Hang tough, p.33
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       Hang Tough, p.33

         Part #8 of Blacktop Cowboys series by Lorelei James
 

  “I have no problem with you taking the lead,” he murmured. “Kiss me anytime you get the overwhelming urge again. But this time, it’s my turn.”

  I groaned when our lips met and he swallowed the sound in a hot and hungry kiss. I hadn’t embellished this passion between us. And he seemed determined to remind me of that with every teasing flick of his tongue, with every soft growl, with every angle he moved my head so he could delve deeper into the kiss.

  When he broke the seal of our mouths, my lips tingled and my head buzzed. I’d melted against him and was having a hard time remembering why I couldn’t stay right there forever.

  Oh yeah. I’d opted to give up more of this to go home alone to my quiet house and my neurotic, cranky cat who hated me.

  Sometimes I’m a complete idiot.

  Stepping back, he said, “Got that new number memorized yet?” and pulled out his phone.

  I’d given the number out enough times in the past few days I could rattle it off without writing the digits on my wrist every morning.

  Ten seconds later my phone buzzed in my purse.

  He smirked at me. “Just checking.”

  “I’m glad you see the humor in it.”

  “I do now. But at the start of my day . . . let’s just say being pissed off isn’t always hell on productivity. I finished twice as many set cutouts as I’d planned.”

  “I’m taking credit for that.”

  “See you tomorrow, Trinity.”

 
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