I shook my head like I was clearing it. “Excuse me?”
“Denver. You’re staying?”
My eyes narrowed.
“Do not even think of trying to change the subject, Hank Nightingale.”
My legs hit the bed and I went down. He came down on top of me.
“Are you movin’ to Denver?” Hank asked patiently, then, before I could answer, his lips went to my neck.
“We were talking about you putting your career on the line due to some macho idea of revenge.”
“We’re done talkin’ about that. Now we’re talkin’ about you movin’ to Denver.”
you movin’ to Denver.”
His tongue touched the back of my ear.
My body did a quiver.
I jerked my head and neck away from him.
“Hank, look at me, we need to finish talking about –” His head came around and he kissed me.
Then I forgot what we needed to finish talking about.
A little later, I’d gotten his jeans off him, managed to get my mouth on him (for a while, it must be said, Hank did like his control, not that I was complaining), he had his hand between my legs and his lips were against mine, when he asked softly, “Are you movin’ to Denver?”
Then his finger slid inside and his thumb did a swirl.
My neck arched.
“Yes,” I breathed.
When I looked at him, he was grinning at me.
Fucking Hank.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Buttermilk
Hank’s phone rang.
I opened my eyes and it was dark.
Hank was on his back, I was pressed to his side, my head on his shoulder, my thigh thrown over one of his, half my leg had fal en between his and my hand was resting on his chest.
Shamus had his back pressed to mine.
I’d been fast asleep, my body relaxed but it went tense instantly at the sound of the phone.
Hank grabbed it and flipped it open one-handed, not disturbing me, but his arm around my waist got tight.
“Yeah?” he said into the phone.
He listened.