Page 70 of Once Upon a Lie

“That’s what I said,” he laughs. “And then I fell for the one woman I was definitely not supposed to fall for during an active investigation.” When I don’t say anything, the familiarity getting a little too prickly, he grins wider. “Hey, I’m just saying, sometimes the best things happen when you stop following the rules.”

He means it as a joke, but it sticks anyway.

Dom fell for Hannah despite all the odds against them.

And now here I am, standing in a hospital room full of warmth and laughter and everything good in the world and thinking about a woman I shouldn’t be thinking about at all.

The way she laughs without meaning to. The way her eyes soften before she smiles. The way my lips can still remember that kiss in the supply closet of Magnolia.

For the first time in a long time, something is stirring that I don’t know what to do with.

Feelings.

And the growing, haunting urge to do a lot of things with Valentina Cordone that don’t follow the rules.

By the time Alfred waves the white flag and calls it a night, I’ve lost three rounds of Scrabble and about half my dignity. Valentina laughs as she stacks tiles back into the bag, taunting, “I told you, Alfred’s a shark.”

“I’m starting to think he’s running an underground Scrabble ring,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

Alfred smirks, clearly having heard me as he heads toward the hallway with Pip trotting behind him.

“Don’t let the cardigan fool you, Maddox,” Teeny teases. “He plays to win.”

“I’m getting that. I’ll start studying the dictionary tomorrow for next time. But first, sleep. As much as I hate to say it, I’d better get home.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Valentina says, getting to her feet and walking quietly behind me to the front door and out it.

Outside, the air’s warm, but the breeze carries a hint of cool like fall is finally trying to make an appearance. Besides the distant hum of a few cars driving by somewhere down the road, there’s no movement on the street.

“Thanks for dinner,” I say, grinning at her soft smile. She looks incredibly innocent—for a stone-cold Scrabble killer. “And the bruising defeat. I feel like a toddler playing against you two.”

“You’re welcome,” she teases, nudging me with her shoulder. “Most people thank me for bagels. You get humiliation and Alfred’s Alfredo. It’s a very special package.”

“You should trademark it.”

Her laugh is indulgent, the kind that slips under your guard before you know it’s happening. Her blue eyes are bright even in the dark night, and the moonlight traces her cheekbones like it’s got a crush on her.

Seems like you and the moon have something in common . . .

She’s fucking beautiful, there’s no doubt about that.

For a second, neither of us says anything, and the world narrows down to the sound of our breathing, the faint rustle of leaves, the way she’s standing just close enough that I can feel her warmth.

I’m only a little surprised when she stands up on her tiptoes and kisses me. Again.

It’s slower this time. Her lips are soft and sure on mine, and she tastes faintly of red wine and cinnamon. My hand finds her waist before I even realize it, pulling her closer.

Because fuck, she tastes good. She feels good. She is good.

I kiss her back, slipping my tongue past her lips and letting it dance with hers. When a little moan escapes her throat, it goes straight to my fucking head.

I want more. A lot more. But I use every ounce of willpower I have to dig deep and stop the kiss because I have to. For both of us—but her especially.

When I pull back, I’m breathing harder than I should be, my head spinning in a way that has nothing to do with wine.

“Good night, Shane,” she whispers.

“Night, Teeny,” I manage, but my voice doesn’t sound like mine at all.