He kissed her on a groan so needful it made her dizzy and wet. His mouth devoured hers, his big hand cupped the back of her head, his body completely surrounded and trapped hers against the bricks. It was a full-body onslaught, with every part of him engaged in the act of claiming and seducing.

Becca clutched at his coat, his shoulders, his back, his hair. Anything to bring him closer, deeper. His lips pulled and tugged, his tongue stroked and twisted. He smelled of leather and mint and tasted like sin.

The harder he came at her, the more her conscious mind let go. Her aches, the stitches, her house, even Charlie—for a few minutes, just a few precious minutes, Becca let it all go.

The surrender was euphoric. It rushed through her blood and sent her flying.

“That was so close, Becca. Too close,” he rasped, kissing her jaw, her ear, her neck, and sending her heart flying. His fingers stroked down over her breasts and found the hem of her shirt. And then those warm, calloused hands snaked up her stomach, pulled down the cups of her bra, and caressed her breasts skin to skin. He massaged her, teased her with roughened fingertips, and tormented her nipples until she was panting.

She gripped the collar of his coat, half afraid her knees would go soft and give out. Nick pulled his body away just enough to tear the coat off his arms and throw it to the floor. Geez, the gun holster was sexy hugging tight over his shirt, but he slipped out of it, too, and eased it to the floor with a thunk. Then his hands were back on her breasts and his tongue was back in her mouth, stealing her breath and convincing her she could live without it.

God, this kiss. It was the kind she’d remember forever, that would invade her dreams and haunt her in quiet moments. The kind her older self could look back on and know, once, she’d really lived. The kind that, no matter what, she could never, ever regret.

And it made a part of herself bloom with affection for the man who’d made her feel that way.

She snaked her hands under his shirt, moaning when her palm smoothed over the hard planes and muscled ridges of his abdomen, his sides, his chest. Her fingers swirled through the light covering of hair on his chest and swiped light, teasing brushes over his nipples. The low growls he released into the kiss as they explored each other thrilled her, made her yearn for the opportunity to bring a man as powerful and deadly as him to his knees in ecstasy.

“Closer,” he ground out. With one arm, he ripped the cotton over his head, revealing a body that was no doubt capable of inflicting pleasure and pain in equal measure. Desire roared off his skin and his hands were everywhere, plucking at her nipples, kneading at the swell of her ass, pulling them harder together.

The heat of his demanding touches ripped through her and settled a pressing ache low in her abdomen. She squeezed her thighs together in response, emphasizing the wetness of her arousal against her panties.

“I want you, Becca. I’m not gonna lie.” He spoke in low tones against her cheek, but pulled back to meet her gaze. “But I think—”

She placed three fingers over his mouth. “Don’t think.”

His eyes flared and his mouth dropped open. He caught her middle finger with his teeth and ran his tongue in tight circles over the tip, making it perfectly clear how good that particular action would feel if applied elsewhere. With a groan, he released her finger and dragged his hand around to cup the space between her legs. “Are you wet for me?”

Becca nodded, her heart doing its best imitation of a jackrabbit.

One of his eyebrows arched. “Yeah?” He slipped his hand into her scrub bottoms and under her panties. He kicked one of her feet to the side, opening her thighs to his touch. “Oh, fuck, sunshine, you are so wet.” His fingers stroked through her folds, and her heart skipped a whole stanza of beats. Did he just call her—

His mouth came down on hers at the same time his thick middle finger penetrated her. He swallowed her moan as he mimicked the act they were barreling toward. “I am wound too tight, Becca. Do you understand? In about ten seconds, I’m going to be all over you. And I’m not going to be able to go slow. It’s gonna be hard and fast and rough.”

He meant it as a warning, but Becca heard it as an engraved invitation on fine linen paper. That was a party she sooo wanted to attend. “Good,” she said, groaning as he removed his hand.

Green eyes blazing, Nick slipped his visibly wet finger between his lips and sucked. It was one of the most erotic things she’d ever seen.

With a sound that was nearly a growl, he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and removed a condom. His gaze trapped her against the wall as if she couldn’t move unless he told her to.

Suddenly, the floor went wavy under her feet, challenging her hold on reality. Was this really happening? Would someone see them? Did she care? Her headache flared behind her eyes and Nick went blurry, and then a rush of white noise shoved the questions away.

OUT OF NOWHERE, Becca swayed to the right.

Rixey grabbed her by the ribs, holding her steady. “Whoa, you okay?”

She sucked in a harsh breath and flinched away from his right hand, eyes flying wide, her pretty mouth shifting into a grimace.

Ice trickled down his spine and extinguished his arousal. “Shit, your stitches. I’m sorry.” He dropped his righty to her hip, afraid she wasn’t yet steady. What a fucking dog he was, crawling all over her when she was this vulnerable. Exactly what he’d said he wouldn’t do. No matter how hard his body craved the connection. And not with just anyone. With her. But not like this. And not with everything that was going on. “I’m sorry,” he said again, a wave of self-loathing turning his voice to gravel.

“It’s okay,” she said with a small, embarrassed smile.

He gave a humorless laugh. “It’s about a million miles from okay. I shouldn’t have—” The words stuck in his throat, because so many failures competed to flesh out the sentence. I shouldn’t have let you go to work this morning. I shouldn’t have sent you away that first day. I shouldn’t have tasted your juices on my tongue, because now I’ll never be able to forget just how sweet you are. “Something about you Merritts screws with my judgment every time.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, that little frown of hers filling the space between her eyes.

Smooth, Rixey. “Nothing. You steady?” Because he really needed to stop touching her.

“Steadier. It’s just a headache. But I want to know what you meant.” She fixed her bra and crossed her arms over her breasts. Fierce animation roared back into her eyes.

“Not a goddamned thing, Becca.” Giving her a last, searching look, he dropped his hands and bent for his T-shirt. He tugged it back on, failing to force away the remembered feeling of her hands on his skin, then grabbed his jacket and slung his holster loosely over one shoulder. “I’ll take you upstairs. You should rest.”

“I’ll go upstairs, but I’m not resting. We still haven’t finished talking, you and I. If someone broke into my house, I should go there. Call the police. Something. This can’t all be coincidence.” A flush on her cheeks replaced the pallor from moments before.

“I know, but we can’t.”

She froze. “Why the hell not?”

He heaved a weary sigh, not sure what he was going to do if she insisted. “On the phone earlier, Miguel made it sound like there’s a reason we shouldn’t report the second break-in. He wanted to tell us in person. I trust him implicitly, so I’d like to wait to hear what he says. He’ll be over as soon as he can. But it is your decision.”

She rubbed the skin above her eye, bringing his gaze to the bruise forming on her forehead. “You really think it’s better to wait?”

“I don’t think Miguel would advise that unless he had a good reason.”

“God. What now?” Her shoulders sagged and she rubbed her forehead again. “Okay. I’ll hear him out. And thank you for being straight with me.” She sighed and turned, then crossed the stairwell to where the puppy lay curled in a ball by the door to Hard Ink. “You’ve been waiting patiently, haven’t you?” she said.

Rixey caught up with her, hollow pressure expanding in his chest at the sadness saddling her shoulders and dimming the lightness he’d admired about her from the start. He wanted that back. For her. For himself. “Wanna see something funny?” he asked, hoping his idea might replace the anger and hurt in her expression. She shrugged, her guard back up again. “Open the door and let—what’s her name?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Maybe Sadie. Or Georgia.”

“What about Cujo?”

Her disapproving expression was almost comical, and it was a lot better than what she’d worn a moment before. “Cujo is a boy’s name, and he was a crazy killing menace. Plus Cujo was a Saint Bernard.”

Rixey winked, and she rolled her eyes. “Well, then, open the door and let Sadie-or-Georgia in by herself. We’ll hang back and see what happens.” All right, it was probably stupid, but if it made her smile, he was all for it. No plan was stupid if it worked . . .

She glanced from him to the puppy, who was now sitting up and watching the two of them talk like she knew the conversation was about her.

Nick opened the door from the private stairwell, and Sadie-or-Georgia loped in. He and Becca followed, and she now wore an amused expression. They peeked around the corner and watched as the puppy sauntered around the empty lounge for a few minutes before making its way up the hall between the tattoo rooms toward the front.