Page 90 of Bennett

Laurel chuckled. “Sounds like everyone around here knows Duke.”

“Too many know him. Not enough trust him.”

She came closer, pressing a glass of iced tea into his hand before tucking herself under his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a few stolen seconds, it was.

The comfort. The quiet. The feel of her right where she belonged.

But even as he held her close, the weight never fully left his chest.

Because quiet this deep?

Wasn’t just peace.

It was a warning.

Laurel leaned her head on his shoulder, her hand drifting to rest against his chest. “Still tense,” she murmured, her fingers brushing lazily over his shirt.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, watching the streetlights flicker on down the block, their glow soft and distant.

“I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he admitted finally, placing a kiss to her head. “And I hate that it makes me second-guess moments like this.”

She shifted to look up at him, her gaze warm but steady. “Then stop. Just for tonight.”

Bad idea.

Bennett flexed his jaw. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Then let me help.” Laurel reached up and slid her hand along his jaw, her touch feather-light and as soft as the lips she brushed against his.

That did it.

His restraint, already frayed at the edges, snapped like old thread. He haphazardly set his glass on the coffee table then cupped her face in his hands and took over the kiss. Deep, thorough, and slow. No urgency, just heat and gratitude and with a hunger that had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with her.

Laurel melted into him instantly, her fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, stroking his flesh like she’d done plenty of times before.

His dick twitched.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Still want those sandwiches?”

“Not even a little,” she breathed, tugging him closer.

They moved together, step by step, until her back met the edge of the couch. She dropped onto it, her legs already parting to welcome him as he followed her down.

And just like that, the quiet wasn’t so quiet anymore.

She arched into him, the delicious press of her curves against him triggering something raw. Something real. He braced himself over her, watching her eyes darken as he slipped a hand beneath her shirt, his fingers gliding over bare skin. She was already warm, already ready for him, and the soft little hitch in her breath nearly wrecked him.

“Laurel,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, the hollow beneath her ear.

She gasped. “You saying my name like that should be illegal.”

He grinned against her heated skin. “Not the first time I’ve been accused of being trouble.”

“Mmm, maybe,” she whispered, curling her fingers into his shirt. “But you’re my kind of trouble.”

That undid him.