Chapter 67
Warm, golden sunlight filtered in through the soft curtains of the upstairs bedroom, casting a sleepy haze over tangled limbs and lazy sighs. Mark lay on his side, arm slung loosely around Ronnie’s waist, her cheek resting on his bare chest, their bodies still tangled beneath the sheets. The world was quiet, for just a moment—no cases, no killers, no tension. Just them. Ronnie stirred with a sleepy sigh, shifting slightly under the covers, and immediately felt it—firm and unmistakably pressing against her lower stomach. Her lips curved slowly into a wicked smile. "Is that your gun," she murmured, her voice husky and thick with amusement, "or are you just happy to see me?" Mark groaned, eyes still closed, but his arm around her tightened possessively, drawing her in as he pressed closer.
- Writer
