Disorderly Conduct - Rebecca Zanetti Page 0,33

his hands away.

He leaned back and studied me again before twisting the neckline of my T-shirt. His calloused fingers brushed the bare skin of my chest, and I couldn’t help a shiver. The caress danced down my skin with a wave of heat.

I slapped him again. “What the hell?”

“The guys don’t know who you are, but if they ever do, I’d rather they think we were out here fuckin’ and not talking’,” he muttered, checking over the rest of me.

Heat blazed into my cheeks. “Oh, for goodness sakes.” The idea of sex with Aiden was one I’d had over the years. That was imaginary Aiden and not this real-life devil. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I could handle him. I glanced down at my twisted shirt. “Happy now?”

He stepped back and looked me over, his mouth pursing. “No.”

Then, against all possibilities, he moved back in, his rough palm skimming along my jaw. I started to argue, and his mouth covered mine.

Shock blasted through me followed by a wave of heat. His thumb pressed against my jaw, and I opened my mouth. He swept in, kissing me, pushing me so I had to struggle to keep from falling back onto the hood. Every kiss I’d ever had, even in law school, pooled into memories of a girl kissing a boy.

This moment was all man kissing woman.

I groaned low, kissing him back, arousal zinging through me faster than I would’ve ever thought possible. He went even deeper, and I completely lost myself in him.

Then he released me.

I gasped for air, my mind fuzzing, my body wide awake and ready to go.

He ran a thumb over my still tingling and no doubt swollen bottom lip. “Now I’m happy,” he murmured, his eyes an unfathomable blue and his expression unreadable. “You can drive me back now.”

Chapter 12

In Silverville, for my family, the first Sunday of every month meant a barbecue. I usually caught a ride over the pass from Timber City to Silverville with one of my sisters, but Donna had gone over early to help Grandma Fiona cook polenta, and Tessa was coming late after a dinner shift she’d covered for a sick co-worker. So I drove alone, my thoughts still jumbled after my impromptu meeting with Aiden the day before.

I’d spent Saturday night and all of Sunday trying to ignore the fact that he’d given me the best kiss of my life while just trying to make a point. Or trying to make it look like we’d been kissing.

Had he felt a thing?

Why did I even care about that? First of all, he hadn’t even asked to kiss me. He’d just done it. That wasn’t okay, no matter how good it had felt. And second, I wasn’t looking to date Aiden Devlin, regardless of my silly fantasies through the years. I was, however, going to help him as much as I could within the law. Whether he liked it or not.

My parents lived in a sprawling log home fronting a river usually full of trout. Acres of fields and then trees spread in every direction, giving them about twenty acres of solitude, which was good because often our family barbecues numbered at least fifty people.

Home to me meant fragrant food, lots of voices, and a smattering of English, Italian, and Gaelic often rattled about together. I guess chaos felt right.

I found a spot to park to the side of the long driveway and made my way to the house, finding Pauley sitting on one of the large rocks creating a wall of flowers below the front yard. He twirled a white daisy in his hand, while the sound of people out back carried over the house. “Hi,” I said, balancing the fruit salad I’d managed to put together before leaving home.

He looked up, his dark eyes focusing from behind his thick glasses. His hair was smoothed back. “I heard you got shot again.”

I shook my head and perched precariously on the adjacent rock. A Koi pond wandered from the other side, and the fish sparkled bright orange in the sun, no doubt happy to be out of hibernation. “Not really. The second bullet just nicked my ankle.”

He tapped on the rock with his free hand. Three times. Two times. Three times. Two times. Three times.

I let him tap.

He looked toward the pine trees. “Maybe you should find an occupation where you do not get shot.” It was his way of expressing affection—logic and reason.

“It’s an idea,” I agreed. “I appreciate you

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