Chapter 9: Checking In

"Enjoy my wife," Rocco had said.

The kitchen was quiet after the line went dead.

Brennan set the phone down on the counter with great care.

"I'm not his," I said.

"I know."

"I'm not anyone's."

"I know that too." His voice was rough. "Britta, go to bed."

"I'm not going to bed in the guest wing."

He went still.

I walked around the island until there was nothing between us but his shirt.

"Nothing personal," I said. "Nothing owed. The house is a hotel, and I'm checking in."

"To what room?"

"Yours."

He looked at me for a long moment.

I watched him count every reason, and watched him run out of them.

"Say it again," he said, very low.

"Yours, Brennan."

He picked me up.

He did it at the waist, easily, and I locked my legs around him and kissed him.

It was the first time anyone had kissed me on purpose in a long time.

His mouth was hot and careful over the split in my lip, and I bit down on his, because I did not want careful.

He made a sound in his chest.

He carried me up the stairs with my back against the wall twice, and each time he stopped to kiss me harder, and I laughed against his mouth.

In his room the lamp was on, and the bed was unmade.

He set me on my feet beside it, and his hands shook.

"Britta." His forehead came down on mine. "Tell me if it's too much."

"It's not enough," I said.

I pulled his shirt over his head.

He was broad and warm and scarred along one rib, and I put my mouth against that scar and felt his stomach jump.

He undid my blouse one slow button at a time, and I got impatient and tore the rest myself.

"There," I said.

"Yes," he said, and laughed, unsteadily, and kissed my throat.

His mouth went down my collarbone, my breast, and closed over my nipple through the lace.

I arched and grabbed his hair.

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