Page 20 of Poison Pen

“Sorry, I’m perpetually spicy.” She smiled, but it was weak at best. “I should probably come with a warning label.”

Motioning her to follow, I headed back to the bar again, this time bringing her around with me and positioning us both near the sink before reaching for the roll of paper towels. There wasn’t much for supplies in the place in the midst of all the construction, so this was the best I was gonna be able to do. I folded up two pieces into a square, then ran it under cool water before turning to face her. Taking her chin in one hand, I gently dabbed the damp paper towel across the worst of the blood along her lower lip and chin.

“You a hazard to my health, Betty?” I asked softly, my eyes trained on her mouth. The blood came away easily, the lips underneath revealed to be the color of ripe berries.

I wondered if they’d taste as good as they looked.

“I’ve been told I’m poisonous,” she whispered, her breath warm against my hand.

“Well, I happen to know that constant exposure to some poisons can actually make a person immune.” Finishing with the cleanup, I tossed the wad of dirty paper towels into the nearby bin, not taking my eyes off Betty.

“Is that so?” she asked, one hand reaching up to grip my arm, her tattooed fingers cold where they touched my skin. I stared at them, the swirling lace patterns looking somehow both aggressive and delicate at the same time. “Has that theory been thoroughly tested?”

“Maybe you should tell me, Betty.”

Looking down at her, I could see her eyes growing heavy, the lids lowering as she shifted her focus from my eyes to my mouth, and I felt the sudden need to lick my lips, wanting them to be as appealing to her as hers were to me.

Leaning toward me, she lifted her chin, her parted lips beseeching as she stretched to reach me, her other hand coming around the back of my neck and drawing me closer. The first touch was electric, the barest of contact sending a blast of sparks through my system that had me sucking in a breath.

Apparently suffering the same reaction, Betty froze, her wide, dark eyes darting up to mine before she pressed forward, this time with more purpose, like she simply couldn’t believe what she’d felt the first time.

Obliging her, I bent my knees, wanting to make the contact easier for her so she’d be less likely to stop what she was doing.

“So far, so good,” she murmured against my lips.

“No apparent adverse reactions,” I agreed. “All systems appear to be operational.”

“Perhaps we should accelerate this experiment to phase two?”

The thought of taking things further set off a rumble in my chest that I had no hope of containing.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well,” she started, her own tongue darting out to lick that ripe lower lip. “I think maybe we could—”

“I couldn’t find him,” my soon-to-be-dead best friend hollered as he entered the shop. “Bastard’s fast, that’s for sure.”

Stepping back from me, Betty cleared her throat, bringing her hands up to cover her cheeks as a heavy blush spread across them.

“Thank you for trying,” she said to Easton, and that growly feeling was back in my chest. The one where I was at risk of punching my best friend. “I appreciate the effort.”

“Not a problem,” Easton said, his confused gaze darting from me to her and the conspicuous space between us. “Hopefully he’ll stay gone.”

“Yeah, right,” she muttered, not sounding confident. I made a mental note to keep an eye on her place. “Well, thanks again.” Blowing out a breath, she headed for the door, and I was hit with a panicky feeling, like I needed to keep her near just a minute longer.

“Betty,” I called, and she turned, her expression puzzled. “I owe you a bottle of whiskey.” Reaching behind the bar, I grabbed a second bottle, holding it out to her as I approached.

“Pretty sure I owe you one,” she said, her eyes on the label. “Dunn Creek Distillery?” she questioned, looking up at me with a smirk. “I guess that explains why you know so much about this stuff then, huh?”

“I guess it does.”

“Well, thanks, Asher Dunn.” Tipping the bottle to her temple, she offered a little salute. “I shall drink this in your honor tonight, boys.”

Walking out with her, Easton and I stood on the sidewalk, watching her as she opened the door to the apartments above. No way was anyone gonna get the jump on her again.

“Oh,” she said, pausing just before the door closed and looking back at us with a mischievous smile on her face. “I almost forgot. The name’s Ricki.”

Then, before either of us could answer, she tossed us a wink and was gone.