Chapter 7: Her Choice

Jonas didn't answer for a long time.

We stood in the corridor with the study door shut behind us and the portrait gone quiet in the dark.

"I'm thirty-three," he said at last. "You're twenty-two."

"I know my age. I just had a birthday."

"I carry a gun for your father."

"Then you should be good at keeping things safe."

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"If I take you to bed tonight, it's because you've had the worst week of your life."

"You'll hate me for it by Friday."

"Then tell me no."

He didn't.

"Say it," I whispered. "Say no, Jonas, and I'll go to my room, and it never happens."

His hand came up to my face again.

His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, very slowly.

"I can't," he said.

I took his hand and led him up the stairs.

The yellow room was dark except for the lamp.

I shut the door and turned the lock, and the click was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

It was my lock.

On my side.

I turned around.

Jonas stood in the middle of the rug with his jacket still on and his big hands open at his sides.

He watched me.

"I've never done this," I said.

"I know."

"I want to."

"I know." His voice had gone rough. "Come here."

I crossed the rug.

He put one hand flat at the small of my back.

He put the other at the back of my neck and kissed me slowly.

Not in the car.

This kiss opened me.

His mouth was hot and unhurried, and his beard scraped my chin, and he tasted coffee and mint.

I clutched his lapels.

I made a noise I'd never heard myself make.

"Good girl," he muttered against my lip.

I felt it in my knees.

"Say that again."

"Good girl." His teeth caught my lower lip. "Take off my jacket."

I did.

I dragged it off his shoulders, and the holster came with it.

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