Chapter 7
In the sodium lights of the warehouse lot, the Avalanche looked purplish-black instead of red, but there was no mistaking the sleek truck. The bed was crammed with amps and wires and speakers, the tools of a modern musician’s trade.
Tom pulled up beside the Freightliner. He stopped and swung out, striding toward her with his arms outstretched. She walked right into them. It felt like coming home. She twined her arms around his neck and reached up into his kiss. That felt even better. He tasted of coffee and man, smooth lips, busy tongue and all. Too damn good to be legal.