Chapter Twelve
The first thing Laurel noticed when she woke was that the apartment didn’t smell like drywall dust or fresh paint anymore. It smelled like brewed coffee.
The second thing? Her lips were still tingling.
Great.
She flopped onto her back and groaned quietly at the ceiling, one arm flung dramatically over her face. “Pull it together, Sinclair,” she whispered. “It was just a kiss.”
Just a kiss.
A really good one. Like, knock-your-socks-off and scramble-your-brain level good. And now her brain was trying to overanalyze every detail—the pressure of his hands, the low growl in his throat, the way he’d kissed her like the world was ending, and she was the only lifeline within reach.
And she had kissed him back. Enthusiastically.
Which was as amazing as it was terrifying.
Because Bennett Vaughn didn’t strike her as the casual, just-for-fun kind of guy. He struck her as the type of man who meant every word he said, every move he made. And if her reaction to one kiss was any indication, she could be in serious trouble.
She rolled out of bed, tugged on a hoodie over her tank top, and remembered to slip on her sneakers, since the glass shards were left in place for the forensic people to process this morning. The incredible scent of coffee got stronger with each step, and she braced herself before rounding the corner.
There he was.
Mr. Broody himself, standing by the counter with one hand around a coffee mug, the other flipping through one of Brandi’srenovation plans. His hair was damp from a shower, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and his black T-shirt stretched across a chest that had no right to look that good.
He glanced up at her like nothing had happened. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she echoed, grabbing a clean mug and pouring herself a cup as if her pulse wasn’t trying to crack her ribs open.
“You sleep okay?”
“Sure,” she said, sipping her coffee. “You?”
He nodded. “Quiet night. No bricks. Always a plus.”
She smirked. “You say that like it’s a normal thing to have on a checklist.”
“In this town? I’m starting to think it is.”
She leaned against the counter, cradling her mug. “So, about last night.”
His gaze flicked to hers. “What about it?”
“I’m just saying, you know, if that was a stress response? A temporary lapse in judgment?” She shrugged, trying to sound casual even though her face felt about five degrees hotter than it should. “No big deal.”
His brow lifted slightly. “That what you think it was?”
“I mean, well…” Her voice caught. She tried again. “You did sort of kiss me like it was your last day on Earth.”
A flicker of amusement lit in his eyes. “And you kissed me back like you agreed.”
She choked on her sip and glared at him. “I retract everything. I liked you better when you were grumpy and monosyllabic.”
“I’m still grumpy,” he said, lips twitching. “Just caffeinated.”
“Well, that’s a dangerous combination,” she muttered, hiding her smile behind her mug.
The tension that had stretched taut between them since last night didn’t vanish. It simply reshaped itself—lighter, flirty, butno less charged. And beneath all of it, her thoughts whispered a truth she wasn’t ready to admit out loud.
