Chapter 8: Your Door, Your Lock

We got up the stairs on Pell Street in a tangle.

His hands were under my coat, and twice my back hit the wall.

At the top of the stairs he stopped in front of my bedroom door.

He did not open it.

He leaned his forearm on the frame above my head, breathing hard, and looked at the knob.

"Your door," he said. "Your lock. I said I wouldn't open it."

I turned the knob and pushed it wide.

"Then I'm opening it."

He followed me in and shut it behind him.

I stood by the bed and my hands would not work on my coat buttons.

"Roxanne." His voice was rough. "Tell me what you want."

"I want number one."

He closed his eyes for a second.

"I don't have it on me."

"You don't need the phone."

I went to my bag on the chair and pulled out my black Larkin's apron, still smelling of espresso.

I put it on over my dress and tied it behind me.

Then I turned around and held the string out of his reach, and looked at him.

He crossed the room in two steps.

His hands went to my waist and then to the knot at my back.

He stood so close that I could feel his breath on my ear.

"Five-forty," he said. "It comes loose every morning at five-forty. I watch it come loose."

"I know. I've been retying it for a year."

"Don't retie it."

He tugged one end of the string.

The knot gave, and the apron slid down my front, and he caught it before it hit the floor.

He put it on the desk with a care that made my knees go weak.

"Number two," I said.

I reached up and took the clip out of my hair.

It fell around my shoulders.

He made a sound, low in his chest.

He pushed both hands into my hair, all the way to the roots, and wound it around his fist.

"Slowly," he said, hoarse. "I wrote slowly."

"You don't look like a man who can go slowly."

"I'm going to try." His mouth found my throat. "Say my name."

"Maddox."

"Louder."

"Maddox."

He bit down gently just under my ear, and I said it again, loud enough to carry through the wall.

His hands were shaking at the zipper of my dress.

"I haven't," he started, and stopped.

"Haven't what?"

He pressed his forehead against my shoulder.

"I haven't wanted anyone like this," he said at last. "I want to do it right."

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