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questions she wanted to ask about Hope and her life here in Bramble. But with the warmth of his hand pinning her to the seat, she couldn’t verbalize one. All she could do was look back at him and try to memorize each feature so she would be able to recall it on her long drive to find her sister.
    The unique color of his eyes that defied description. The nose that wasn’t too long or too wide. The hard angle of his smooth-shaven jaw. And the curves of his perfectly shaped lips. Lips that were soft. And warm. And gentle. The gentle part was what intrigued her. The two kisses he’d given her didn’t go with his cocky strut or flagrant flags and bumper stickers.
    At the thought of those kisses, a chill tiptoed down her spine, and she shivered.
    “You cold?” Before she could answer, his thumb brushed over her bottom lip. “Because I was thinking…” Suddenly his lips were only inches away, his breath hot and tinged with lime and tequila. “That if you
were
cold, I might be able to warm you up.”
    The old Faith would’ve pulled away from those hot fingers and asked to be taken back to her car, but the old Faith didn’t have a twin sister or a pair of red high heels or a tube of Passion Fruit lip gloss. And she would never shoot tequila or suck lime juice from a man’s mouth. Or have the strong desire to find out if the bumper sticker on the back of the truck was something more than false bragging.
    But the new Faith still couldn’t bring herself to voiceher desires. Thankfully, Slate was aggressive enough to take matters into his own hands.
    His thumb tipped her chin up as he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. They rested there, soft as silk and slightly parted, before he took a sip. “Mmmm, you still taste like Cuervo,” he breathed, before he deepened the kiss.
    His tongue slipped inside her mouth, all wet and lush and wonderful. It swept along the edge of her teeth, then settled into a lazy dance that curled her toes inside her red high heels. He took his time, his skilled lips sweet, the hand cradling her chin gentle. Then just when she had turned into a limp puddle of need, he pulled back. And her eyelids fluttered open to a pair of eyes that glittered in the growing darkness.
    “Faith.” He said her name in a way that made her stomach feel all light and airy, as if he was trying out the word to see how it rolled from his sweet Texan tongue.
    It rolled nice.
    But no nicer than what followed.
    With a groan, he lowered his head again. But this time, there was nothing gentle or sweet about the kiss. It was deep, and demanding. And the hand on her neck no longer rested but moved up and manipulated her head to match the angle of his. He delivered one hot kiss after the other, until she grew light-headed and dizzy. Then his fingers slipped from her hair and caressed their way down to her breast. His hand encased her, molding and shaping the aching flesh until she whimpered deep in her throat and tightened the grip she had on the front of his shirt.
    A snap popped open.
    Intrigued, Faith tugged harder.
Pop—pop—pop
. Therest of the snaps came apart. Hesitantly, she slipped her hand inside the opening, trailing her fingers down the deep hollow between his rib cage, over the rippled muscles of his stomach and back up. His skin was smooth and hot, his muscles tight and hard—his textures so vibrantly male they made her tremble. She slid her hand over the well-developed swell of his pectoral, cupped its sculptured perfection, then brushed a thumb over the tiny nipple.
    A deep growl rumbled up in his throat, and he jerked the shirt off his shoulders to reveal what only her touch had known—ripples of hard muscle cast in the deep blues of twilight. As her gaze clung to the exposed skin, he reached down and released her seat belt, enfolding her in his waiting arms.
    “Better,” Slate breathed as he settled back against the seat and pulled her onto his lap.
    It seemed like an eternity since she’d been