one, but his body says, undeniably, how much he craves me.
Resistance, I remember.
I need it.
There’s so much at stake. The job. The rent, since I haven’t had a reliable tenant in ages. My goals, because I want that promotion. I’ve worked my butt off for it. I need to keep my eyes on the prize.
I dust a quick kiss against his delicious lips. “No mercy, no sympathy.”
“Damn your mantra.”
“Our mantra,” I correct.
He steps away, his dark eyes holding my gaze. “Kitten, I’d like to find out how strong your resistance is. And I fully intend to test it.”
“How will you do that?”
“You want to win your kissing contest, right?”
“I do.”
“Then we will be practicing every night. And you’ll be practicing your resistance. Mark my words.”
With that, he turns, heads to the stairwell, then up and out of sight.
It takes every ounce of my resistance not to follow him up the steps.
20
Perri
The next morning, I find a note on the chalkboard.
What about air kisses? That’s a category for sure. We could own that one.
I laugh, grab a piece of chalk, and write under it.
No doubt you’ll find a way to practice them.
I snatch a peach and head to the backyard. After taking a bite of the fruit, I fill a pitcher from the spigot and water the plants on my deck, musing on air kisses as I feed the thirsty fern, the grateful tomato plant, and the ravenous blueberry bush.
“All better now?” I say to the plants.
They sigh contentedly, I imagine. I sigh happily too, chewing a bite of the peach as I wonder how exactly we’d own the air kiss category. We’d ace it . . . that’s the trouble.
I head inside, toss the peach pit in the compost bin, erase my first note, and write a new one.
After all, we’re in the midst of a new competition. A who-can-hold-out one. With a pastel blue piece of chalk, I write a new response in curlicue letters.
I can absolutely resist your air kisses. Just try me.
Dusting off my hands, I snag a spoon and grab a yogurt from the fridge. I dive in, feeling a little zip from my snappier retort. I pop in my earbuds as I eat at the counter—standing up, thank you very much—and I toggle over to the morning news, catching up on the latest in local politics, then check on press releases from nearby agencies before I switch to the scanner to see if there’s anything going down that I need to know about.
I catch myself tensing, as I often do when I switch, braced for bad news. That’s, well, the reality of my job. But it’s relatively quiet, so I relax my shoulders with a sigh of relief. I finish my breakfast, then brush my teeth, dress in my uniform, and head to my car. As I hit the unlock button on the key fob, I hear the heavy thump of shoes.
I spin around. Derek’s mere feet away from me, in his blue work pants and a T-shirt with the number of his EMS unit on it, looking like he’s ready to perform CPR or bandage a wound. Because he is.
He mimes tipping his hat to me. “Morning, officer.”
“Morning, troublemaker.”
“You think I’m a troublemaker?” He scrubs a hand across the scruff on his face. That scruff. That lucky scruff.
I’m scruff-resistant though. I lift my chin and cross my arms. “I know you’re a troublemaker.”
His dark eyes twinkle with mischief, and his grin hints at exactly the kind of trouble he likes to make. “Is that so?” He comes closer, then closer still, until he’s inches away. His chest is dangerously near my arms. His lips are in my zone. My breath catches, and my senses do the salsa because he smells clean and freshly showered, and I sure do love that scent. I don’t think he wears cologne—it wouldn’t make sense for his job. But his unadorned scent works for my libido, because I love the natural soapy smell. I love it so much, I think I’m humming.
“Mmm.”
He gives a devilish grin. The most devilish grin. Then he quirks an eyebrow and leans in, dusting a kiss a centimeter, no, a millimeter, wait—a fraction of a millimeter from my cheek.
My hum turns into a traitorous moan.
He pulls back, his dark eyes full of naughty deeds.
I lean against the metal of the car and swallow, catching my breath.
He brushes the backs of his fingers along my jaw, and against my will, against my better judgment, I