Page 38 of Win a Date with a Detective

My heart practically explodes. “Detective, I thought you’d never ask.”

He leans toward me.

And this time, there’s absolutely nothing brief about the kiss. His hand slides into my hair. Mine finds the front of his shirt.

And when his tongue brushes against mine, I make a noise that would be profoundly embarrassing if I possessed even the slightest amount of shame.

But I don’t. I want more.

So much more. When we finally separate, I’m practically panting.

Bronson rests his forehead against mine. “Rachel.”

“Yes?”

“I should probably walk you to your door.”

I smile. “Probably.”

Neither of us moves. I kiss him again.

Then pull back just enough to whisper, “You know, Detective, there’s something I’ve always wanted to know.”

He groans.

“Please don’t ask me about fingerprints.”

I laugh. “No.”

“Ballistics?”

“Nope.”

“Crime scene reconstruction?”

“Not tonight.”

His eyes darken. “Then what?”

I lean closer. “Whether you’re as good at using those handcuffs as I imagine.”

He goes completely still. “Rachel.”

“Yes?”

“Are you inviting me upstairs?”

I smile. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you intend to finish your investigation.”

SIX

BRONSON

I’ve made some questionable decisions in my life.