Chapter 6: The Light Was On

I crossed the lawn in the dark with no coat on, because his was still hanging on my chair and I did not care.

The grass was cold.

The only warm thing in the whole world was that yellow square of light above the water.

He opened the door before I reached the top step.

He was in a black T-shirt and old jeans, barefoot, and he looked like he had not slept in days.

"You came," he said.

"You wrote 'the light will be on.' I'm a literal person."

"Conrad said..."

"Conrad said the house would be empty. He didn't say anything about the boathouse."

He gave a low, rueful chuckle.

Then he took my face in both hands.

I was twenty-seven, he was thirty-three, and neither of us was going to be sensible.

His mouth was hot and hard and hungry.

He kissed me, backing me into the flat, kicking the door shut behind us with his heel.

I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and dragged him against me.

He groaned into my mouth, and the sound went straight between my legs.

"Carys," he said against my lips. "I have wanted this since you took the pen out of my brother's hand."

"You weren't even there."

"I was at the window. I saw it all."

"Pervert."

"Yes."

I laughed, and he bit my lower lip, and the laugh turned into something else.

I pulled his shirt up over his head.

He was built like a man who worked outdoors, wide chest, hard stomach, a scatter of dark hair, and a long scar under one rib.

I put my palm flat on it.

"What's this?"

"A saw blade. I was nineteen."

"Stupid."

"Very."

I kissed it.

His whole body jerked.

He pulled me up by the hips and tugged my sweater over my head.

He made a low sound at the sight of me in my plain cotton bra.

"Beautiful," he said, rough. "God, look at you."

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