Echo slides off the hood, and her hips have this easy sway as she walks to the back passenger door. Damn, she’s gorgeous—red, curly hair flowing over her shoulders, a pair of cut-offs hugging her ass and a blue spaghetti-strap tank dipped low enough to show cleavage. My fingers twitch with the need to touch. I’m going to have to pull some major groveling to gain forgiveness. If I were smart, I’d find a way to apologize without opening my mouth. Never fails that half the time I try to apologize, it comes out wrong.

Breaking the Rules