Page 17 of Dirty Sweet Cop

He presses a kiss to my hair. His lips linger. I feel him breathe me in.

“You were always going to end up right here,” he rumbles against my scalp. His voice has that particular register—the one he uses only for me, rough and tender at the edges. “First-responder first. Obsessive protector second. And now this. Whatever this is.”

“Whatever this is,” I murmur into his shirt, “is the only thing I’ve ever wanted that I didn’t know to ask for.”

His arm tightens around me. Not possessive. Devoted. The difference is subtle but everything.

The sweet orphan who called 911 in tears. The rugged detective who’s been starving for her all along. Pregnant. Adored. Safe in his arms in a house that stopped being empty the night he decided to keep her.

The baby kicks. Hard. A solid thump against Clayton’s palm that makes us both jump.

“That’s my girl,” he says. Quiet. Certain. Meaning both of us.

I close my eyes. Listen to his heart. Steady. Strong. The most reliable thing I’ve ever known.

Hey there, you gorgeous reading machine

First things first…thank you.

You could be doing anything right now. Scrolling. Sleeping. Pretending to be productive.

But instead? You’re here. With my stories. My characters. Letting me live rent-free in your head for a while.

And I don’t take that lightly.