Page 8 of In Hot Water (The Hot Brothers #3)
She hesitates, then goes for it. “Why do you want to date me?” Her voice is steady, but her fingers are white-knuckled around the base of her glass. I don’t want to “date” her, I want to fucking tie her little ass to me for life and knock her up.
Don’t move too fast and fuck this up, flashes through my mind as I tone down my response. “Because I really like you. You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met. You don’t take shit from anyone, and you make me want to be better.”
She stares at me, trying to find the catch, but there isn’t one. Finally, she shakes her head, like she can’t believe it. “I really like you, too.”
There’s a stretch of silence while we both eat. It’s not awkward. More like a pause for breath. I finish my chop, wipe my hands on my napkin, and decide to push just a little.
“So, what’s it like being the only woman on the force?”
She snorts, and this time there’s no bitterness in it. “Depends on the day. Some days, it’s just a job. Other days, it’s like swimming with sharks in a wading pool.”
I can picture it. “Anyone ever give you trouble?”
She nods. “There’s this one senior deputy who’s been there forever and thinks he owns the place. He’ll contradict my calls in front of suspects, or ‘accidentally’ double-book me on the worst shifts.”
I let out a low whistle. “That must have been infuriating.”
She rolls her eyes. “You have no idea. It takes everything in me not to tell him to go to hell.”
“I’d offer to take care of him for you, but I know you don’t need me to fight your battles.”
There’s a shift in her posture now—shoulders dropped, chin up, eyes steady.
I can see the pride in her, and I want to grab her hand across the table, but settle for a smile instead.
“He’s retiring at the end of the month. Twenty-seven days," she says, lifting her wine glass.
The rim catches the light as she tips it toward me.
"Not that I've marked it on my calendar or anything. "
The check comes. I don’t even look at it. I slide my card across the table and watch as Isla fights the urge to argue.
“I’ll get the next one,” she says.
I grin. “Deal.”
She stands, a little wobbly, and I offer my arm without thinking. She takes it, steadying herself, and the moment her hand slips around my bicep, something clicks. Like she was meant to be there all along.
We walk out into the Texas night, the air still warm, stars prickling through the haze. For a few steps, neither of us speaks. Then she turns to me, eyes searching.
“You wanna walk me to my door?” she says, and the way she says it is all challenge, like she’s daring me to keep up.
I smile. “Lead the way.”
We walk to her place in silence, but it’s not the awkward kind. It’s electric—like the air before a storm, every molecule tingling with the promise of something wild. She keeps her hand on my arm, and every few steps she lets her fingers squeeze, like she’s checking to make sure I’m still there.
We hit the entrance to her building, and she hesitates under the yellow porch light. Her hair glows in the haze, and her eyes are dark, unblinking, as she looks up at me. “You wanna come up?” she asks, and I can hear the nerves hiding under the bravado.
I nod, feeling my heart kick up like a mule. “Absolutely.”
She leads me up the narrow stairs—her boots thumping, my footsteps heavy behind.
On the third-floor landing, she pauses in front of her door, digging through her purse for keys.
She’s close enough now that I can see the shimmer of her lip gloss, the quick flash of tongue as she wets her lips.
I’m not sure if it’s nerves or need, but I swear my hands are shaking as I watch her.
She finds the key but doesn’t use it yet. Instead, she turns to face me, and for a long second neither of us moves. The tension is so thick I could cut it with a butter knife.
“You’re staring,” she says, but she’s not annoyed.
“I can’t help it,” I admit, voice lower than I meant. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous.”
She huffs out a half-laugh, and the sound just ramps everything up. She leans back against the door, crossing her arms over her chest, eyes never leaving mine.
I step forward, slowly and carefully. I’m not going to screw this up by rushing. When I’m close enough to feel her breath on my cheek, I stop.
She looks up at me, and for a moment, I see something vulnerable flicker across her face. But she doesn’t pull away. She just waits.
“I want to kiss you,” I say, barely above a whisper.
She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she tilts her chin up, lips parting just enough that I can see the glint of her teeth.
I close the last inch, and when our mouths meet, it’s nothing like I expected—it’s better.
Soft, but hungry. She tastes like red wine and garlic and something uniquely her.
She kisses me like she’s trying to memorize every detail, every move.
I let my hands settle on her hips, holding her there as gently as I can, but she pulls me closer, fingers curling into my shirt. The world shrinks to the heat of her body, the thrum of blood in my ears, and the way her tongue flicks against mine, daring me to follow.
We break apart after a minute, and she’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. I’m pretty sure I look the same.
“Holy shit,” she says, voice a little shaky. “Wow?—”
I touch my forehead to hers. “You can say that again.”
She smiles, and it’s soft and shy and so different from the Deputy Merrill I met on the side of the road that I barely recognize her. But it feels right. More than right.
She finally remembers her keys, unlocks the door, and pushes it open. Then, without looking back, she grabs my hand and pulls me inside.
And I go, willingly.