He rinsed his whiskers out of his sink.
He made me a travel mug in the morning.
He picked up my call by the second ring every time.
He didn’t delay in texting back, unless the delay meant he was in his car coming right to me.
He noticed I was exhausted, running on empty, and he did something about it.
He took my back when a member of the Arcadia Squad tried to mess with me.
He bought me Beckett’s Table.
He thought my panda cake was adorable.
He carried me to bed.
And now he was fully clothed, probably just in case the Angels found trouble, he didn’t want to waste any time if I called him because I needed him.
He was ready just in case I needed him.
Fully clothed at midnight, sauntering my way like I was coming in from work at a decent hour, and he was heading in my direction to greet me.
To greet me after we went on a dangerous assignment that night, he knew it, and he didn’t say boo.
Not even boo.
Yes, I belonged to this man. I knew it from the very beginning.
And he belonged to me too.
Without a thought (but even if I had one, I wouldn’t have changed what I did next), I dropped the bag, my purse, raced to him and hit him dead on.
My arms went around his neck.
His arms clamped around me.
He backed me up, turned us and slammed me against the wall.
Mm.
Nice!
Then he kissed me.
That was not nice.
It was sublime.
Like the first one, it went wild instantly.
No exploration. No restraint. It didn’t even start out dry.
It was all wet.
Hungry.
Claiming.
