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I hadn’t thought of it assad, just as my reality. Her pity didn’t sit well with me. “As harsh as he was, my father taught me how to fight, how to lead, and how to protect those close to me. He’s the reason you’re alive today.”

“No,” she said, reaching for the gun. I let her have it, watching her tuck the bunny under an arm so she could aim. Scotch closed one eye and fired rapidly—four hits and a miss. Way better than I’d expected her to be. She lowered the gun and smiled softly. “You and you alone have kept me safe, Costello. You’re the entire reason I’m alive.”

Her words were sweet, but I was taken aback by something else. “Who taught you to shoot like that?”

Biting her lip, she set the gun on the booth and backed away. “No one. I’m just a lucky shot. Hey, let’s go get some corn dogs. They’re calling my name.”

I wasn’t stupid; she was hiding something. My instincts screamed at me to figure it out. But watching how she bit into her batter-covered hot dog, mustard spilling on her cheek, I found it too easy to ignore my worries. I didn’twantto distrust Scotch.

After all I’d done to justify keeping her safe ... I couldn’t handle learning something bad about her. So instead I joined in, chewing a corn dog and strolling through the carnival. Our feet carried us toward a quieter section, farther from the mall. The river was in front of us, the bridge overhead, sparkling with headlights. Even the cars made the world seem extra festive.

“You have ketchup on your chin,” she said. I went to wipe it away, but she beat me to it, smudging it from my skin. I was hot where she’d touched me ... like she’d set off fireworks in my blood.

I marveled again at how close we were in height, how close our lips were when we faced each other. “You, too,” I whispered, cupping her cheek.

She swallowed. “Me what?”

“You’ve got ketchup on you.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, laughing nervously. “I don’t even like ketchup.”

My leaning closer made our noses brush. “Are you sure?” I spoke with a shadow on my tongue, everything tingling with a rush of wild need. “Maybe I’ll check anyway. How does that sound?”

Her arms swept around my back; her nails couldn’t reach me through my jacket, so she slid them beneath, seeking my firm muscles. “Okay. All right.” We weren’t talking about mustard or whatever anymore. Both of us knew that, but we clung to the pretense even as it crumbled around us.

I kissed her more softly than a bee lands on a flower. She didn’t taste like ketchup; she was pure, unadulterated static electricity. My hair stood on end. I clung to her and looked for every space in her curved form to fill with my own body.

Running my fingers through her hair, I rubbed my face in it. “Fuck,” I growled. The air turned white from my steam. Up the slope was the distant rumble of people enjoying the fair. Between them and the dark river, we were existing in a single strip of limbo.

Sweeping her palm around my ribs, she touched my hip—my gun. All my senses flashed into predator mode. Grabbing her hand, I trapped her fingers on the weapon. She looked at me with wary disbelief. Then she tugged at the handle. “You don’t need this, not here, not with me.”

I considered the bridge overhead. “There’s always a chance I’ll need it. It stays on.”

“Don’t you feel safe?”

My head swung from side to side. She released my gun, but I held on to her wrist. “You feel safe out here?” I asked, studying her face and trying to read her mind. “In the dark, where anything could be hiding?”

She exercised her jaw, catching her words and reconsidering. “Yes,” she said slowly. “With you here ... I feel safer than I ever knew I could.”

A calcified lump broke inside me. It shattered all over my heart and warmed me through my center. How could she say that? How could she ...feelthat? About me, of all people.

Tell her she’s wrong.

Tell her she’s a reckless fool.

Tell her ... tell her ...

I didn’t find my voice, just my mouth colliding with hers. This wasn’t a tender kiss; it was fueled by my edgy confusion. I thought she was completely insane and still, fuck, I wanted to ride that insanity until I could pretend she wasn’t wrong to feel the way she did.

ThatIwasn’t wrong.

“Costello,” she moaned into my throat. Her tongue danced on mine; I nipped it, then I bit her earlobe. Scotch shivered as her head lolled back. Bracing her against me, I undid the top button of her jeans without looking. My finger traced the rough edge of the denim, following it around under her belly and to her hip.

Deftly I slid inside her coat until I was within her shirt; the hooks in her bra snapped apart. The coat dropped to the grassy dirt. I never stopped kissing her, never changed my pace. I’d learned her body in such a short time. I’d mapped her out and discovered her secret roads, her delicious landmarks. I might not know what was going on in her head, but I understood how to make her whimper.

Finding weak points was a skill of mine.

Dipping my hand into the front of her jeans, I brushed the elastic of her panties. Just feeling that thin barrier made my cock swell painfully. “Christ,” I murmured into her lips. I closed my eyes, leaning away. When I opened them again, she was watching me through heavy lids.