Donovan didn’t say anything, but the corners of his lips lifted into a half smile. “You’re not the only one. I’m sure my back will be screaming at me tomorrow. Not to mention the burns I have on my knees.”

“Worth it?”

He cocked one black eyebrow. “Do you even have to ask?”

No, I didn’t. Because I’d been moaning just as loud as he had.

After we caught our breath, Donovan eased up into a sitting position. I followed suit. He reached into the front seat and handed me some clean clothes—a pair of khakis several sizes too big and a T-shirt that hung almost to my knees. The detective was a bit taller than I was. Donovan pulled on a matching set of clothes. When that was done, we turned and faced each other in the back seat.

“So here we are again,” I said.

“Yeah,” Donovan replied. “Here we are again.”

He didn’t look happy at the thought. The detective let out a long breath and ran his hands through his black hair—lean, strong hands that had just done marvelous things to my body. I hesitated, then reached over, put my hand on top of his, and gave a gentle squeeze with my fingers. I wasn’t sure what prompted the reaction, other than this warmth in my chest I felt for the detective. Or maybe it was the simple fact I didn’t want things to end between us like they had the last time we’d slept together.

Which had been altogether badly.

Donovan flinched at my touch and slid his hand out from under mine. “We should get back.”

I stared at his rugged features. Black hair, bronze skin, golden eyes. But heat and desire no longer brightened his gaze. Instead, the detective looked tired, weary, heartsick.

As though all the pleasure he’d just experienced came with a weight that was just too much to bear, even for him.

“All right,” I said in a quiet voice, not wanting to push him anymore tonight.

———

It was after ten by the time we returned to Country Daze. The traffic of the day had long since ceased, and the stop sign at the crossroads looked like a dull red ghost in the drizzling rain. Donovan didn’t have an extra pair of the shoes in the trunk, so I had to stick my feet back into my muddy boots. First though, I wiped as much of the grime off them as I could with a towel.

Sometime while we’d been gone, Sophia’s black convertible had been pulled off to one side of the store so that the classic car rested in the grass. So had Finn’s Cadillac.

The store itself was dark, the front doors closed and locked.

“Come on,” I said. “Finn said they were in the house around back.”