CHAPTER FORTY
Timothy
The stable block hadn’t been used for horses in years. It smelled like old hay and dust and machine oil. It was now used to stable lawn mowers, line trimmers, chainsaws, and other miscellaneous equipment. There was a tarp over something big in the far bay, and one high window letting in a square of moonlight across the floor.
I got the door shut with my shoulder and put her against it.
She made a sound when she hit the wood — not pain, excitement. She got both hands in my hair and pulled my mouth back down to hers. She kissed like she fought. No warming up, no asking. She bit my lower lip hard enough that I tasted it.
“You’ve got about ten seconds,” she said against my jaw, “to decide whether you’re going to be careful with me.”
“Am I supposed to be?”
“No.”
Th
