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“Oh my God, please tell them about the fruitcake,” Nikki urges, seeming excited. Way too excited for anything fruitcake-related.

“Guess I have to now.” Gracie rolls her eyes. “So, yeahhhhh, my mother hand-delivers a homemade fruitcake to every officer, every shift, every Christmas. And in return, they… quit encouraging her to stop calling them.”

Precious. Seriously—I haven’t a single clue how, why, or what the hell’s going on with me—but I’m uncontrollably drawn to this woman; each new thing she says or does more intriguing than the last. And accordingly, I simply stare, smiling, while Nikki and Lance both double over in howling laughter.

“Anyway, my point is, don’t say I didn’t warn you, should either of you decide to dismember, murder, or harm either of us. My mother will track you like a bloodhound, make you wish you were dead. So, Lance, can I trust you to keep my friend far from any harm tonight?”

Well fuck… I’m completely screwed, because nothing that anyone says, ever again, has a chance in hell of keeping me even half as entertained as this woman. Which means, I’ve either got to ensure that she never stops talking, to me, or face a life of mundanity.

Lance and Nikki just stand there, frozen, wearing identical, dumbfounded expressions. But I— I am fascinated— beyond restraint, already moving to take her beautiful, intelligent, spunky little self by the hand. Small. Soft. A perfect, feminine fit in mine.

“He’s harmless,” I dip my head and whisper in her ear. “You have my word.”

She tilts her head to look up at me, plump, suck-worthy lips curling in taunt. “What about you, Brewer Hayes? Are you harmless?”

I lean in closer, our noses brushing and gazes locked. “I’d say yes, but I aim to please… and you’re praying that I say no.”