Chapter Fifteen
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Lily stepped inside Griff’s house, the door shutting quietly behind them as Griff locked up and set the security system. She slipped out of her coat, her movements slow, her limbs heavy with the kind of weight that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with what they’d left behind.
Griff didn’t speak as he hung his jacket on the peg next to hers. He just stood there for a moment, one hand braced on the back of his neck, his eyes distant.
She knew where his mind was.
It was in that office, in the flash of movement, the crack of the gun, the way the man had fallen.
Griff had pulled the trigger. He’d taken a life.
And though he’d had no choice, though that man would’ve killed them both without hesitation, it didn’t make it easier.
Lily wasn’t immune to the aftermath either. She hadn’t fired the fatal shot, but the sounds, the heat, the pressure of it all—it still clung to her skin like smoke. And even though she knew Griff had done what needed to be done, she could see the weight of it on his shoulders.
Mid-afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Or at least they did until Griff worked the keypad next to the door and the curtains slid shut.
“We don’t know who hired that man I killed,” he muttered.
That caused Lily’s stomach to knot even more.
Because he was right. They’d identified the guy.
Wes Danner. Thirty-six. A rap sheet for B&E and assault.
Last known job was as a bouncer. Danner didn’t have any connections to Catherine or Everett so, yes, someone had hired him.
No way could he tell though since he was dead.
Now, they would have to deal with the fallout.
That “fallout” had started when Hallie had ordered them both to go home.
Standard protocol when there was a fatal officer-involved shooting.
There’d be an investigation, statements, paperwork, a review of the footage and timeline.
Hallie didn’t expect to find anything wrong in what they’d done.
Lily didn’t either. But procedure was procedure.
And that meant, for now, they were grounded.
Not that either of them was going to get any real rest.
Griff finally turned toward the kitchen. His voice was low, a little raw. “I want a drink,” he muttered.
Lily followed him without a word, grateful for something as normal as that.
They moved into the kitchen, the silence between them stretching—but not uncomfortably. It was the kind of quiet that came after chaos, when the adrenaline wore off and only the weight of the day remained.
Griff headed toward one of the kitchen cupboards and pulled out a bottle of high-end scotch. The glass was thick, the label aged and expensive. He poured a small measure into a tumbler, then glanced over his shoulder at her.
“Want one?” he asked.
Lily shook her head. “Never been much of a drinker.”
He winced slightly, lowering the bottle. “Right. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
She knew what he meant. Her parents, the years of alcohol-fueled chaos and violence. But she waved it off with a quick shrug.
“By all means,” she said. “Have your scotch. It doesn’t bother me.”
As he took a slow sip, she opened the pantry and found what she’d spotted earlier: a chocolate bar tucked beside a box of protein bars and instant oatmeal. She held it up, silently asking.
Griff gave her a nod. “Help yourself.”
Lily unwrapped it and broke off a square, the rich cocoa melting on her tongue. They stood there in the kitchen—him with a glass of scotch, her with chocolate—both too wired to sleep, too bruised by the day to talk much.
But for now, it was enough.
Lily had just broken off another piece of chocolate when Griff’s phone buzzed on the counter beside his glass. He picked it up, glanced at the screen, and held it out so she could see. It was from Jesse.
Everett is due in a half hour for his interview with Hallie and me. We’ll let you know what he says.
She swallowed the chocolate, a bitter edge creeping into her chest despite the sweetness. “That should be us in that room questioning Everett.”
Griff nodded, his expression unreadable, but she could tell he felt the same way. Being sidelined after a shooting, even when it was by the book, was like standing just outside the fire, knowing the whole thing could still burn down and you couldn’t stop it.
She put the rest of the chocolate aside and got a glass of water. “Maybe Everett will spill something. Rhett and Margo sure did.”
Griff’s mouth tugged into a small, dry smile. “That’s one way to describe it.”
“Half-truths. Panic attacks. Hidden kids. Blackmail payments.” She drank some of the water. “Nothing like a few interviews to blow everything wide open.”
He chuckled quietly, and she saw the tension ease slightly in his shoulders. It was the first time in hours he hadn’t looked like he was carrying the whole investigation on his back.
“Let’s hope Everett’s feeling chatty,” she muttered.
Griff took another sip of his scotch, his gaze thoughtful as he swirled the glass. “You know,” he said, his voice low and casual, “I’ve got a jet tub in the master bath. You should take a long soak. Might help loosen up some of those tight muscles.”
Lily raised an eyebrow, the offer sending a flicker of temptation through her—until her imagination took it further.
She saw it in a flash: the water steaming, her bare skin beneath the surface, and Griff sliding in behind her, just as bare. His hands on her shoulders. His mouth at her neck. The heat didn’t stop at the edges of her mind. It tore through her body with a sharp, slow burn.
She licked her lips and stepped away from the counter, toward him. One step. Then another. Her pulse beat harder with every inch that closed between them.
“I’ve got a better way to loosen tight muscles,” she said softly.
Griff didn’t move. He just watched her, eyes dark and steady, like he already knew what was coming.
She reached for his shirt, curled her fingers around the front, and tugged him to her.
Then she kissed him.
It wasn’t tentative.
It was deep and hungry and full of all the pressure they’d both been carrying. All the near-misses, the danger, the long hours of working side by side while trying not to give in. There was nothing restrained about it now.
And neither one of them wanted it to stop.
Griff’s mouth moved over hers with a hunger that stole Lily’s breath. The warmth of the scotch still lingered on his lips, but it was quickly replaced by something far more intoxicating. Need. His hands settled on her hips, fingers firm, grounding her and igniting her in the same motion.
She gripped his shirt, fisting the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. The kiss deepened, and she let herself get lost in it, in him. It had been building for days. Through tension, danger, near-death moments, and those stolen glances that lasted just a second too long.
Now there was no pause.
No room for second-guessing.
Her hands slid up his chest, tracing the hard line of muscle beneath his shirt. She could feel the tight control in him, the way he held back. Barely. But when she pressed herself closer, molding against him, he broke just enough to let out a low groan.
Griff’s hands roamed up her back, one of them slipping beneath the hem of her top, his palm hot against her skin.
The contact sent a rush through her so fast and sharp she nearly gasped.
She arched into him, needing more. More of his hands, more of his mouth, more of the escape only he could offer in this moment.
Her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, and his hand splayed across her lower back, anchoring her to him like he had no intention of letting her go.
The heat between them wasn’t simmering anymore.
It was a full-on blaze.
They were moving.
Lily barely noticed it at first. Just the subtle shifting of steps, the way Griff’s hands stayed firm on her waist as he slowly backed her up.
The kiss never broke, not even when they bumped against the wall in the hallway.
Her back hit the drywall with a soft thud, and Griff’s mouth only moved more urgently against hers, his body pressing into hers with deliberate control that nearly unraveled her.
She let him guide her, her hands gripping his arms as he navigated them toward the bedroom. They bumped into the edge of a doorway, the corner of a table, but neither of them cared. The path didn’t matter. Only the destination.
By the time they reached the bedroom, the need burning inside her had twisted into something urgent. Desperate.
Griff reached for her holster first, unbuckling it with ease and setting it aside.
Then came his shirt, and she helped push it off his shoulders, letting her fingers trail across the bare skin of his chest. She leaned in and kissed him there, right over his heart, tasting salt and heat, her lips skimming along the curve of muscle and scar.
His hands found the hem of her top, lifting it in one smooth motion. Her skin tingled from the air and from his touch as he peeled it away, his mouth following the same path up her neck and jaw, reclaiming her lips like he couldn’t go another second without them.
She wasn’t sure who moved next—him or her—but they were on the bed, tangled together, heat and breath and skin.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lily knew this was going to complicate things. Working together. Investigating a murder. Living under the same roof, even temporarily.
But right now?
She didn’t care.
Because everything else had burned down. And this, whatever this was, felt like the one thing still standing.
The room felt suspended in time, wrapped in shadows and golden light filtering in from the bathroom.
Lily barely noticed any of it, just the heat of Griff’s mouth as he kissed his way down her body, unhurried, reverent.
Each brush of his lips left a trail of fire in its wake, and when his hands slid over her hips, easing her jeans and panties away, her breath hitched.
Then he kissed her again, lower this time, and her world tilted.
Her fingers threaded into his hair, needing something to hold on to as sensation crashed over her like a tide. She couldn’t stop the sound that escaped her, couldn’t think past the rush of heat curling deep inside her.
“Now,” she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice.
He looked up at her, his eyes dark and full of something that made her pulse stutter—fierce tenderness and need all wrapped into one.
She sat up, her hands finding the waistband of his jeans, and he didn’t stop her. Together, they made quick work of boots, denim, and layers shed until there was nothing between them but the hum of something electric.
Lily’s gaze swept over him. Shoulders, chest, the strength carved into every line of his body. All those muscles. All that heat. He looked like a warrior and moved like one too, every part of him honed and purposeful.
But when he touched her, when he kissed her again, there was nothing guarded in him. Nothing cold. Only want. Only warmth.
They came together slowly, every movement filled with aching intensity, like they’d both been holding this back for far too long. And when their bodies finally met, it wasn’t chaos—it was connection. Something deeper than lust, more dangerous than comfort.
Lily knew it—felt it in every heartbeat, in every breathless kiss.
This wasn’t just heat.
It was the beginning of something that would change everything.
Griff moved away from her, just slightly, and Lily let out a low curse, her body still thrumming with urgency. But then she saw him reach toward the nightstand drawer, and understanding replaced the frustration.
She watched as he pulled out a condom, the simple act somehow making her heart trip harder.
Careful. Considerate. Even now, with everything between them crackling and alive, he was still thinking clearly. Still putting her first.
It only made her want him more.
When he returned to her, she rose up and caught his mouth with hers, slow and deep. Then she pushed him gently back, her hands guiding him until he was where she wanted him—over her, his body covering hers like a promise.
Their eyes met, and in that quiet beat of stillness, something passed between them. Trust. Desire. The raw, unspoken thing that had been growing ever since the case threw them together.
And then he moved, sliding into her, and her breath caught in her throat.
The rhythm started slow, unhurried, but deep. Each stroke a conversation of its own, saying what words hadn’t been able to. Her hands traced the lines of his back, holding him close, grounding herself in the feel of him. Warm skin, taut muscle, the soft brush of his breath against her neck.
The pressure built slowly, winding tighter with every motion, every kiss, every ragged breath.
And when the rush finally came, fast and full and blinding, they held onto each other like the world outside had fallen away.
For those few perfect seconds, it had.
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