Chapter 18: Her House

Catriona's POV

He knocked at seven exactly, with a paper cup of coffee in each hand.

I opened the door of my own house and forgot every line I had practiced.

He had shaved, which he never did.

The beard was a clean dark gold line along his jaw, and I wanted to put my mouth on it.

"Mine has too much sugar," he said. "I got the wrong one. I'll trade."

I took both cups and set them on the porch rail.

Then I put my hand flat on his cheek, and his eyes closed.

That was the whole first beat.

I had never been tender with him first before.

"Saturdays," he said, low, against my palm. "You said Saturdays."

"I changed my mind."

"It's Wednesday."

"I know what day it is, Conall."

I pulled him in by his coat and shut the door with my heel.

He kissed me against it, slow, with his hands cupped around my face.

I didn't want slow.

I got his coat off him and then his flannel, and I said into his mouth, "Tonight you decide."

His whole body went still.

"Not forever," I said. "Tonight."

"You're sure."

"I'm telling you."

He lifted me.

I locked my legs around his waist and he carried me into the kitchen, where the boxes were stacked and the yellow stove ticked in the dark.

He set me on the counter and stood between my knees.

"Hands up," he said.

I raised my arms, and he pulled my sweater off over my head.

He took his time with the rest.

Every button and every strap, and his mouth right behind his hands, on my collarbone, my ribs, the soft place under my breast.

I heard myself make a noise I hadn't made in seven years.

Then I stopped his hand on my zipper.

"Wait," I said.

He waited at once.

"I can't feel you," I said.

It came out smaller than I meant.

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