prologue
June 20, 2016
His scent, a blend of Bounce sheets, pepper and musky man, invaded her nostrils and she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his. Tentative at first, the butterflies in her stomach doing cartwheels.
Soft kisses, slow, sweet, filled with promise. Sam cupped her face with one hand.
Shivers raced down her spine at the touch of his calloused fingers. Lust coursed through her veins. A simple kiss and she was already practically dizzy with wanting him. She needed air, needed to think. She needed not fuck this up. Andy took a step back, forcibly breaking contact.
Sam's dark eyes tried to hold her gaze, but she looked down. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing came in gentle pants. "Andy..." His voice was barely more than a whisper and rough, though from lust or suppressed emotion he couldn't have said. He felt as if all the blood in his body was rushing to his heart, swelling it almost to the point of pain.
She took another step back, her back hitting the door. She fumbled for the doorknob.
He reached for her, his hand on her arm stopped her retreat. Squeezing just tightly enough with his fingers to say don't go without opening his lips.
Uncertainty flickered across her face. Her muscles under his fingers were tense, as if she were fighting the urge to flee. Stay, his eyes pleaded with her silently. He'd let her walk away once before, but this time he swore it would be different.
Andy took a deep shuddering breath. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be with him. It was too soon. They'd barely gotten to know each other again. She wasn't the same Andy McNally who'd propositioned her partner during an undercover assignment five years ago and nearly gotten them both fired. Too much had happened.
Sam pulled gently at her arm and she half stumbled forward. Her hands came to rest on his chest, caressing the soft cotton of his shirt, the firm muscles beneath. Her eyes fell closed and she breathed in his scent, trying to commit it to memory. The one shirt he'd left behind lost its smell years ago, months before she finally threw it out.
He slid his hands up her back, pressing her tightly against his chest. He would never get enough of her, of this. He pressed a kiss against her hair, her forehead, her cheeks and finally, her lips. So soft. Opening under his, perfectly in synch with him, as if they'd been doing this all their lives. It was an almost unbearable pleasure.
Andy returned his kisses, pouring out years of frustrated love. Her hands clung to him, and she wondered if it were possible to pass out from desire. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't rake her fingernails across his scalp, swallowing his appreciative groan; shouldn't press her breasts against his chest; shouldn't grind her pelvis against his, but she couldn't stop.