Page 147 of The Next Lie

“Eavesdropping is rude.”

“It can be useful.”

She shoves at my chest.

I catch her wrist, turn it, and pin it lightly against the brick above her shoulder. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers.

“You heard what I told him,” I say.

“I heard you being bossy in a more socially acceptable tone.”

“You heard me say I would let you make your own choices.”

Her lashes flicker.

“I heard.”

“Choose, then.”

Her mouth tightens. “That is a dangerous thing to say to me.”

“I know.”

For one second, the garden goes quiet around us. The fountain behind me. The trees. The house. Cal’s retreating footsteps, gone now. Reva’s breath is the only thing I care about.

Then she rises on her toes and kisses me.

That is all the permission I need.

I take her mouth hard, swallowing the small sound she makes when my hand slides into her hair. She tastes like syrup, coffee, and fury. My hand tightens at the back of her head, and she melts for half a second before pushing back, because surrender irritates her even when she wants it.

I bite her lower lip. She gasps.

“Still choosing?” I ask.

“Shut up, Nash.”

I smile against her mouth. Then I turn her.

She faces the garden now, hands braced on the brick, my body at her back. She inhales sharply when I drag my mouth down the side of her neck. I catch the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head, tossing it onto the bench beside us.

Her bra is black.

Simple.

Mine, in the sense that I bought it, which is an indecent satisfaction I do not examine.

My hand closes over one breast, thumb dragging over the lace until she arches back against me.

“Nash.”

“Tell me no.”

She turns her head enough to glare. “No to stopping.”

“Clearer.”

“I want this.”