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“If you want sex” — his lips moved in a lazy curl — “I’m your man.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’m tired.” She pulled her keys from her pocket. “I've been dealing with drunken idiots all night. One of them threw up in my patrol vehicle. I’m not in the mood for this.”

She tried to step around him.

He matched her movement.

She looked up. “Move.”

His eyes, as dark as the sky above them, searched hers with an intensity that made her skin feel too tight. “No.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

Why couldn’t he just walk away?

Why couldn’t he make this easy?

She shoved his chest.

He barely rocked.

“Felicity…”

Ugh. “Don’t.”

“You keep running.”

“I'm standing right here.”

“Your body’s here.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “The rest of you is already driving away.”

Something inside her snapped. “No, you—”

He kissed her.

The force of it stole every coherent thought from her mind.

Anger. Frustration. Need.

It crashed into her all at once.

For one impossible heartbeat she forgot every reason she’d built for saying no. Her fingers caught on the front of his jacket.

She kissed him back. Hard.

As if she could punish him with it.

As if bruising his mouth would somehow erase the ache he’d lodged beneath her ribs.

His hand cupped her jaw, impossibly gentle compared to the violence of the kiss.

That gentleness snapped her back to herself.