Deadlands Heat (Doomsday Lover Book 1) by Sienna Cole Page B

upstairs. Good stuff too. I’d be happy to share, if you’re interested.”
    I fought down the urge to grin. I didn’t want to seem overeager. “I don’t know…”
    “Come on.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “I have jerky.”
    I squinted at him. “Cat jerky?”
    “ Cow jerky.”
    “You have my attention.” I smiled and threaded my arm though his. “Lead the way.”
     
     

 
    Chapter Two
    Package
     
    MAX’S ROOM SAT at the end of a narrow, crooked hallway. He opened the door on the small, dim space and gestured for me to precede him into the gloom. One whiff of the nose-twitching, dusty air and I had to stifle the urge to sneeze. The bed sat like a lump in the center of a dingy, threadbare carpet, half covered by rumpled sheets and the dubious comfort of a thin brown blanket. Yellowed floral paper hung from the walls in peeling strips. I flicked a paint-scab off the top of the dresser making a track in its thick pelt of dust. “Nice…”
    “Isn’t it though?” He crossed to the bedside table and lit a rust-flaked oil lamp, bathing the room in a flickering yellow glow, and then he reached under the bed and pulled out a black duffle bag. As he fished around, I saw the distinctive flash of silver. That settled it then; he had the package.
    “Here we go.” He triumphantly brandished a liquor bottle; blow-fly green and missing the label. “No glasses though, so you’ll have to share my cooties.” He waggled his brows and took a slug before handing it to me.
    “I think I’ll live.” I tipped it back and took a healthy swallow. It tasted like paint thinner and went down like a tumbleweed. “Smooth,” I rasped. His warm fingers brushed mine as I handed it back. He winked, took a gulp, and offered me another pull. I held my hand up. “I’m gonna pace myself.”
    He rolled his eyes. “ Girl .”
    “Guilty as charged.” I sat on the edge of the bed and sank backwards into the sagging mattress. I had to kick my feet to get upright again. “Boy, this thing really sucks you in.” I laughed. “I bet that’s what they say about Trish.”
    “Forget Trish.” He set the bottle on the end table and moved towards me. His grey eyes had gone all sexy-serious. “I’d rather talk about you.”
    I watched him saunter my way and I didn’t want to talk about anyone—I just wanted to get his cloths off.
    He sat beside me and I slid into him, pulled in by the gravity well he’d created with his ass. His chest felt warm and solid under my hand as I steadied myself against him.
    Max looked down at me from only inches away. “Hi.”
    “Hi.” I swallowed. “Do you really want to talk ?” It sounded breathy, even to me.
    He shook his head. “Not really.”
    “Good,” I said, leaning up.
    He bent down to meet me. “Good.”
    The first brush of his whiskey flavored lips was soft; a gentle exploration. My fingers curled into his cotton shirt. He cupped the back of my head, changing the angle and deepening the kiss. Our tongues met and tangled. His other hand slipped up under my tank top, shaping and caressing my breast, teasing the nipple to a hard point between his long, nimble fingers. I moaned against his mouth, arching into the caress. My hands found their way into his thick hair.
    He broke away, trailing hot kisses along my jaw and down the side of my neck, using both hands now to stroke and tease my aching breasts. I grabbed the hem of my tank top and pulled it over my head. His mouth dipped lower, taking each nipple into his mouth in turn. I tugged at his shirt and he paused to whip it off over his head before resuming his delicious torment.
    My hands smoothed up the heated plane of his abdomen and up his chest, then over his shoulders and down his back; reveling in the feel of him—the caress of all that smooth warm skin against my own. My questing fingers found the bulge in his jeans and his hips jerked. He groaned against my throat, teeth scraping lightly as he pulled back to look at me. He