Page 63 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

I’m close when voices drift up from downstairs.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Wes says.

Roman answers, amused. “Leaving a key under the mat is a trust exercise.”

“That trust exercise is how people get murdered.”

“Or maybe we’ll get murdered for failing the test.”

Wes calls my name.

The rough edge of his voice moves through me hard enough that my hips jerk into my hand.

Downstairs goes quiet.

I freeze.

A moment later, footsteps sound on the stairs. There’s a soft knock against my bedroom door.

“Scarlet?” Roman’s voice is warm and careful. “I brought coffee.”

My hand remains between my thighs. Apparently, this is who I am now. “You can come in,” I say.

The door opens slowly. Roman steps inside, carrying my favorite mug. His dark-blond hair is still rumpled from sleep, and the long sleeves of his brown shirt are pushed to his elbows. Cardamom and cinnamon fill the room. His gaze moves from my face to the hand hidden beneath the blanket. “Do you want me to leave?”

The answer should require more thought. “No.”

Roman sets the coffee on my bedside table. Then he waits.

I swallow. “Come here.”

He sits on the edge of the mattress without touching me. “Tell me what you want.”

My face heats, despite everything we’ve already done. “I was almost there.”

His eyes darken. “Do you want to finish yourself?”

The question gives me an easy escape. I shake my head.

“Do you want my hand?”

“Yes.”

Roman leans closer. “Anything else?”

I look at his mouth.

Understanding warms his expression. “Ask me,” he says softly.

“I want your mouth too.”

His smile is slow and devastating. “Good, because I want to taste you.”

He kisses me first. He licks the seam of my lips and sweeps his tongue against mine, while his hand slides beneath the blanket.

I gasp into the kiss when he covers my hand.

Roman guides my fingers once over my clit, then replaces them with his. “What were you thinking about that made you so wet?” His thumb circles slowly, exactly where I need it.