Page 64 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

I pretend not to hear the question.

Roman chuckles. “I bet I can guess.” He kisses along my jaw and down my throat, his free hand pushing the blanket aside. Cool morning air reaches my bare legs before his mouth follows.

He pauses at the waistband of my shorts and looks at me for confirmation.

I nod with more enthusiasm than I like.

He pulls them down slowly, giving me time to change my mind. When I don’t, Roman settles between my thighs and kisses the inside of one knee. Then the other. The patience of it makes my body tighten with need.

“Roman.”

“I’ve got you.” His mouth closes over my clit.

Pleasure hits so sharply that my hand flies into his hair. He groans against me, and the vibration drags a purr from my chest. Roman works me with the same focused attention he brings to everything else. His tongue circles, then presses flat while two fingers slide through my slick. When one pushes inside, my hips lift.

“That’s it,” he says against me. “Let me take care of you.”

He fucks me slowly with his fingers as he sucks my clit.

My orgasm gathers fast. I grip his hair and come with his name breaking out of me, thighs shaking around his shoulders. Roman eases me through the sensitivity, his mouth gentling until my body loosens beneath him. Then he kisses his way back up my stomach. I’m still trying to remember language when he lies beside me and brushes hair from my face.

“You with me?”

“Yes.”

His thumb brushes my lower lip. I turn my head and kiss his palm. The softness in his gaze feels more intimate than his mouth between my thighs.

A floorboard creaks in the hallway.

Roman glances toward the door, then back at me. I don’t need anyone to explain what the sound means. Wes heard me. Heat moves through my scent.

Roman smiles but doesn’t tease. “Coffee’s getting cold.” He kisses me once more before standing.

I catch his wrist. “Roman.”

He looks down.

“Thank you.”

His expression changes. Less amused. More tender. “You never have to thank me for wanting you.” He leaves me with coffee and no remaining argument against the fact that this is becoming real.

The shower is supposed to restore basic function. Instead, steam pulls cedar and cinnamon spice from my skin.

I wash quickly, get dressed, and spend the rest of the morning refusing to look directly at Wes. The worst part is that when I climb into the truck thirty minutes later, my body settles at the sound of his breathing anyway.

Forty-five minutes later, Wes parks outside Sweet Tooth.

Half of Sweetheart Haven looks ready to riot over pastries. People are panic-buying love cakes. That should not be a sentence anyone has to live through.

I step out and smooth my hands over my brightly colored skirt. Tiny flowers are stitched along the hem, paired with a fitted velvet top and a wide tan belt. I felt human when I left the house, but the way people stare makes every stitch feel like evidence.

Wes’s hand settles near the small of my back. “Stay beside us.”

“Bossy before breakfast. Brave choice.”

Roman appears on my other side with the field satchel. “He’s bossy after breakfast too.”

“That’s true,” Wes says.