“It’s no gothic mansion, but it’s mine,” she says with a nervous laugh.
“It’s nice,” I say, meaning it. “Feels inviting.”
I shrug out of my coat and tuck it away in the same closet she stashed hers.
“Thanks.” She hesitates and waves the hand holding her roses toward the back of the house. “I’m going to put these in water. Do you want something to drink?”
I step closer and gently pry the flowers out of her hand and set them on the end of the couch. “No.” I rest my hand on her waist, curling my fingers in her sweater. “I’m fine.”
Her breath hitches and she sways forward. I slide my hand to her back and pull her against me.
She rests her hands on my chest. I brace myself in case she tries to push me away, but she grips the front of my shirt like she’s holding me in place, afraid I’ll disappear.
“Declan,” she breathes.
I dip down and rest my forehead against hers. “I missed you.”
Her fingers tighten in my shirt, and she peers up at me. “I missed you too. A lot.”
I press my lips to hers slowly, giving her time to change her mind. Her mouth softens under mine, tentative at first. Spicycinnamon touches my tongue, a taste I’ll forever associate with Emery.
She lets out a surprised, needy little sound, and all the regret that’s been coiled tight in my chest since I found out she left finally unravels.
I slide my hand up her back, skating over the curve of her spine, the warmth of her skin through her thin sweater. She shivers, and this time it has nothing to do with the cold.
“Come here,” I murmur against her mouth.
She presses her body tight against mine and slides her arms around my neck.
“That’s my girl.” I smile against her cheek. “Where’s your bedroom?”
She keeps kissing me, like now that she started, she can’t stop.
I guide her backward, one step at a time, until her back’s against the wall. More needy little noises hum through her. She pauses and pulls back. “Wren really is right upstairs.” She points at the ceiling. “And it’s very much not soundproof.”
I widen my eyes, pretending to be scandalized. “You’re the screamer, not me.”
Pink spreads over her cheeks but one corner of her mouth slides up. “Technically, that’syourfault.”
Rumbling with laughter, I slip my hands under her butt and pick her up. “Bedroom now. Please.”
Laughing, she hooks one arm around my neck and points down the hallway. “Last door on the right.”
“Good.” I dip my head and playfully bite at her sweater. “Start shedding clothes.”
She wriggles in my arms and manages to get one sleeve off, revealing smooth skin and the edge of a purple bra. I push my way into her room, purple glows from LED strips neatly fastenedalong the room’s borders. I set her down gently, careful not to break the moment.
She finishes tugging her sweater off, her hair falling around and down her shoulders in a static-y storm. Her chest rises and falls in a choppy rhythm while she keeps her gaze trained on my face, like she’s waiting for me to make the next move.
I arch an eyebrow. “Keep going.”
“Your turn.”
I strip off my shirt and bask in the way her lips part. Her gaze traces the lines of my chest, where the curse’s ink used to crawl, now a blank canvas.
“Wow,” she breathes. “It’s really all gone.”
“Did you like me better with the ink?”
