I hold Curtis's hand in mine and guide him out of the bedroom, walking toward the sound of men's voices. Funny, I'm usually avoiding that exact thing. But we're not in our little apartment beside the tavern this morning. We're in Ramsy Jones' home—and apparently this is where we'll be staying for the next while.

Against my better judgment.

My lips are still tingling from his kiss, my skin burning where his hands touched me.

I've always thought—or hoped, at least—that I'm a smart girl. ...