Nash grappled with them, ripping them free as Locke broke our kiss, still clutching my hair. He turned my head. “Kiss your man, queenie.” In the dark, I found Nash and we fell into the same headlong connection we’d shared the first time I’d ever put my lips on him. The kind that never ended unless a brighter spark took hold. Nash was that spark for me, forever and always, but if he was the lit match, Locke was the dry tinder to the flame. I felt his gaze on me as I kissed Nash—on us—and it made my heart pound, a rush I’d never felt roaring in my ears. This is really happening.
