He stepped closer. His eyes were very serious, and they never shifted from mine. Not for a heartbeat. “Nope.”
“Oh.” My mouth felt very dry. “Then why are you doing it?”
“You want me to tell you?”
I gave a shallow nod.
“I’d rather show you,” he murmured, hand tightening.
“What?” I breathed. “What do you?—”
My question slipped away into a surprised gasp (which quickly turned into an altogetherdifferentsort of gasp) as Cade’s head slanted down and his lips claimed mine. All thoughts of keeping him at arm’s length vanished instantly. I didn’t even think about it, I just kissed him back — leaning into his space until my body brushed against his, the hard planes of his chest pressed firm against my curves.
His heat sank into me as his hands slid up my spine, then delved into my hair, his strong fingers twisting in the weight of it. Gentle, but firm. That felt so unbelievably good, I nearly purred. My hands hit his waist, curling around his belt to keep my balance when my knees threatened to turn to jelly.
Damn, the man couldkiss.
I’d had my fair share of kisses over the years, but never one like this. Cade’s kiss was like a sneak attack. Soft, at first, almost gentle. Unhurried. He took his time, coaxing my lips to open under his, sliding his tongue inside once I granted permission. Not demanding or claiming anything that I didn’t offer freely.
I soon realized his strategy. He was slowly building the heat with his lips and his hands and his body; steadily fanning the embers of passion until I was burning up with it. UntilIwas the one pressing closer, pushing up onto my tiptoes, winding my arms around his neck.
Cade felt my eager response and returned it without hesitation, growling low in his throat when my fingers threaded into the thick hair at his nape. I desperately wished I weren’t wearing my gloves; wished I could feel that silk against my bare skin. I tilted my head to the side, giving him better access to my mouth as he deepened the kiss.
God, that felt good.
Indescribable.
I wanted more and I wasn’t afraid to let him know it. My touch grew more urgent as I wound my arms tighter, fingers pressing into his skin to pull him as close as I could get him. A mewl of pure pleasure escaped when he sucked lightly on my tongue, the same instant his hands left my hair to frame my face. I liked the feeling of his big hands cradling my head, his callused palms scraping against my cheeks. I liked it so much, I plastered my body fully against him and surrendered every bit of self-control I still possessed.
Cade made another low, growly sound — one that informed me his own control was slipping. His sneak attack strategy was no more than a memory, now. The kiss had gone wild, and neither of us had the faintest desire to reel it back in.
“Fuck,” he muttered against my lips when I was forced to break for a much-needed gulp of air. “That mouth of yours. I thought watching it smile at me was incredible, but feeling it on mine…Fuck.”
Did he just say that?
It was safe to say, I wasdefinitelysmiling as I pushed up onto my tiptoes to kiss him again. No sooner did his lips claim mine than the sudden screech of a door opening made us jolt apart. Cade’s arms did not release their grip; he continued to hold me close, even as both our heads whipped toward the porch just in time to see Rory barrel out onto it. He was barefoot, clad in his silver spaceship pajamas. When he saw us, he covered his eyes with his hands and dropped to his knees.
“EW!KISSING! GROSS!”
His little-kid voice carried quite well. Well enough to draw his brother outside onto the porch, followed quickly by his mother.
Blast!
I tried to wiggle out of Cade’s hold, but his arms turned to steel bands the instant I moved. Gigi’s look of stunned disbelief morphed into a shit-eating grin as she took in the sight of me standing there — no doubt flushed and panting — in the circle of a certain silver fox detective’s arms. Her hands flew out to snag her youngest around the shoulders.
“Rory, bub, get back inside,” she ordered, pivoting him around and giving him a slight push toward the door. “Time to brush your teeth, then get in bed.”
“But—”
“No backtalk.” Her eyes swung to Declan, who was staring at me and Cade with a mini shit-eating grin of his own. “You too, Dec.”
“But it’s not my bedtime!” the eleven-year-old protested, indignant. “It’s not even seven!”
“You don’t have homework?”
“Finished it.”
“Fine. One hour of Nintendo,” she acquiesced. “One, not three. Then pjs and bed.”