Page 28 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

Winn’s blue eyes broke from mine, and the moment her gaze dropped to my mouth, I was done for.

I leaned closer.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I have no fucking clue.” Then my lips were on hers.

One sweep of my tongue against her lower lip and we weren’t standing by my door. We were at Willie’s, locked in my truck. Our clothes were stripped and strewn on the floor. Our mouths were fused as she straddled my lap.

Days later and I could still feel the way she’d moved over me, rocking her hips up and down and up and down. The fingernail marks she’d left on my shoulders had faded, and damn it, I wanted them back.

I let go of the door to wrap Winn in my arms, pulling her flush against my chest.

She came willingly, her tongue tangling with mine as I savored her sweetness. Her lips were soft, yet frantic. Her hands gripped my T-shirt, balling it in her fists as I slanted my mouth over hers for a deeper dive.

My pulse throbbed in my veins. My arousal was like steel, as hard as the gun holstered on her hip. I was a second away from kicking the door closed and carrying her to my bedroom when the sound of a horse’s whinny broke us apart.

Winslow tore her lips from mine, our breaths mingling. Her eyes widened as she stepped out of my arms.

My chest heaved as I worked to regain my breath, and before the haze of desire had cleared, she was gone. She walked away without a backward glance.

I stood in the threshold, arms crossed over my chest, and watched her climb into her SUV and tear down the gravel road, disappearing into the grove of trees that surrounded my property.

“Shit.” I rubbed her kiss from my lips, then went inside for that second beer.

Anything to get her intoxicating taste off my tongue.

The second bottle didn’t work. Neither did the third.

Chapter Five

Winslow

Why had I kissed him? Over the past three days, that question had bounded through my mind like a sugared-up kid on a trampoline.

I’d lived in Quincy for eight days and I’d kissed Griffin at two of our four encounters. Questioning my decision to move—questioning my sanity—had become a regular part of my daily routine. And nightly, since sleeping had been difficult. This morning while brushing my teeth, I’d considered for a split second going home to Bozeman.

Except there was no home.

And quitting wasn’t in my nature.

Time. What I needed was time. I’d survive the second week like I’d survived the first. If I could make it through the next eight days without kissing Griffin Eden, maybe I’d be able to get that man out of my head.

Work demanded my full attention. My focus was on building any kind of positive rapport with the officers. So far, things at the station were . . . strained. Eventually the staff would warm up to me, right?

“Good morning.” I walked into the break room and conversation stopped.

The three officers standing around the coffeepot scattered, each nodding as they passed me on their way to the bullpen.

I swallowed a groan and refilled my mug before retreating to my office, closing the door behind me. Then I sagged against its face. “I’m not quitting.”

The attitude in the station had grown colder. Even Janice had given me a few sideways looks when I’d started asking questions about Lily Green, Indigo Ridge and the abundance of suicides in the last decade.

Apparently it was a no-touch topic. Everyone looked at me like this was a no-touch subject. Maybe Griffin was right. Maybe I needed to let it go and accept it at face value. I didn’t want to drudge up painful memories and make it worse for families and friends.

But it just felt . . . off.

The best cop I knew had once told me to always follow my instincts.