Page 25 of Heart of Stone

“And you’re obviously involved in something”—I wave my hand vaguely—“complicated.”

His lips twitch. “That’s one word for it.”

“So we should just…” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“Should just what?” He turns his head to look at me, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face. “Pretend it didn’t happen? Ignore it? Play house for three days and then what?”

“I don’t know.” The admission feels raw, honest. “I don’t know anything anymore. Three days ago, my biggest worry was whether to replace my bike’s spark plugs. Now I’ve got three kids, no power, and I’m sitting on a biker’s porch trying to figure out why I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Figure it out yet?”

I meet his gaze. “No. You?”

“Yeah.” He shifts in his chair, his knee brushing mine. The contact is subtle but searing. “I figured out I want to do it again.”

The baby monitor crackles with Adam’s restless sounds before I can respond.

“I should—” I start to rise, but Hawk’s hand comes down on my thigh, warm and unyielding.

“Give it a minute,” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “He’ll settle.”

Sure enough, Adam’s noises fade back to soft breathing.

Hawk’s hand stays where it is. Heavy. Certain. Branding me through the worn denim of my cutoffs.

“This is still a bad idea,” I whisper.

“Probably.” The corner of his mouth curves, and his gaze locks with mine. Dark. Intense. Hungry. “But that doesn’t mean we should stop.”

And then his thumb moves.

He traces a slow, torturous circle against my bare skin just above my knee. Barely there, but the heat of it sinks deep, spreading like wildfire, coiling low in my belly until I can barely think past the sensation.

“I can think of plenty of reasons we shouldn’t do this.” But my protest sounds weak even to me.

“Name one.” His voice drops lower, rougher. A challenge that seems to vibrate through my chest and dance across my skin.

“The kids.”

“Sleeping.”

“My job.”

“Duck won’t care.”

I swallow hard. “You don’t like me.”

His thumb stills. “Who said that?”

The weight of that question hangs between us, heavy as the humid air. From the garage, another round of laughter drifts out, but it feels like it’s coming from miles away.

I suck in a breath to answer—and then he leans closer.

The scent of him washes over me—whiskey, worn leather, and something distinctlyhim. Earthy. Masculine. It surrounds me, soothing and exhilarating at once, playing absolute havoc with my senses.