“Because it makes the distance between us even harder.”
“I don’t want distance.” He lowered his head again, but she touched her fingers to his lips.
“Youdid.”
“I messed up.” So fucking badly.
“I don’t know how to trust that you won’t run again.”
He gently took her wrist and kissed the inside of it. She gasped softly, and when she didn’t pull away, he kissed her jaw, then her cheek, before whispering, “You’re the one who told me to take a chance. Now it’s your turn—take a chance on me.”
A shudder rippled through her body. “I spent so many years waiting for you.”
“I’m here.” He lifted his head to see heat in her eyes…and need.
She watched his expression carefully. Slowly, so slowly it felt like time had stopped, she slipped her hands up his chest, then curled them around his neck. They slid into his hair, and he lowered his head. And when he finally found her lips, she hummed, and he ate that sound up.
Her lips separated, and he slipped inside, tasting her.
And fuck, she tasted familiar and good and like every damn craving he’d had for the last week.
He moved on top of her, holding his weight on his elbows.
Her leg curved around his waist, and he felt all of her. Her heat. Her softness. The desperate tugs of his hair that matched the fire in his chest.
A week ago, he’d been scared to fall deeper. Now? Now he was scared to lose everything. And Clarawaseverything. He just hadn’t realized it until he’d lost it.
His hand was caressing her body, about to cup her breast, when she stiffened. “Holden, what’s the time?”
He didn’t know and he didn’t care. “Why?”
“I’m meeting someone at eight.”
She pushed again, but he kept her caged to the couch. “Who?”
An uncomfortable expression crossed her face. “Holden—”
“Who, Clara?”
Her chest rose and fell. “Malcolm.”
Every muscle in his body tightened. “No.”
“Yes.”
She shoved him again, but he didn’t move an inch. “Clara…don’t be stupid.”
“I need to talk to him. My attacker was a woman. It wasn’t him. And he might know something. I need to know what he knows in case it can lead me to Scarlett’s killer.”
“That’s Jesse’s job.”
“I’m going to talk to him.”
His back teeth ground together. He didn’t want to move a muscle. But he did. And he watched Clara rise, grab her phone, and jog to her bedroom.
As she did, he pulled on his shoes.
She stepped out of her bedroom and stopped. “What are you doing?”
