Chapter 11: I'm Choosing This

Jakub drew the kitchen curtain across with one finger and did not look away from the gap.

"Two men," he said. "Engine off. They are waiting for someone to come out."

"Or for someone to go in."

"The door has two bolts and a bar." He let the curtain fall. "They will not get through it."

"Then stop watching them."

He turned around.

I was standing in the dark hallway with my coat already on the floor.

"Watch me," I said.

His throat moved.

Then he came across the kitchen and I met him halfway.

I had meant to take my time.

I did not.

I took his face and kissed him, hard, and he made a sound against my mouth that went straight through me.

His hands went into my hair.

My back hit the wall.

I tore at the buttons of his work jacket and he shrugged out of it and let it drop.

"Upstairs," he said into my neck.

"Yes."

His rooms were at the very top of the house, under the roof, with a sloping ceiling and a lamp by a wide iron bed.

It smelled like him, soap and machine oil and cold air.

I pushed him down onto the quilt.

He went, and he looked up at me with his lips parted, his gray eyes dark.

"You said I was starting to sound like I want something," I told him, climbing over his thighs.

"I did."

"Well?"

"Careful," he said, and his hands found my hips. "You were right. I want you naked."

I laughed, and it broke into a gasp when he pulled me down against him.

I stripped his shirt over his head.

His chest was hard and warm and scattered with dark hair, and the burn scar ran from his left wrist almost to his elbow, pale and shiny.

I put my mouth on it, and he groaned.

"Freya."

"Tell me what you want."

"This." His voice cracked. "You. Everything."

"Then take it."

He sat up and pulled my sweater off over my head and unhooked my bra with a practiced flick.

Then he stopped.

I felt him looking at the small new curve below my navel.

His hands had gone still on my ribs.

I knew that look.

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