hers. It’s more experimental touch than kiss, but she doesn’t draw back.
“It’s what I want,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my chin. “So I was hoping maybe—”
I kiss her then, smothering the rest of her words as my mouth meets hers. She responds like I’ve flicked a light switch, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. This Izzy is passionate and hungry, and I’m struggling to catch my breath when her tongue grazes mine.
My shock dissolves into desire as she moans and presses her breasts against my chest. I pull her close, beyond caring that we’re on a public path and there’s a pig chewing my shoelace. He could eat my foot as long as Iz keeps kissing me.
I slide my fingers into her hair and she moans again, nipping my bottom lip. Even through winter coats, her body is soft and round against mine, and her mouth tastes like honey and heat. She clutches the front of my coat, and somehow her fingers find their way under the thick wool. Now I’m the one groaning as she traces my collarbones, my pecs, the space where my heart pounds like it’s threatening to hammer its way out of my chest.
If I had any doubt how Izzy feels about me, about us, that doubt dies as she arches up to press her pelvis against me. “Bradley,” she murmurs against my mouth, then kisses me again. “Maybe we should—”
A squeal pierces the air, and we spring apart. Catching my breath, I drag a hand over my mouth and glare at Kevin. “This is how you end up as pork chops.”
Kevin doesn’t care. He keeps squealing, and seconds later, I see why. On the path ahead, a hulking figure lumbers into view. Fog blankets the path, and it takes me a moment to recognize Baldy’s furrowed brow. He’s wearing the dark stocking cap again, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.
He doesn’t look friendly.
I grab Izzy’s hand and pull her so she’s partway behind me. I don’t like the way this guy’s looking at her. “Can I help you?”
His gaze is downright icy. Something about the way his hand moves in his coat pocket sends a shot of adrenaline through me.
Gun. He has a gun.
Blame the Army for that paranoid instinct, but my heart rate doesn’t slow. The prickling in my arms is pure adrenaline, just like the way my brain catalogues his stance, his size, the exact spot I’d need to drive my shoulder to take him down. It’s been years since I saw any sort of combat action, but I have zero doubt the skills would kick in if I needed them.
Baldy doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. Just stands there on the path, staring at us with a blank expression.
I’m done pretending this isn’t creepy as fuck. “Brad Parker.” I take a step forward, keeping Iz behind me as I extend a hand. “And you are?”
He gives me a look I can’t read, and his hands stay stuffed in his pockets. I’m close enough now I could rush him if I had to. Just tackle him to the ground and disarm him. I don’t know why I’m convinced he’s armed, but my gut has seldom steered me wrong.
Slowly, he draws a hand from his pocket. Iz gasps behind me, but Baldy’s palm comes up empty.
“Danny.” He grips my hand in a firm, dry shake. “Or just Dan.”
“Dan,” I repeat. He doesn’t let go, but he’s not doing that bone-crushing thing guys do to prove they’re tough. It’s just a normal handshake, albeit a long one. “Dan, I can’t help feeling like we keep running into you.”
His icy blue eyes hold mine a few more beats. “Yep.” He lets go of my hand and shoves his back in his coat pocket.
“I mean, it’s a big resort,” I continue, conscious of Izzy clutching my left hand in a death grip. “Just seems a bit…odd.”
He doesn’t respond, which is fair, since I didn’t ask a question. Hell, maybe I should. Remembering Mark’s words about keeping your enemies close, I clear my throat.
“You play poker, Dan?”
He blinks. “Poker.”
“Yeah, poker. Five card stud, or maybe Texas Hold ‘em. We’ve got a group of guys that get together every couple weeks to play. You interested?”
He stares at me like he’s waiting for the punchline to a joke. I stare back, fighting the urge to blink. I’m tired of dicking around.
“You want me to play poker.” His gaze stays locked on mine, but his body tilts the tiniest