Chapter 9: His Place

"Where do I take you?" Samson said. "Macy's? Your condo?"

"Macy's at a wedding until two. The condo still smells like him."

"Then a hotel. I'll get you a room."

"No."

I said it too fast, and he turned his head.

"I'm done with rooms somebody else booked," I said. "Take me to yours."

He kept his hands on the wheel, and I watched his knuckles go pale.

"Hannah."

"I'm not asking for a favor."

"I know you're not."

"I want to go home with you."

He drove.

His apartment was on the ninth floor of an old brick building near the hospital.

The window looked out over the lake, black and wide with the city lights on it.

It was clean.

One lamp, a bookshelf, a coffee maker with the cord wrapped around it.

He took my coat and hung it on a hook.

Then he stood in the hallway with both hands empty, looking at me.

I crossed the floor.

I put my palms flat against his chest and felt his heart going under the sweater, hard and fast.

"I've been trying not to want this all night," he said, and his voice was rough.

"Samson, I'd like you to stop trying and kiss me."

He made a sound low in his throat, and he did.

It wasn't a careful kiss.

He had one hand in my hair and the other spread across my back.

His mouth was hot and hungry and tasted like coffee.

I pulled his sweater up over his head and dropped it on the floor.

He was broad and warm, with a long scar across his ribs and a dusting of dark hair down his stomach.

I put my mouth on his shoulder, and he swore softly.

"You're married," he said into my hair.

"I'm filing in the morning."

"I know. I wanted you to hear me say it."

"Ethan and I are done. I knew it in that hallway."

I tipped my head back to look at him.

"I want you. I've wanted you since you handed me the smaller piece of pie."

He laughed, and it broke in the middle.