Page 13 of The Sniper
His mouth crashed against mine with a heat that stunned the breath from my lungs. One hand gripped the edge of the blanket, the other slid around my waist, pulling me into him like he had every right.
I gasped, but he didn’t stop.
He kissed me like he’d earned it. Like he’d claimed it. Like he’d been waiting for it.
And the worst part?
I let him.
My hands flew to his chest, not to push him away, but to hold on. Because something in me buckled under the weight of it—like my body had just realized it was made of glass, and he was the first to tap hard enough to crack it.
It was too much.
Too fierce.
Too alive.
When he finally pulled back, my lips were trembling, breath shallow. My fingers were still fisted in the front of his shirt, and I felt like I’d forgotten how to exist.
I stared up at him, stunned.
“I—” My voice cracked. “I don’t let people kiss me.”
He didn’t blink. “You just did.”
“I don’t want a man like you.”
“You do now.”
“I shouldn’t.”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was already memorizing me. “You really want to talk about shoulds right now?”
I flushed, blinking fast, but before I could answer, a sharp voice broke the spell.
“Hands up. Now!”
Two officers had moved in, weapons drawn, flanking him on either side. I stumbled back as he raised his hands with infuriating calm, not a flicker of fear in his expression.
Deputy Mendez approached from behind them, breathless, her expression a mix of relief and frustration. “Dane, you know better than this.”
He didn’t speak.
Just looked at me once more—long and hard, like he was branding the moment into both our memories—before the cuffs clicked into place.
I stood there, lips still tingling, heart still on fire, blanket still damp with rain.
Shaking.
Confused.
Lit up in ways I didn’t have language for.
Because I’d just been kissed by a killer.
And part of me?—
God forgive me?—
