Chapter 18

“Fuck, Michael.”

Spyros seemed lost for words. Michael didn’t mind. He preferred to be wrapped up in one of the gorgeous Greek’s sensual kisses.

At least they had something to keep themselves occupied until the snow disappeared. Michael wasn’t about to complain with that.

* * * *

Spyros awoke slowly. He was aware that the wind was still blowing hard outside, that the storm hadn’t let up. But he was also aware that he wasn’t alone in his bed. There was a very male body curled up beside him.

Michael was here. And Spyros couldn’t stop himself from touching his lover.

Lover. That was a strange word for the policeman. But it felt good. Spyros couldn’t begin to think of Michael as anything else. They had crossed that line, one that Michael shouldn’t have thought about. Spyros was, in essence, still a suspect in a serial killer case. That should have made him off-limits.

From the way he had been, Michael hadn’t cared. And neither did Spyros.