Page 55 of The Lonely Road

So we do. And it’s fun. Deliciously so.

We leave in the evening, the mountains pink at the edges, the canyon filling with the soft dark of early evening. We talk the way people do after they’ve been somewhere together—unpacking the day, the people, the small moments worth keeping. Like a couple does.

A couple.

I stop in front of the Ridgeline Inn. “This is you.”

He smiles, and I hold my breath. His hand cups my face. I’ve gotten used to that—to how he touches me, the roughness of his hands, his smell, his taste. His eyes search mine. “Thank you for a wonderful afternoon.”

I swallow and nod because I have no words.

His mouth is a whisper away. I want to close the distance, but I want it slow—I want him to choose it.

He presses his mouth against mine, barely any pressure at first. Then I open to him, and he deepens it, one hand in my hair, and I slide my hand under the hem of his shirt and touch warm skin that somehow already feels familiar.

The kiss hums through my chest, down to my knees. I want him. It’s such a good, uncomplicated wanting—the warmth of something just beginning.

He pulls back, desire clear in his eyes. “Kissing you is addictive.”

My gaze drops to his mouth. “I can say the same thing.”

He kisses my nose. “Goodnight, Counselor.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Brooks.”

He waits for me to pull away before he goes inside.

My lips tingle all the way home. So does my heart.

CHAPTER 13

mason

Jessup calls at eight in the morning, which means he’s been awake since six, thinking about it, which means he’s nervous, which means someone above him in the chain is asking questions he can’t answer.

Which means he’s going to put pressure on me.

Son of a bitch!

I answer on the third ring.

Because the first or second would say I was waiting.

And the fourth would say I don’t care.

The third is professional courtesy.

“Mason.” The warmth of ownership in his tone is right on schedule.

“Senator.”

“I haven’t heard from you in a week.”

“I’ve been working.”

A pause that is designed to communicate displeasure. I let it communicate.

“And?” he demands.