a second time. I sometimes wonder if I’m working so hard to clear Josh’s name more for me than for him.”

Embarrassment creeps up my neck. Here I am, worried about my job when Josh could go to jail. Older Brother of the Year Award.

She traces the enata symbol on my pec. “It’s natural to look out for yourself, but from what I’ve seen, you care a lot for those around you. You’re also hard on them. And probably too hard on yourself. You’re a good man, Nico.”

I press my thumb below her jaw, to feel her pulse point, judge her sincerity. It’s all there. In the tenderness lighting her ebony eyes. She has no idea how those words lift me up. It’s exactly what I’ve worked toward. To be good. To prove my worth. To not be my father. From her, it means everything. “Thank you.”

We sit like this awhile—her hands on my chest, mine in her hair. Seeds of trust planting. I shift her weight on my lap. “What leads do you have on your sister?”

She narrows her dark gaze on me. “You really want to help?”

“I really want to help.” My family’s fate keeps slipping out of my hands, but Raven has the chance to patch hers up. A small patch, at least.

She stares at me so long I almost flinch, then she says, “I did some digging at home. Found out she might be living here, but I don’t know where to look. Every time I’m out—like at Wreck Beach or on Hastings—I study women, but it’s like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

I rub her arms, slow and gentle. “Let me look into it, see what I can find.”

“It’s a lot to ask.” Her head dips forward, a curtain of black hair covering her face. We’re close. Intertwined. Not pressed together the way I want to crush her to me. My body is heating, though, my cock thickening. She must know it, feel it.

I push the strands aside, and my knuckles brush her jaw. “I want to help. Let me do this.”

She leans into my touch, so I uncurl my fingers and grip her neck, slip my thumb below her ear. She tilts her head and parts her lips. My heart jogs faster than it did on my run. My attraction to her is always intense, but this, right now, has my skin on fire. “Babe, I need to kiss you.”

A soft sigh escapes her lips. “Do you make out with all potential private eye clients?”

Always cheeky. “Just the ones I want to date.”

“In that case, let’s see what you got.”

Her eyelids flutter closed, and I surge forward, needing to ease her worries and erase the emotional distance between us, get to a place where we talk without thinking and touch because we have to. I close my lips over hers, groaning at the contact. Noses brushing, I thread my fingers into her hair. Savor the way she bends toward me. Pretend she’s mine. I swipe my tongue over the seam of her lips, easing them wider. She invites me in, and my dick pulses. She tastes like honey. So good. So sweet. Our tongues twirl, a sensual dance that has me pressing my hips upward, but I don’t grind against her. I’m wet and sweaty. We’re in a public place. But I don’t let up.