He didn’t answer.
He moved her through the door, reached out a hand, grabbed it, slammed it, turned her sharply then moved in so she was pressed to it.
“What are you –?”
She stopped talking abruptly this time because he tightened his arm around her waist and yanked it up, yanking her into his body. His other hand drove into her silken hair at the back of her head. Then his fingers cupped her head and tipped it to the side. He slanted his head to the other side and slammed his mouth down on hers.
She made a noise of surprise, her body tense against his and he thrust his tongue between her lips. Without a choice, they opened, another noise of surprise filled his mouth but he ignored that one too, carried on with what he was doing and took her mouth.
She tasted like bubblemint again. This time he knew why since his tongue encountered the gum.
Sweet, fresh, clean. Fucking clean. Beautiful.
God, nothing more beautiful.
He deepened an already deep kiss, needing it and she gave it to him. The tension flowed from her body, it melted into his, her hands slid up his chest, one curving around the back of his neck, fingers going into his hair. The other one slid around his shoulders and held on tight.
Then she gave more, pressing deeper, her tongue timidly sparring with his, her fingers flexing into his scalp, her arm holding tighter. He took it, pulling her close even as he pressed her back into the door, forcing her soft curves to mold to his frame.
When he felt it start to take over, when he knew he’d lose control if he didn’t stop, he stopped.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he tipped his head to rest his forehead on hers, his eyes opening to see, up close, hers drifting open in a cute, sexy flutter and he whispered, “Bubblemint.”
She blinked slowly. No, languidly. Like she was shaking off a dream she didn’t want to let go.
Then she whispered back, “I’m addicted to it.”
Chace couldn’t bury the groan that escaped his throat as he slid his cheek down hers and buried his face in her neck.
Her perfume was flowery but there was a hint of vanilla mellowing it. Sweet and fresh.
And clean.
The woman in his arms was addicted to gum. Not crack. Not kinky sex. Not booze. Not shopping. Not nagging a man or controlling him.
Gum.
Fucking gum.
He smiled against her neck.
“Chace,” she called, a tremor in her soft, now somewhat husky voice. Uncertainty, a hint of fear. He felt her body tightening, preparing, bracing, not knowing, as he’d taught her not to know, what was coming next but knowing it could be unpleasant and his head came up.
“I lost him on Cheyenne Street,” he announced.
She blinked, faster this time before she whispered a stammered, “Wh… what?”
“Figure he made me though I don’t know when. Had him through town, up Navajo, down Ute, he was moving quick but not in an obvious hurry. Nervous, scouting, but like it was his normal routine, not afraid. He turned down Cheyenne and he was wind.”
“Oh,” she whispered, disappointed.
“Seein’ as I don’t know when he made me, he could live out there and he caught on I was followin’ him and disappeared on his way home or, if he made me earlier, he purposefully led me off-track.”
Her head tipped slightly to the side and she reminded him, “He’s nine or ten, Chace, and again, you’re acting like he’s a criminal mastermind. He’s just a kid.”
Fuck, it was whacked, it was his name but he loved it when she called him Chace in that voice of hers. It went clean through him every time and when it went through him it went in a f**king good way.
“He’s a street kid,” he reminded her back.